	My name is Sirocca. I'm currently ten years old, and about knee-high to my papa. It sounds short, but I'm a normal height for my age. My papa is very tall, because he's different from me and mama. I love him just as much as if he was my real dad. I mean, biologically.
	I was adopted when I was eight, by two angels: my new mama and papa. They found me after three of my classmates beat me up. I didn't wake up for about a day, but when I did, I awoke to a beautiful angel sitting by my bed. She looked a lot like me: tufted ears, eyes with diamond pupils, fangs, and bat wings. Strange way to describe an angel, right? I guess I forgot to mention that she and I are bat-ponies. We're different enough, but we're happy, because we're all together.
	I suppose I should talk about papa real quick. He's more different than me and mama. It's a good different, because I love him and he's my papa. He does a lot of things different from me and mama, like what he eats and reads and says. He wears clothes a lot, which is strange outside of high-society ponies. He's weird, but he's my papa.
	He and mama got married a few years ago. I think it was six months after they met; three after they adopted me. Thinking about it, we've moved pretty fast as a family, but none of us regret anything.
	"Sirocca!" My mother calls up the stairs. Her voice is so soothing to my ears. It causes me to smile whenever I hear her. I don't remember a single day in these past two years where our family has ever been anything other than happy. Except, sometimes, when papa reads his journal, he gets a little upset. I don't know what's in his journal; I think it's stuff from his past, before he met mama. He always cheers up when he gets near the end, probably where he's written about me and mama. Mama and I like to hide just out of his view, where the book obscures us, so when he closes it, he sees our faces. Without fail, he always scoops us up in his arms and hugs us tight.
	The sound of hooves clip-clopping up the stairs pricks at my ears. I look up from a small photo album that contains pictures of papa from when he first came to our world, all the way up to the wedding. "Came to our world." I think it's odd that I can believe those strange words. we do live in a world with magic and monsters, but a being from another world is still strange. He tells me stories of his world, but I can rarely remember any of it; it's always so amazing! He says he prefers it here, even if he fondly recalls his own world sometimes. I think it's because of me and mama. And yes, his being from another world has attracted the interest of he princesses. He's been here for almost seven years, I think.
	The hoof-steps stop at my door, their rhythmic sound no longer echoing through the silent second floor. This snaps me out of my trance. Standing in the doorway, my mama smiles softly. I smile back to her. Her dull orange eyes scan my room, probably to assess how clean it is. She nods with approval.
	"Come on, Sirocca. We're waiting for you downstairs." She says softly, her head tilting. Her dark turquoise mane shifts, the longer portion on the ride side of her head settles against her cheek, the long part on the back hangs to the floor. She used to keep it shorter in the back, but she's let it grow out more. She looks older.
	"Okay, mama." I say, prompting her to give a toothy grin. "I'll be down in a minute."
	"Alright." She answers and turns from the door. As she turns, I can see her cutie-mark: a golden heart flanked by two white, feathered wings. She says she got it after meeting papa, which means she got it really late in her life. According to her, it means she's a guardian and protector. I believe it, even though she and papa will not tell me of the events that led to her getting it. Maybe someday I'll get a peek at papa's journal and read about it.
	I close the photo album, shelf it, and trot to my mirror. My eyes meet those of my mirrored self. My blue eyes look over my mirrored self's form, and she does the same for me. I smirk, somewhat cockily, at my soft, intricately brushed gray-purple coat, my poofy, frizzly, light purple mane, and at my own, wholely unique feature: my cutie-mark.
	It's a simple mark: a sprouting seed tied to a balloon. I got it shortly after we moved to the mountains north of Hollow Shades. Papa bought me a set of tools and measuring instruments after I took an interest in a book about wind patterns, and a picture book he owned with hot-air balloons, "airplanes," and other aerial craft. I went out and studied the wind around the mountains, tied a seed to a balloon, and sent it up. It glided across a small valley between our mountain and another, before descending onto a small, grassy cliff. The seed took to its new home and, in a few weeks, already began to grow. It made me happy. Mama and papa were so proud.
	I check my fangs: pearly white and sharp. Mama's aren't sharp. She can't drink blood, just fruit. We're an odd race. Most bat-ponies eat a lot of fruit, regardless, but some supplement that with blood, or fish, or bugs. A lot of ponies are scared of bat-ponies because of the blood thing, but we only drink the blood that comes from animals that gryphons and minotaurs eat. Papa also eats meat, which mama hates. I hate the smell of it, but papa gives me the blood. A lot of the time, he only orders blood from the butcher shop, because he knows how mama feels. He tries not to eat meat too often because of her, that's how much he loves her.
	As I flare my wings and give my best snarl and growl, I notice something very tall behind me. I turn around, startled, but before I can do much more, I am picked up by this tall creature. I screech softly and flail my hooves as it brings me to eye level and growls at me. I slowly open my eyes and lock sight with it. Two silver-blue eyes meet mine. The creature pulls me close, into a hug, and presses its pale cheek against my mane. I wriggle in its grasp, distraught by my capture. It holds fast as it begins to laugh at my misery. Eventually I give up and go limp in its arms. It holds me out in front of it; I get a better look at its face. Ruffled, dark hair tops its head. Beneath its left eye sits a small brown marking. More dark hair circles its mouth, lining its pale pink lips.
	I press a hoof to its nose, smile, and let out a soft "boop" sound.
	It smiles back, taps a finger to my nose, and offers a second "boop."
	This is my papa, and I adore him more than anything.
	"Are you ready, kiddo?" He asks, his voice deep, yet soft. I hug him around the neck and nod.
	"Yes." I reply, as he takes me downstairs.