A/N: Before you panic and think, ye gods, she's starting another fic that she'll never finish - this one's already done. I won't be posting all of the chapters all at once, but I haven't yet decided on a posting schedule. It won't be once a week, but it won't be once every 12 hours, either. Somewhere between the two. Enough with my blathering! On with the story!

My name is Sookie Stackhouse, and I've been the Queen's telepath since I was eight years old.

When I was eight, my parents took me to see a "specialist" in New Orleans. After that, a whole lot of things happened; those events were unrelated, but they so traumatic and in such rapid succession that they really did a number on my memory. For the most part, I only recall the "on paper" versions of what went down; I don't remember the actual events.

Honestly, I figure it's for the best: what purpose would it serve to remember having watched my family—both parents and my older brother, Jason—drown, while I survived? As far as I was concerned, it wouldn't do me a damn bit of good.

They later told me that we'd had the misfortune of being on a bridge when the river under it flash-flooded. The truck we were in was swept into the river. I don't know how I alone managed to escape, but when I woke up in the hospital three days later, my family was already buried. The doctors hadn't been able to determine when—or if—I was going to wake up; I think Gran—my paternal grandmother—just wanted to get the funeral over and done with. I couldn't blame her for that; she's a tough old lady, but no one should ever have to bury their child. Or their grandchild, for that matter.

I vaguely recall there being some fuss about the amount of time the doctors felt I should stay in the hospital, but Gran wasn't real keen on the idea, whatever it was. I definitely remember that she didn't want to let me out of her sight anytime soon afterward. So when she was contacted by the special "training school" that my parents had enrolled me in just before their untimely demise, she wouldn't let me go unless she went right along with me.

We didn't find out until were already in the Queen's palace in New Orleans, our bags almost completely unpacked, that we'd been tricked. There was no special school for freaky kids like me, just a bunch of vampires who were more than willing to take on two humans if it meant they could have their own telepath.

While Gran and I initially resented Queen Sophie-Anne for having deceived us, over time we agreed that it had all been for the best. The palace lawyer, Mr Cataliades, made sure that we were well-protected by the terms of my contract. I was paid very well, indeed: if I ever had children, their kids could happily live off of the inheritance.

It was all fairly confusing at first, but once the papers were signed, Queen Sophie-Anne was very up-front with us about the fact that not only did vampires exist, but she herself was one. Gran and I took that part fairly well: if telepaths existed, why not vampires?

Vampires were just the tip of the iceberg; there were loads of other races out there. Or so I heard, anyway. I only ever really saw two different races other than vampires.

The palace employed werewolves as daytime guards. They were usually just referred to as Weres, while other were-creatures were referred to as their specific type. I'd heard of a few were-tigers and were-foxes, but I only ever seemed to meet Weres. Aside from the occasional human, they were all I had to practice my telepathy on. They were a bit harder to read than humans, which meant I got really good at sifting through their rather snarly thoughts. They were also easier to block, so I didn't have to focus so hard on my shields when I was around them.

Then there was Mr Cataliades and his nieces, Diantha and Gladiola; they were demons. If Diantha and Glads had been around more often, we might have become really close; as it was, they only came by the palace once every few months, and there was no way for me to keep in touch with them when they were elsewhere. When they were there, we all hung out and got along famously. I didn't have to work on blocking any of them either, because all I ever got from their brains was a low-level humming noise. It was kind of soothing, actually.

All of my mental muscles were honed and trained in one direction. I could read just about anything—vampires being the most important exception to that rule—but I had trouble keeping anything out. Gran once likened me to a gator: they could snap a man in half when they closed their jaws, but you could keep those same jaws closed with a weak rubber band. I wasn't sure how I felt about having my mind compared to a gator's mouth.

Humans had no idea of what sorts of folk were lurking right under their very noses. Every few years, there would be talk about one of the supernatural races announcing their presence to the human world, but it never happened. I was fairly convinced it never would. One of the things I did recall quite well of my pre-palace life was that humans didn't take too kindly to folks from the more unusual walks of life. Even as a child, my odd habits of answering unspoken questions tended to frighten people. They hadn't even questioned my humanity, and they were still scared of me. I didn't see them reacting well to folks who weren't even human.

The vampires' acceptance of me was at least part of why I came to love them; the other main reason was that I couldn't hear their thoughts. Hanging out with vampires was as close to "normal" as I could get. But I hated all of their rituals, their politics, all of their pomp and circumstance. Bless their unbeating hearts, they took themselves entirely too seriously.

Gran's feelings about vampires were a bit more complex: they protected me, but they wouldn't really let me leave; not that I wanted to go anywhere. They used me, but they paid me. I know there was more to it than that, but she was good at keeping her secrets—even from me. I couldn't hear her thoughts easily, and she could block me without really thinking about it. When the Queen found that out, she had some of Gran's blood tested; while Gran turned out to be fully human, she was far more stubborn than most. That was the only explanation we could come up with.

