The sun shining through the open window is what woke her. A sliver of gold that sliced her eyes like a knife. The girl lying in the bed was no more than 5'4, curled into a ball beneath the blankets with only her head poking out. It had been a cool night, the morning even cooler yet she hadn't found herself crawling out of bed to close that darned window. She'd rather curl into a ball beneath the comforter and stay motionless, soaking up the heat from the incubation she was creating. Honeycomb hues were hidden beneath lids that were squeezed shut against those formidable rays. Sandy brown hair slid across the pillow as she turned her head lightly from side to side, the ray of sun growing brighter as the sun rose higher in the sky. Piercing her eyes, forcing colors to prism beneath her lids and splatter across her vision.

A slow, deep sigh caused her nostrils to flare as the idea of ignoring the bombardment of light was turning out to be impossible. A low groan escaped her as she pushed herself from the warm nest of blanket she'd cocooned herself in. Lifting and twisting to sit herself up, her hands raised to rub the sleep from her eyes. She slowly blinked, pushing away the blurred vision and sleep before she paused in her movements. Honeycomb hues shot wide at the sight of her left arm, staring at the swarm of simplistic black birds on her forearm. "What the..." she croaked, her voice still rough and raspy from waking as she roughly swiped at the contrast of ink to her pale flesh. Bringing that arm closer, inspecting it as her breathing quickened, she didn't remember getting a tattoo. It was a mystery, a worrisome one. Her hand came to her mouth, tongue lashing against her thumb before she tried to smudge the artwork on her arm. It didn't budge, didn't smudge, there was nothing indicating it was a press-on tattoo or marker. "What the heck is this?" she whined lightly, confused and groggy from sleep.

Unable to inspect the new addition for very long, her bedroom door swung open with gusto, the chiming of her adoptive parents singing the generic 'Happy Birthday' song to her. She jolted, surprised and jumpy as she shoved her arm beneath the blankets littering her lap as she tried to compose herself and paint on a smile for her parents. They hadn't wasted any time, as if they had just been waiting outside her door for any hint of stirring from the birthday girl. "Mom... Dad..." she groaned, but couldn't help but chime out a light laugh.

Her father came in with a tray, decked out with a large plate of pancakes with the whole shebang. Whipped cream, strawberries, syrup, a giant stack of pancakes. Orange juice. Even bacon on the side. "How much do you think I can eat?!" she laughed, adjusting her blankets as they finished off their song and her father approached beside the bed to settle the breakfast table over her sprawled legs. His scruffy salt-and-pepper face was bright and cheerful as ever, shaking his head to make the glare on his glasses contort in the morning light. "Nonsense. You're a growing woman, you'll find a place to put it!" He chuckled, leaning over to plant a kiss to her temple and ruffle her hair. "Eighteen already..." he sighed, standing up but held that smile on his face. "You're all gro-... Barb, don't cry. You'll spoil her breakfast!" He groaned, his blue-grey hues ticking up to the ceiling as he let out a groan.

Sure enough, Kenna's mother was blubbering like a baby at the mention of her adopted baby being all grown up now. "She's all grown up! I have a reason to cry, darn it!" Keep her language tasteful, she swiped at already red and puffy eyes with a handful of crumpled tissue as she pushed past him and sat on the bed beside the girl, immediately pulling Kenna into her arms. "She's... all... grown... uuuuup..." She sobbed on Kenna's shoulder. She looked over at her mother, smiling lightly as she tilted her head to rest against her mother's. Lifting the ink-free arm, keeping the other well hidden beneath the blanket as she reached out to pat her mother's arm and comfort her. "Just because I'm grown up doesn't change anything. I'll still be your baby, Mom."

Sniffling, Barbara lifted her head from her adopted daughter's shoulder and swiped at her eyes another time, a smile now on her face as she nodded slowly. She released her grasp from those slender shoulders and laughed lightly. "You've always been our little miracle, Kenna. Even now, it's... Oh, god. It's your birthday and I'm sitting here blubbering on you." She shook her head and a flash of guilt shot through her features. "I told you to stop crying," Paul muttered. He reached out to Barb, grabbing hold of her shoulders lightly to pull her away from the bed. "Come onnnn. Let the girl eat her birthday breakfast in peace and less soggy." Winking to Kenna, he guided her sniffling mother out of the room. She gave him a smile and mouthed 'thank you' to him for taking care of it. She knew it was going to happen when she turned eighteen, but she didn't like seeing her mother cry over it regardless.

