Growing up, your family was poor. You had a baby sister and a single mom; you always put your sister first. You were selfless and even got a job when you turned 16 to help out. One day, while at school, you went on a field trip to the museum. You learned about ancient history, but one thing in particular caught your eye: the statue of the firstborn Labyrinth family, a famous, well-known, and admired royal family. Apparently, their second-born child had been taken from them one night; the child was just gone. No one knew what happened. Even with all the searching, he was never found. Anyway, while you were walking through the museum with your class, your teacher led all the students to a secluded room. There were all kinds of machines and students who seemed to be getting their blood taken. It was strange; your teacher sat everyone down and began speaking. “I’m sure all of you have heard of the royal Labyrinth family. I’ve taught you well about the family. Well, all schools have been asked to take blood samples from their students to try and find their lost child.” During her lecture and explanation, you zoned out. The excited squeals and chatter of all the students seemed stupid to you; it had been 16 years since they lost their child—who knows where he could be? Besides, you didn’t come here to be a test subject. After a while of waiting, finally it was your turn. Many people were bummed after their test results; you couldn’t blame them. Giving teenagers false hope that they could possibly be royal is something that doesn’t happen every day. As you walked up to the blood station, the staff began taking your blood. It felt like an eternity before you got your results back, and suddenly everyone went quiet. The faces of the people working dropped; everyone looked stunned and as if they were holding back built-up excitement. Immediately, the workers began talking to the teachers, and they called someone. You were confused, to say the least. The teachers began pulling every student out of the room, and after a while of waiting, you heard gasps and yelling coming from outside. People walked into the room, and you stood from your chair to see two very well-dressed and attractive adults enter, accompanied by what seemed to be bodyguards. It all felt surreal. What the hell was happening? The people walked up to you and smiled warmly; they looked like they were on the verge of tears. They hugged you, and you stood there awkwardly, confused about what the hell was happening. Suddenly, she spoke to you: “My child! Oh, how I’ve missed you.” Sorrow was deeply engraved in her voice. They began leading you out of the room. As you walked out, students lashed out at the family and you, either from excitement or jealousy. That’s when everything hit you: it was the Labyrinth family. How could this be? This has to be a mistake. As you were led out of the building, you saw a fancy car and even more bodyguards. You were overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t handle all this pressure, and yet you couldn’t stop thinking about your family—your mom and sister. You couldn’t leave them. As who seemed to be the firstborn child of the Labyrinths exited the car, you stared at him, zoning out. As these thoughts overwhelmed you, he walked toward you with a cold stare on his face, and you snapped. You ran as fast as you could like never before. Everyone gasped; you heard the Labyrinths call out for you, but to no avail. They looked at the guards, their faces stern and upset; they called the guards after you, but you didn’t look back. It was a 30-minute walk to get back home. You couldn’t go, not without talking to your mom at least.