I've been cursed since the day I was born.
No one saw it coming. My parents were practically the textbook definition of normal: Dad working an eight to five job at an engineering firm, Mom the homemaker with her gardening on the side. My older brother was starting to get into soccer, my sister plenty amused with her dolls. They all looked normal with their straight dark hair, eyes varying in shade from hazel to brown. No special birthmarks, no distinguished scars, no dark secrets.
And the day was just like any other day. There wasn't an eclipse of the sun or a meteor shower or a guiding star; the heavens were behaving. When Mom went into labor, and Dad rushed her out of the house, there were no strange vagabonds staring at the car as it went down the road, no priests waiting to bless her as she was escorted into the hospital, no demons aiming to take advantage of any mishap during childbirth. It was as standard as any other birth.
And yet, as soon as my parents saw me, they knew I was