Chapter 1
Throughout my life, I lived in a string of strange towns across the United States-Seattle, Washington; Austin, Texas; Portland, Oregon; and even a tiny, nearly invisible town in Nebraska. And now, I’m on my way to London. I’m only seventeen, but I’m sure I’ve moved more times than most forty-three-year-olds. My parents’ strange habits meant we were always packing up and starting over. A few days before each move, they became paranoid and irritable, as if someone was forcing them to leave. Financially, we were very stable despite the constant relocations. Somehow, my parents always found jobs in every town we moved to. Because I never stayed in one place long enough to make friends, I grew deeply attached to books-especially fairytales.
Since I was little, my mum always told me fairytales-especially one about the kingdom of the Astorians. I loved imagining the kingdom in my mind, and my favorite part was when she said the beauty of the Astorian women was reflected in me. I noticed from a young age that people treated me differently because of my looks. I was very beautiful, but I never stayed in one place long enough to make friends. My mum is caring and sophisticated in every way. My dad is friendly and kind, but he has the unrelenting character of a business tycoon-you don’t mess with him in business. Both my parents are blonde, yet I’m red-haired-Crimson Red, the kind of red that catches the light and seems to shine on its own. It was exactly the way I wanted it-not too bright, not too dark-and it made my skin tone glow. Many people couldn’t even tell if I was white or black. I didn’t know either, until I asked my parents. They told me I was a mix of both, though that answer felt like a gentle excuse to stop me from asking more. My parents didn’t talk much about me, and if anyone asked, they’d just say they were blessed with me-nothing more.
I didn’t look like either of my parents. Mum had a short blonde bob, blue eyes, and a short, stubby stature. Dad was tall and slim, with brown eyes and blonde hair cut low. I, on the other hand, had long, flowing crimson-red hair, amber eyes, and an athletic body. I wasn’t just fit-I was toned, almost too toned for a girl my age.
As I grew older, I began noticing strange patterns about my life. Every time we moved, it felt as though the people we left behind simply... faded. My best friend in Seattle, when I was nine, was a boy named Charlie. We’d been inseparable for three years and two months-the longest friendship I’d ever had. But when I was thirteen and living in Portland, I saw him again. He and his parents had just moved there too. Excited, I ran up and hugged him. Charlie pulled away, confused, staring at me as though we had never met.
I told myself it was impossible, that maybe I was mistaken, but deep down, the sadness clung to me. For weeks, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about my life was being erased each time we moved.
We were theJacobs-and everywhere we lived, we somehow became the “popular” family, at least for a while. Dad, Thomas Jacob. Mum, Linda Jacob. And me, Magret Jacob. People treated us like elites, like we carried a secret crown no one could see.
Now, we were on our way to London, traveling in what Dad proudly called the Travel Van. It wasn’t just a van-it was a house on wheels. Two air conditioners, built-in beds, mini fans, WC and bathroom supplies, a small kitchen, and even a fridge. It was fast too-faster than any ordinary van should be.
Dad was driving, Mum was setting up the TV and sound system for a movie, and I was at the mini dining table, dissecting my breakfast with zero interest. Gloom clung to me like a shadow. Mum noticed, of course-she always did. She knew I was easy to coax, so she brought me cake, ice cream, and-surprisingly-a chilled beer. She hated seeing me sad about moving again.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she said with a smile, her eyes flicking to Dad through the mirror. “I’m certain this new place will be different. This time... it’s your origin. Maybe we’ll even stay for good. This fresh start won’t let you down-I promise.”
The way she said it made my heart leap with hope but sink with confusion all at once. My origin? What did she mean by that? I bombarded her with questions, but she dodged every single one like she’d rehearsed her silence.
After the movie, I gave up my futile interrogation, curled up in one of the built-in beds, and let sleep take me. We’d been on the road for hours, and who knew how long until we reached London? All I knew was... Mum’s words kept echoing in my head.
My origin.
