Being an albino always defined me more than my name. Or my family. Or the money. But my name is Felicia Velmont Woldorf. Hybrid of 3 supernatural families; Vampires, witches and werewolves. Our mixed race line gave us stronger abilities than our ancestors. But nothing is a recipe. I pulled my mother, who is a vampire, and is also an albino. My father is a wizard, but Grandma is a witch. My brother pulled my father, his skin very dark and a bestiality that accompanies stupidity. My family lives in South Africa, in the capital. There it was warm, populated and very different from what one thinks of Africa, the majority is white and there are buildings.

My family owns the largest trafficking network of magical creatures on the planet. Especially dragons. They are beasts of the most varied natures that are daily put in dark and fetid boxes, exported by ships with corrupted navigator. Beautiful and inspiring. The more hypocritical, is that my own father is seen as animal in the magical world, but obvious that he always has an argument trying to explain "the difference."

I never stopped to think about what my family did. It was not as if they owned a network of pizzerias, they are bad guys, bad people who know they are doing evil with animals that do not deserve it. Yes, the magic world also has problems of corruption and ecology, who would say. I just stopped to think, as I got closer to my grandmother, an ancestral witch who survived the 15th Century Witch Hunt, and was a Celtic fellowman. A woman over a thousand years old, and consequently very wise. She seemed to be the only one bothering about the "family business." I fled to her cave and stayed there listening to her stories and learning witchcraft.

I was 13 or 14 years old. At that time, I had my first boyfriend, a sorcerer. The difference between wizards and wizards is their way of practicing magic. Witches use wands, cauldrons, and candles, sorcerers have broken the cult and practice magic as if it were a daily use. Something lighter and less hidden. That's what attracted me to him. The way he'd always wore a denim jacket and tilted his wrist to make something catch fire. At age 14, there are more things that catch fire and I committed teenage madness, which I would regret 9 months later. A girl was born, and he disappeared into the world forever, never came back nor made a point of meeting the daughter he had made in me. Amarantha is today a child of 5 years, and soon will make 6. A little redhead who is not born as white as me. I never let her cut her hair and she has her father's eyes. From an almond-shaped honey, almost yellow when exposed to the Sun. Probably the most beautiful thing I've ever been able to do, and I'll be able to.

With a daughter, comes the notion that you need to support her, and I was no one at 14 years old. With a daughter, you have to wake up to reality, and I studied to pass the entrance exam, and I passed. I wanted to show my parents that I was not irresponsible and that I could get anything I wanted. They were happy for me, but when the letter arrived, the house split again. My father said that I should do Draculaology in order to be able to join the actions of the family:

-How long does it take a diploma to be a drug dealer ?! I cried out crying, praying to the Gods that Amarantha would not hear the storm that had just formed in the dining room.

-We are merchants! No dealers! You know that, Felicia! My father shouted back. - We need a specialist, we're losing merchandise. But more than needing an expert, you need money, because it was you who opened the fucking legs!

That was hard to hear. It was hard to swallow and realize what they really thought of me. They because no one intervened, neither my brother, nor my mother nor even my grandmother. I took a deep breath and when I exhaled I could only cry. Crying in shame for my family and for a second I felt ashamed of myself because for a second I thought it was my fault. I take responsibility for that moment of pure heat, but I expected more from them. I do not know very well how to rephrase my thoughts, as I do not know how to formulate my moment of now, sitting in a private UUO suite dying for my family and feeling eternal regret for having given my father reason. By having thought that by having a child at the age that I had, I was being part of the marginal population. I committed no crime with Amarath. They are committing crimes killing animals for money.

Sitting on this bed, looking from a distance at the light on the floor of the room, those particles of floating dust, I feel more than tired. And wondering what my life would be like if I had had enough strength to claim for her. How I wish I had not done those four years studying unnecessarily and being able to attend Witchcraft, how I would like to do that with Amarath in a crib by my side. How I wish he had never left.

How I wish I had not accepted to be burned in the face because of the initiations Grandma made to the spirits, how I would like my hair dyed the deepest black, how I wish I could no longer have red eyes and not be so thin, I do not understand As I did something as beautiful as Amarath. I do not understand how I feel so homesick for a being so small that he's only been on Earth for exactly 5 years and 10 months. How I wish I did not miss her next birthday. How I wish my life were different. Different in a calm, beautiful way and as less bitter as the Famiglia Velmont Woldorf.