The enormous kitchen hummed with a nervous energy, a symphony of clinking cutlery and hushed whispers from the caterers. Today was my eighteenth birthday, a day that everyone kept telling me would mark the true beginning of my life. For me, it felt more like the beginning of an obligation.

I stood by the vast island, nursing a tall glass of cold milk, watching the flurry of preparations. My cobalt blue eyes, the only outward sign of my true nature, reflected the gleaming surfaces around me. They said my eyes were a gift from the feline goddesses themselves, a mark of my heritage. I was a werecat, a creature of myth in a world that mostly wished we didn't exist.

"The fun will really begin," they kept saying. I just wanted to be a normal kid, to disappear into the crowd, not be the central figure of an ancient prophecy. Sighing, I moved to our small, comforting kitchen table, the one spot in this grand house that felt truly mine. As I sank into the familiar chair, my mind drifted back to my earliest memories, the first whispers of being 'different'.