November freaking 13th

It's my birthday. My 12th birthday. I told everyone I was already 12 but... even my team can't know the truth. I'm not like the rest of them. I... wasn't born in exile. Or sent away by my parents. I don't have parents, not that I need them. I was born in a lab. That's fun right? I was never given a name until Fintan met me. I was just... 013. He met me, tested me, and threw me into training. And then when I turned 8? I was sent to King Dimitar. Like a little present, Brant even tied a ribbon around my neck. 

But more about my tragic past, because that's just what I want to think about. My full name is Azrail Thirteen Loki Pyren. Bit of a mouthful huh?  But too Gisela, too Vespera, to the council, I will never be more than 013. The same number tattooed into my right wrist. 13 is the most unlucky number. But somehow, out of 15 experiments, I was the only one who survived. And at the beginning, when they saw my DNA, they were shocked. I could do almost any ability, and some that no known elf could do. But... they were scared of me. And to be honest? I'm scared of me. So they locked my powers away. Deep, deep inside of me. All I can do now is pyrokensis, mild shapshifting, and gusting. 

But back to why I dread my birthday. I don't want to celebrate my existence

Oh, and it's the one day a year Vespera gets to play with me

Like a freaking toy