She didn't have anyone in her life to miss, so how could they miss her. She'd been---Belle's eyes narrowed, forcing herself not to think about how empty her life really was. After her attack the police had tried to find her family, because someone must have been looking for her, but---no. No one came in and reported a missing girl about eighteen---she was eighteen. Belle twitched and snatched the parchment back and looked at the age written under 'her' picture. Twenty-one! That was impossible, there was no way she was---
"Who are you," she said again, even though Marissa had given her name. Belle frowned deeply and opened up the newspaper (news parchment?) "Who are you and what do you--"
Her mouth froze mid-sentence as she spotted another picture of herself, but she wasn't alone, this time. She was with a man, who looked a little older than herself, and on her hip was a little girl. She was the sweetest little thing Belle had ever seen, but what was scary was that she was a spitting image of her, that---Her hands crunched the side of the parchment and she glared angrily at Marissa. Who was this woman?
"Why are you doing this to me?"
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