"Elizabeth stop fussing with you hair."

"No, no Mom. I can't believe I decided to do this!"

"Elizabreath it's not that bad."

"I agree with your mother, Lizzie. It looks fine."

These comments of security were certainly not helping my mood. Do you want to know what I did? It has to do with a changing of something. No, not clothing or taste. No, not personality or lifestyle. You see, I'm staring at myself in the Scottish Salon mirror right now. I don't even recognize who this girl is! I got plastic surgery. HA. No. But I dyed my hair. Mom thought it was such a good idea! She encouraged me to mix things up! So...I marched confidently to Scotland's apparently greatest hair service and had my golden locks destroyed.

I'm a brunette now.


Let it sink in.

Alright? You done? Good.

"OH MY FREAKING GOD—MOTHER FREAKING FLIPPING HOLY MOLLY-!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, causing twelve year old Tony to dive under the table in fear. Mom shot me an unimpressed look. People were staring. What do I care? I'm undergoing a crisis. My long curly blonde hair is no longer with me-mentally possibly, although not physically. Dark brown, straight and soft. Damn, what shampoo did they use?

As Dad went to go pay, I hopped out of the big comfy chair, "I wonder what the others are going to say." Yeah, that's right. I actually made friends in my Scottish high school. Not many, but I prefer a tight group.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh please."

"Excuse me?"

"I said oh please."

"Don't make me come to your school and tell everyone you wet your bed until you were NINE!" It suddenly became quiet. Not because bystanders heard and decided to stare again, but because I hit a sore spot. Tony was only nine years old. I was only fourteen. That was three years ago. Mom and Dad tried to get us focused on other things and forced us to move on.

Mom whispered, "That's enough of that..."

Wanting to formally apologize to my little brother, I patted his head slightly, "Sorry...dork."

He simply nodded and walked out with Dad to the car. I felt Mom's daggers practically rip me apart. I don't mind. It's been happening a lot lately. On the ride home, I couldn't help my mind from wandering someplace else. Three years. Still can't get over the number. I always knew it could take long for them to return, but three years? Tony eventually got over his vampire obsession, I witnessed him silently packing his old pictures and paper fangs into a cardboard box. This box is now settled deep inside the treasure chest Rudolph used to-never mind.

One question is always lingering.

No, two.

Where are the Sackville-Baggs now?

Do they remember us?

Hello, my name is Elizabeth Thompson. I'm seventeen years old and thirty minutes ago I had dirty blonde hair. Now I'm a brunette. I have a Mother, Father and a little brother Tony. We moved to Scotland three years ago because of my Dad's job. There we met real vampires. I fell absolutely in love with the family's middle child, Rudolph Sackville-Bagg. Most people would claim fourteen year olds don't have any knowledge of true love. A three century year old vampire loves me-well, loved because I honestly don't know if he even remembers me. How much more real can that get? We're all older, wiser and thinking we've moved on. We didn't.

I'm seriously suffering a withdraw of dreamy ruby eyes which are probably now a normal eye color. Ex- charming/handsome/gentle/strong/protective vampire, where are you?