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People always as me if I'm a model. Being a woman over six feet tall in stocking feet will do that. I know, it's also because of my long wavy auburn hair, penetrating grey eyes and porcelain complexion, but I don't think of those things. I will always think of myself as ugly; as I was before the horrific car accident.

It happened mere days before my high school graduation. I was happy to finally be done with all the horrid teasing, bullying, embarrassment, mockery, tripping in the hallways, snickering behind my back, drawings of my cross-eyed, pock-marked face on the blackboard. I did brilliantly in school, partly because of natural talent, but mostly because all I did was study; I had no social life. I was ugly and troll-like. Then I was hit by a car and it all changed.

I spent over a year in recovery, getting operation after operation. Now I'm hot and guys won't leave me alone. I'm also a shape changer. That came after the accident, too. Apparently, it was in my genes somewhere and being whacked by a vehicle at high speeds activated them.

Sometimes I wish I could have it all taken back. I don't like the way men stare at me. Women, too. Maybe I'll finally give in to Stephen and join his modeling agency. Maybe I'll mangle my face and try to be who I was: nobody. But until then, I'm tall and I'm hot, and I'm not used to it yet.

(**Thank you to Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel for inspiration.**)