After all of my testing and training—because it hadn't been a total lie that I would receive special training at the Queen's palace—my job was to read the minds of any humans that the Queen interacted with. I did the occasional odd jobs for the vampire Sheriffs that ran the other four Areas within the state of Louisiana, but they always came to the palace for my services, and they never saw me.

I didn't need to be in the same room with a person to be able to hear their thoughts. If you ever get a chance to visit the palace, take a good look around: you'll see an average of two mirrors in every room. That myth about vampires not having a reflection is just that—a myth. Those mirrors aren't for vanity's sake. Chances are, you're being watched from behind at least one of those mirrors. It might just be a security camera, or it might be a security guard. It might even be me. Even if there weren't any humans around whose mind I needed to read, sometimes it was fun to be the proverbial fly on the wall.

Sophie-Anne went to a lot of trouble to keep anyone from knowing who or what I was. Her sheriffs knew that she had a telepath, and from what I heard, several other kingdom-states were aware of my existence. Every few months, a new rumor would be started about the Queen's telepath: he was an old man, she was a middle-aged woman, she was a small girl, or he was a teenage boy. He or she was American, English, Mexican, French, Canadian, Japanese, or maybe even Inuit. Mixed up in those rumors were the occasional random facts, just to throw people off the trail. For example, it was true that I had big blue eyes; granted, the other part of that particular rumor was that I was a were-turtle.

There were times that I really hated growing up in the palace. I suppose that no matter the situation, every kid feels that way at some point. I was isolated, lonely; my only long-term companions were Gran, Sophie-Anne, and her vampire children. The cage might have been gilded, but there was no doubt that it was still a cage.

The only time I tried to run away, I was about thirteen. They didn't even have to go looking for me before I came running home, begging to be let in. It was too big and too loud out there, with all of those minds that I couldn't help but hear. My mental shields were basically non-existent. I tried to work on them after my little adventure, but there wasn't much opportunity to practice; I couldn't very well try to block out the people Sophie-Anne expected me to be listening in on.

With grudging acceptance, I'd started to view Sophie-Anne and the vampires as the lesser evils.

I wanted for nothing, as long as what I wanted was something I could have or experience within the palace walls. I really did have mixed feelings about my inability to travel as far as two blocks away: I wanted to get out and see the world, but I figured all of the noise would drive me insane. Maybe even literally.

The official story explaining my presence in the palace was a small part of the larger truth: I was an orphan, under the care of my grandmother, who was one of the palace's cooks. That was good enough for most people. They didn't bother speculating about me or Gran any more than they bothered wondering about Jose, the ancient human gardener who was the only person allowed to take care of Sophie-Anne's prized roses.

Once I was 16, I was allowed to mingle more freely with other people; the story was then added upon by saying that I was one of the Queen's favorite donors. In fact, the story went that I was one of her favorites, and that only she was allowed to feed on me. No one else could take my blood unless she and I both gave permission. We never did.

While the regular donors seemed to enjoy the experience of giving blood, they could be glamoured. I couldn't; vampire mind tricks had no effect on me. So, to my way of thinking, who knew if the donors really liked giving blood, or if they were just gazed into finding it pleasurable? Knowing my luck, it would hurt like the dickens without that glamour.

Even though I was allowed to mingle with them, I quickly learned to not bother making friends with any of the donors. The ones that lasted any real length of time wound up with brains like Swiss cheese: still sharp, but full of holes. They'd know who they were and why they were there, but they tended to forget day-to-day things, like sharing lunch or watching a movie with the girl who no one knew was the Queen's telepath.

I don't want to give the impression that I was miserable in New Orleans. I wasn't. Not only were Gran and I taken care of, but when my Aunt Linda—Gran's daughter—was diagnosed with some inoperable form of cancer, Queen Sophie-Anne made sure she got better. Linda never knew she was cured with vampire blood; she was glamoured into thinking she'd participated in a series of painful and highly experimental drug treatments that they'd only just started using overseas. As far as she and her daughter Hadley were concerned, it was a miracle cure.

I also got a far better education at the palace than I ever could have gotten in Bon Temps, the little town where I was born. I had special tutors and teachers; there were no other children there, so my classes all went as fast or as slow as I needed. My instructors were, of course, glamoured within an inch of their degrees and diplomas.

Sophie-Anne and I got along well. I suppose she felt to me like some kind of older female relative, but with Gran being the only relative I could remember, I didn't have much basis for comparison. Every year, Sophie-Anne would give me something wonderful for my birthday. She didn't talk to me as if I were a blithering idiot, which was how most vampires tended to talk to humans. If she and I were alone, I could speak openly and without fear of repercussion. Since she had been turned as a teenager, I always felt like I could say anything to her: when I was a child, she was the cool older kid who I idolized; when I was a teenager myself, she was the only one who looked like my peer; by the time I was an adult, she was my Queen, and in some ways, the closest friend I had.

I never assumed the feeling was mutual. She was a vampire queen that all of the other vampires feared and respected. I was a kid. A kid who could read minds, sure, but a kid nonetheless. I never had any illusion of equality between her and I.

