You are now the authentic first edition autographed copy of TWILIGHT. You're a lovely book with a perfectly maintained cover and set of pages. On you rests the glorious hand of your author, Stephanie Meyer. Some may balk at you and declare you an affront to all that is literature, but you know that this isn't so. You're the hottest damn piece of written art to have ever been.

You are also now missing. Booknapped possibly. It's not a concern of yours because you lack the mental faculties needed to be concerned. Or self aware at all.

However Kanaya Maryam does have said mental faculties and we have now become the ever fashionable teen lesbian goth with a vampire fetish that is Kanaya Maryam. Your face turns to an expression of pure horror. The book is gone and there is no trace of it.

It has vanished. Mysteriously one might say.

Closing your bag and reopening it does not make it reappear.

Dammit. You now do the only thing you possibly can; you start to cry and feel as though all your plans are for naught. And that you will forever be remembered as that not so fashionable girl who made a total fool of herself one day. This day will be marked down in the history of the school, forever remembered, the story passed down by jovial seniors much cooler than you shall ever be.

>Kanaya: Mourn briefly while listening to The Cure