When I got home, my parents lectured me on how I had to try a little harder to “blend in”.

“Really, sweetheart,” my mom cooed as she stirred a pot of homemade noodles, “All you have to do is wear a little more makeup, or some brighter colors and-”

“Ma, I don’t want to look normal. I don’t want to have to pretend I’m a regular person. I’m one already, right?” I paused to consider this point. It had been brought up in the political arena not too long ago. A vamp had been nominated for governor in some random state North (formerly Canada, guys). He’d been shot down pretty early; people were just afraid of the Numans. I winced as I thought about it. God damn, that tinkerbell had done a number on my ribs. Maybe she played soccer or something…

“We don’t look that different from them, that’s true. We’re certainly not different where it counts, but they only see what they want. I mean, they’ve done it so many times in the past, with other groups.”

I nod, I know. Alphonse is on his way over, it’s time to eat.