|They got me in there sights|
|Living the Dangerous Life|

[Y/N]

The car ride to Ninjago City was extremely bland. There was nothing to do for nine hours. Of course, there was sleep, but there comes a point in one's life where your body refuses to fall asleep because you have already rested as much as you needed to. I looked out the window to see that we were pulling up into the back of the bakery.

My new home.
My new responsibility.
My new beginning.
My new life.

I climbed out of my side of the car. I pulled my backpack from in front of me and put it on. I would get my suitcases later. I was searching the parking lot for someone I had been desperately waiting to see. Finally, I found the slightest bit of reddish auburn hair. My aunt, Joanna!

"Jo!" I shouted.

The young Russian female turned around and stared at me. She smiled at me before I took off to give her a hug. She laughed when I gave her a hug.

"How have you been, Joanna?" My mother seethed at her younger sibling.

I let go of the hug to make sure they weren't going to start another one of their squabbles again. The last time that happened was two years ago during our family reunion. As sisters, they were forced to somewhat like each other, but they were total opposites. I still have the faint memory etched into my mind at how my mother blamed her sister for this power of mine. It was years ago, and I was eight then.

"I'm doing fine, Magnolia." No one used my mother's full name. "What about you?"

The bitterness in her tone told me she wasn't pleased with this arrangement. Well, it wasn't new to me. I knew most of my family members were kind of shocked that a seventeen year old got my grandmother's pride and joy: her bakery not her two bickering daughters. I didn't want to be in the middle of their reunion, but I also didn't want to stop it and get in on the fighting, so I walked into the Bakery.

"If it isn't Little Ol' [Y/N]." My cousin, Tristan, said in his country accent.

"I'm not little anymore, Trist." I used the nickname he so desperately despised with a burning passion.

He chuckled at me. "You still are to me, Nani."

The name he called me was an inside joke between both of us. I don't even remember how it even circulated, but he still called me it.

"Your room is upstairs. I made sure you got the attic despite you hating enclosed spaces, spiders, and the dark." Tristan warned me.

"Thanks for the effort." I said sarcastically walking up the stairs.

The attic wasn't even that bad. It had more light than one might think, but there was no AC or heater in the attic. It wasn't because the AC and heater were broken or the possibility that we didn't have It. Trust me, we had AC and heat. It just didn't go to that room.

In the summer, we had two fans in the attic one on the south side and the other on the north. However, in the winter, I would be wearing a sweatshirt, hoody, or one of those blanket poncho/ wrap things twenty-four seven. Not to mention I would be using the candle for heat and light. We may live in the twenty-first century, but a candle lantern is still, essentially, a good backup if anything were to happen. I plopped my backpack on the floor next to the bed.

The attic, as I soon noticed, was covered in cobwebs and spiders. I was so grateful in that moment I got out of the Arachnophobia phase from my tweens. The attic was smaller than I imagined It was, but it still held enough room for all my furniture including my large bookshelf. The movers would get here by tomorrow, but for now. I just had my suitcase with me, so I was good on clothes. I was brought out of my trance by a knock on the door.

"I think you should go down to the bakery. Get yourself acquainted with it. It is yours afterall." Mom told me.

I saw tears brim in my mother's eyes as what she said finally sunk into her. My grandmother was dead. Her mother was dead. I had lost my best friend, but she lost her mother.

"Mom, do you want to help me bake?" I asked her.

I was hoping that would make her feel better: to be in the place her mother adored. The funeral was in a couple of weeks and we were having it in the bakery itself. I was hoping it would give her something to smile about besides the fact that she couldn't bake like my grandmother: The person who taught me how to bake.

"That's fine, kiddo. I don't understand how you can still want to bake, but it is what she would have wanted." No one was hurting more than the elder daughter of five children.

You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to see that. Grandma taught me how to bake and it was our thing. Grandma's abd mom's thing was needle work, quilting, and anything to do with arts and crafts. I turned towards my mother and gave her a hug. A hug I knew she desperately needed.

"Promise me you won't get carried away like her. Promise me you won't get yourself killed, [Y/N]." She sobbed.

She was talking about my power. My powerful powers. The ones that had been stolen from her. She was now out of her element quite literally. The same element that connected Grandma to mom, and, finally, to me, and by extension it connected Grandma and me together.

"I'm still weak, mom. It won't happen to me." I whispered to her.

I felt her nod her head, and I walked towards the kitchen in the first floor where the baking was going to be at.