Once they were out of the room, she let her eyes linger on the doorway for a moment, shaking her head and snickering about them. Blinking, she pulled her arm free from the blanket and went back to inspecting the strange new marking on her arm. Frowning, stared at it. It was pretty, but her parents would have a field day about it and lose their minds. "It's going to suck hiding this..." she muttered to herself, looking to the tray in front of her and the mass of food cooked for her. "Dad.." she snickered, and didn't want to leave his efforts in vain as she tried to scarf down as much as she could.

11 PM That Night

"Are you alright? You were acting strange when you got home." Her mother asked her, concern written as plainly as any book on her face as she sat down on the couch beside Kenna, who was finishing up her chemistry homework. She glanced at her mother before returning those hues to her paper, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had a long day at school." Her head dipped lower, using her sandy brown hair as a sort of curtain as she tried to consume herself in her work in hope that her mother would leave it alone.

She seemed to stare at Kenna, raising her brows as she waited in silence. Her head tilted to the side, watching her and the way she was hiding behind that hair of hers. "Kenna..." Sighing, the girl lifted her head and gave it a bit of a shake to get rid of the strands of hair that tried to smear across her face. "Mom, I'm fine. I promise. Just a couple weeks away from graduating. It's stressful. I'll be fine, though. Really." She looked her mother dead on, a pang of guilt for lying to her face but she knew the woman who had raised her on Christian beliefs wouldn't believe nor understand what had happened. A strange tattoo appearing on her daughter's arm... that now glowed and she didn't know what had triggered it? She'd probably think it was the devil's work and drive her right to the closest church.

Her mother's gaze lingered on her for sometime, lips twisting as she contemplated before she finally nodded. "Alright... It's almost over, at least, sweetie. Then you won't have to worry about it. At least until college," she quipped, smirking lightly as she reached forward to pick up the television remote. It was almost time for the News, something her mother watched almost as religiously as she read the bible. Nestling into the couch cushions, she looked up to her husband who was just coming in from the kitchen with a handful of cookies as he made it over to the lazy boy. Plopping down, he instantly reclined and relaxed for the News hour in the Marya household. "Let's see how crappy the world is today," he grunted, having the same views on the News that Kenna had. The world was pretty crappy, Kenna didn't care for being reminded of it over the depressing news every day. "Maybe they'll have another kitten story today," Barbara chimed, though Kenna and her father exchanged a look that said no less than not likely.

Shaking her head before it dipped down to continue her homework, trying to finish it up before the depression of the News typically brought on. The crackling static sound of the TV being turned on reached Kenna's ears as she scribbled away at the last question on the sheet in front of her. Chemistry was easy, science was easy. Too bad science can't help me with my arm. Don't think Mysterious Glowing Tattoos is a medical condition..

Right off the bat, and on cue with her mother's precise timing, she heard the news anchors relaying the first story. One that had her heart sinking deep into the soles of her slippers:

"Breaking news tonight, senior high school chemistry and biology teacher, Agatha Lowell was pronounced dead on the scene of a devestating accident. A public transportation bus was making it's scheduled rounds when it seemed that Mrs. Lowell seemed to step off from the curb, appearing dazed and as if in a trance as she walked directly in front of the bus earlier this afternoon. We don't have any information on if there were alcohol or drugs involved, but an autopsy will hopefully shed more light on this incident...."

The rest of the words, as well as a clip of an officer on the scene speaking went through one ear and out of the other. Kenna couldn't do anything but see the horrible scene in front of her. She caught enough to know that they wouldn't show the scene, claiming it to be too gruesome for public news.

Her chest heaved, breathing rapidly as her eyes blinked and teared up unwillingly. "She's.... Mrs. Lowell was hit by a bus?..." She croaked, though it came out more like a mouse's squeak. She barely noticed as her parents swarmed around her, all of a sudden being enveloped in four arms as it felt like the room was spinning.

Mrs. Lowell was hit by a bus... Morgan had wished her to be hit by a bus... Earlier this afternoon? Scheduled time... She noted enough to know where the scene was. Abernacky Street... She'd had the bus memorized a long time ago, took it to get to the mall the next town over with Morgan. The bus didn't make that stop until 4:35 in the afternoon. Morgan had said it... before that? Right? Her head was nearly spinning and she couldn't tell if she was going to pass out or vomit. "What's going onnnn." She groaned, words smothered by a sob and a thought that seemed so out of place, and perhaps even outlandish. But she felt like it was right.

I did this.