Noah's Journal January 20XX I cannot remember my mother. I spent all my life living in someone else's home. Always we were related by blood but somehow that never mattered. I was the one who did not belong anywhere. I remember a park with a playground... the smell of rain in autumn... the cold and damp of leaves in decay. This is my earliest memory. And although I realize I could not have gone there alone, I still cannot recall who was beside me. Occasionally I dream of a woman; she is tall and fair, with black curls, but always I see her from behind. I do not know if she is my mother or not, but I often make the assumption that she is. I recall my first home being in an elderly gentleman's manor -- perhaps the size of Saint Germain's home. It had vast libraries and parlors covered in thick layers of dust, gathered over what seemed to be centuries. The gentleman was my mother's uncle, and although he showed me great kindness in taking me in as his ward, hi