Hello people!
This is my first fanfic, Its mostly building the character up first, so I apologize for any inconvenience. This book is more tragedy, pain and evil than love. Well I mean my OC does fall in love, but tragically. HOPE YOU ENJOY!
PS: I do not own the Avengers, only my OC
~Chapter one~
Born from the shadows
The guard past her cell, she still had not moved, she still had not eaten. Why should he care? as long as she's breathing he got paid. The guard peered through the small glass opening, his eyes fell on the frail, small figure facing the corner. She had long, brown, hair that was tangled from her flailing and fighting against her bindings , she has only recently stopped.
The guard knocked on her door, she did not budge. She sat there, staring at the wall. He knew she was insane, just like the others, but she seemed different. He stepped back from the door and looked at the sign beside the door, it read "128F". He knew that all Prisoners where stripped from there name when they arrived, they wouldn't need it here, but he was curious who she was.
I stared at the wall, the white, plane, cold wall that smelled of sickness and chemicals. I can't remember how long I was sitting, but I couldn't help but stare. I was trying to remember who I am, who I was. They had stripped me of my rights as soon as they strapped me into this straight jacket, I was so isolated, I had forgotten my name.
I had heard the muffled sound of boots, shuffling around the marble floor not to long ago. I knew that the person was long gone, but I couldn't help but thank him for checking if I was still breathing, checking if I was still here. I thought that I was forgotten to the world by now... I smiled. How could they forget me? I didn't know who I was, but I sure as hell knew what I had done.
8 days, I stared at that wall. I barley blinked, I didn't sleep. I was constantly straining my mind to remember. I heaved a sigh, my eyes were growing heavy. I layed on the floor and gently slipped into sleep.
I dreamt of where I had came from. The day I was brought to the church, the day my parents had died. The church raised me like there own, but I never fit in. The other children would tease me, so I spent my days in the shadows, happy that no one noticed me. I was a troubled child, I spent my time climbing and watching crows fly by. The first thing I had ever killed was a dog, when I was 10. The dog looked up at me from the ground, he was barking and scaring all my crows away. In my eyes the dog was a beast, a noisy vermin that smelled like fish. I grabbed a branch, snapping it off. It was pointed and sharp, I lept of the tree and landed on the large dog, impaling his neck.
I remember the blood the most, it stained my brisk, white shirt. The dogs whimpering and whining had died down and he lay limp on the blood soaked ground. The last thing I remember was the screeching of the crows that circled around me and dove for the dog, ever scince then I was a cold blood killer.
My eyes snapped open from the loud banging on my door.