My anonymity was a mixed blessing. Since I was one of the Queen's humans, I was more or less left alone. Sometimes that was nice, sometimes it was lonely. That being said, I didn't have a lot of options: I found most humans exhausting. Having to read their minds for work was bad enough. I couldn't imagine spending much of my free time with them. Gran chided me for that, saying I shouldn't look down on anyone. It wasn't so much that I thought poorly of them, it was more that I couldn't be around them without getting migraines.

The only vampires I really spent any time with were Sophie-Anne and her children; they alone knew me for what I was.

Andre was aloof at best; he cared for his Queen and for himself, and in that order. When he and I had to interact, we were polite. We would never be buds, but we didn't hate each other.

Siegbert and Wybert were two Saxon brothers that Sophie-Anne had turned way back when. The Berts were fond of me, and I of them, but even after all of their years in the States, their English was horrid. They were sweet in their own strange way, like a pair of really dumb uncles who would just as soon smile at me as they would decapitate a prisoner. While they were nice to me, they weren't much fun to hang out with. They were better for protection than recreation.

In order to keep up the charade that I was one of Sophie-Anne's donors, I had to be seen mingling with them. Let's just say that the Queen tended to value beauty over brains. There would be no Proust-summarizing competitions with that group.

From time to time, a visiting sheriff or a representative from another State would be invited to dine with the Queen. Whenever that happened, Sophie-Anne always made sure I was never picked. She was subtle about it, suggesting other donors who just-so-happened to not be me. She told one vampire, I don't recall where he was from, that I didn't taste very good, but she kept me around because I reminded her of her first kill. His response was to let out a nostalgic sigh and pick a dark-skinned boy for similar reasons. She told most vampires that I had little to no flavor, and was therefore only good as a "palate cleanser."

(Apparently there was some truth to that; while no one had ever tasted my blood, Sophie-Anne and Andre speculated that it would be almost entirely without flavor, since I had practically no scent.)

I have no idea what the palace vampires thought about these conflicting stories. I never asked. Maybe there was some code, clause or obscure vampire policy that required Sophie-Anne to come up with ridiculous excuses for visiting vampires to not dine on her favored donors. Given how possessive vampires could be, you'd think it would be perfectly acceptable for her to simply say, "Piss off, that one's mine."

Whatever the case, I was never bitten. No one ever really looked twice at me. The donors were all naturally beautiful, but they were still primped and coiffed to be fitting for royalty. In comparison, I thought myself fairly ordinary.

Of all the rumored descriptions of the Queen's telepath, the one thought to be most likely was that of a toothless old hag with frizzy hair, rheumy eyes and halitosis. In other words, absolutely nothing like me.

You'd think that such long-lived creatures might have had plenty of time to recognize that beauty was subjective, but no: most of them were pretty shallow when it came to appearances. If a vampire was unsightly, then they'd been turned because of some extraordinary skill they'd had when they were human. The Berts weren't the handsomest fellows, but they were fierce warriors, and loyal 'til their last ashes.

I saw so many beautiful vampires, I could almost get sick of them. Strange as that might sound, it's the honest truth: they were all beautiful, and all untouchable. Sophie-Anne told other vampires that she had no interest in sharing me. Privately, I got the impression that if she couldn't have my blood or my body, no one else would. It was an odd situation, because I don't know that she particularly desired me in a sexual way. She never came on to me or tried to seduce me. She just didn't want anyone else to play with her toys.

If she did have sexual designs on me, I couldn't tell. Since I couldn't hear vampire thoughts, I had to learn how to read the nuances of their body language. It wasn't easy, since they all came from so many different eras and cultures. An unfamiliar vampire was a closed book, but I got pretty good at interpreting the postures and minute facial expressions of the vampires within the Queen's court.

Again, the majority of them had no clue who or what I was. I watched them the entire time I was growing up, through the one-way mirrors. They were the actors in my own personal soap opera. I had my favorites, of course, just as there were others that I wouldn't mind never seeing again.

As a child, I'd openly stared at them from behind the safety of my mirrors; it was a hard habit to break whenever I was in the same room with them. It didn't really click, how I was supposed to act around them, until I watched the movie Gorillas in the Mist. The trick was to pretend like the vampires were all silverback gorillas: keep a deferential posture, avoid direct eye contact, and always assume that they're going to charge—at least until you learn to figure out when they're just bluffing and posturing. But even then: be respectful, if you want to keep your head.

Yes, I really did fancy myself the Dian Fossey of the supernatural world, except I didn't think they'd ever make a movie about me. I also hoped no one would murder me in my sleep. Still, the jungle wasn't an entirely inaccurate metaphor: it was definitely kill or be killed, drain or be drained. So far, I alone seemed to be an impartial observer, an innocent bystander. While my feedback about the Queen's non-vampire contacts was regularly requested and respected, I always figured I'd be forever separated from the dramas, simply because I always had been.

Logically, I supposed it would only be a matter of time before all of that changed.