Fangs Vs Claws

Dear Diary, I have decided to write my story, our story, which is

incredibly unique in every way. Where should I begin? What can I say

about myself, about us, that is relevant and helps anyone who reads

this book understand how it all started? Undoubtedly, I had a fairly

"normal" childhood after all, based on the classification

of what is "normal" for most people. Although it is surely

different for everyone. My name is Layla Muller, Lay for short,

although sometimes I am also called Lissi, especially by my maternal

grandmother, I'm not sure why. My brother Thomas, whom we call Thom,

and I, grew up with two families, so to speak. Our parents divorced

when I was only 3 years old and Thom was 9. Which, if you can say,

was lucky for us, because our parents didn't have to fight "their

war" on our shoulders. Bob, our father, is approximately 1.80m

tall, has blue eyes, wears glasses to see from afar, and has short,

curly, blonde hair. He can be considered quite an attractive man. He

specialises in trips to Mexico, in the Riviera Maya. There, he rents

holiday homes. On one of his very frequent business trips, he met and

fell in love with his second wife, Angelina, they say it was love at

first sight, both of them are hopeless romantics. Angelina is not

very tall, you could say she has something of an elf. It's a rather

interesting appearance. Her long, curly, chestnut hair matches the

discreet freckles on her face. Her olive green eyes are very

beautiful. She knows stories and legends about elves, trolls, dwarves

and other mythical creatures. As children, we loved those kinds of

stories, like the one about trolls. Trolls are said to have skin

similar to leather, very tough, and their movements are clumsy and

awkward. They usually live underground, are creatures of the night,

and hate the sunlight.

A troll never willingly exposes itself to sunlight, as it would

immediately turn into a stone sculpture. Therefore, if a human comes

into contact with a gnome, it is sufficient to entertain the gnome

until sunrise. If the troll turns into stone, nothing stands in the

way of a successful and peaceful escape.

This is how one should act if trolls were real creatures. We loved

those stories, and when we were on holiday with them anywhere in the

world they decided to take us, we would always speculate about which

stone could have actually been some kind of troll or who knows what

other magical being. We could have a lot of fun with it. Our

imagination was always greatly stimulated.

On the contrary, my brother was much more realistic. But in my

particular case, my imagination was literally limitless; I liked to

let myself be carried away by my fantasy. Sometimes I dreamt of elves

and dwarfs and a beautiful white horse on which I rode along the

seashore.

My dreams were very real, at least that's how I felt, and when I

was awake, I liked to imagine that I was in the company of my 2 dogs.

Of course, I didn't have any dogs, and that's why my companions

were invisible, except to me, of course. They were huge and

mischievous dogs. For a somewhat scared and insecure girl, it's an

advantage to always have these companions at hand. Invisible

companions don't turn their backs on you.

Having too much imagination had the slight downside of making me

enjoy isolating myself and taking refuge in my own world. This caused

my mother some uncertainty and distress about whether everything was

okay with me. I liked to play alone, so I didn't always have to