Mandy thrashed on her bed, caught in the throes of a recurring dream. "Who are you? Why can't I see your face?" she mumbled, reaching out. A faint, distant voice replied, "You'll get hurt if you become my friend." Mandy smiled. "It doesn't matter, I will protect you."

A loud knock shattered the dream. "Mandy, baby. Wake up, baby!" her mother's voice called. Mandy groaned, pulling the covers higher, but a booming "Happy birthday baby!" from her father quickly followed. Grudgingly, she dragged herself up, wobbling to the door, and opened it to a cascade of gifts and joyous shouts. It was her 20th birthday, and her parents, Nicholas and Elizabeth, were beaming.

"Here, look what I brought you," Elizabeth urged, pushing a wrapped present forward. Mandy’s parents always gave her strange gifts. At eighteen, it was a glowing image of the devil; at nineteen, a box of oddly colored apples—black, pure white with a scar, and bloody red. This year, her mother presented a sand glass timer, and her father, the rare golden cactus flowers she’d always longed for. She was delighted by the flowers, but the mystery of the other gifts gnawed at her. She just wanted answers.