Matt

Matt was orphaned as an infant, and I belonged to a distinct race—one recognizable by its hair: silver. My people were being slaughtered. I had fled and stumbled upon a tent, where I heard the sound of a crying baby; the infant was weeping in the arms of its dead mother. I picked the baby up and took him with me. I dyed my hair to avoid detection. I had a good life with Matt—but only until he turned sixteen. The fact that I didn't age made him suspicious, and he realized I wasn't his mother. Our relationship deteriorated; he would come home drunk every night.