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I had always known something was different about me. It wasn't anything I could explain-just a feeling, like I didn't quite fit in. But I never imagined that my life was connected to something ancient, something dangerous.

It was my 18th birthday. I should have been happy, right? I mean, it was a big day. Everyone says turning eighteen is a fresh start, a new chapter. But for me, the day didn't feel like a celebration. There was a strange weight in my chest, like something was coming, and I couldn't shake it off, no matter how hard I tried.

The sky outside was already darkening as I sat on my bed, staring at the few balloons my mom had tied to the chair in the corner. They looked out of place in my small, quiet room. I should've been downstairs, smiling with my mom and maybe even enjoying the small cake she bought for me. But instead, I stayed here, staring out the window, watching the sunset.

The sun sank behind the hills, leaving streaks of red and purple in the sky. It was a beautiful sight, but there was something strange about it. The red in the sky was too deep, too dark, almost like the sky itself was bleeding. I rubbed my arms, trying to push away the weird feeling that had settled in my chest.

I pulled my sweater tighter around me and stepped away from the window. Maybe I was just overthinking it. Maybe it was just one of those days where everything felt off for no reason.

"Talia!" My mom's voice echoed from downstairs. "Dinner's ready! Come down, sweetheart."

I sighed and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair fell in soft waves over my shoulders, and my brown eyes stared back at me with a familiar look of uncertainty. My face looked pale, more than usual. I tried to smile at myself, but it didn't feel right.

"Everything's fine," I whispered to my reflection, even though I didn't believe it. "It's just your birthday. Nothing weird is going to happen."

I smoothed my hair back and headed downstairs. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, the smell of pasta hit me. My mom loved to cook pasta on special occasions, and birthdays were no exception. I stepped into the kitchen, where she was waiting with a bright smile, the kind of smile that said she was trying a little too hard to make me feel better.

"There she is," she said, waving her hands toward the table where the pasta sat in a big bowl. "I made your favorite. Thought it'd be nice for your big day."

I gave her a small smile and sat down. "Thanks, Mom. It smells great."

She sat across from me, watching closely as I took a bite. "You okay? You've been quiet all day."

I shrugged, poking at the pasta with my fork. "I'm fine. Just... I don't know, today feels weird."

"Weird how?" she asked, her face growing more serious.

I hesitated. I didn't want to worry her, especially since I couldn't even explain what was bothering me. "I don't know, it's probably nothing. Just a weird feeling, that's all."

She frowned but didn't push it. "Well, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks," I said, trying to sound more upbeat. "Really, it's nothing."

She nodded, but I could see the concern in her eyes. She had been acting like this for days, like she was waiting for something bad to happen. Maybe it wasn't just me who felt weird.