A/N: Okay, I've been a little antsy about posting this because of the view on OC stories and their quality. I actually went and read other stories AND their reviews to get ideas on how I should write this well. I'll let you all know now that I'll try to keep canon/OC situations OUT of this story (it wouldn't be like my character anyway). So… yeah! If you have any way I can keep far from the predictable OC storyline then I'd love to hear it.

I remember that night. I can remember every moment, every gunshot, every flicker of flame against the cold metal of the Asylum's walls. And to think it all started so normally.

I was in Solitary Confinement, where I spent a lot of my time in Arkham. The doctors found my one weakness – fire. It was who I was, something I needed, something I cherished. It's power, it's destructive abilities with no remorse, something I wished I could be. And with a match in my hand, sparkling red against my charred fingertips, I wouldn't randomly attack guards, or weaker inmates. Of course, I would react should said inmates bother me with a match.

Nothing much happened, really. I barely singed his scalp before they had dragged us apart, patting the fire out of his ridiculously long hair. I didn't know his name, and I didn't feel the need to. They had to shave his head though, showing even more of the hideous scars he had littered his body with.

And in a knee-jerk reaction they took me down to Solitary, throwing me into one of the hanging cells and throwing several half-full packs of matches in with me so I wouldn't scream myself hoarse or scratch at the impenetrable metal walls. I was perfectly fine like that.

I sat for hours, slowly burning each match as the clean wood burnt down to become twisted, black residue, the flame travelling to the absolute tip and painfully scorching my fingers, reminding me this wasn't some eternal punishment after death, but a real place. Real pain, real place.

For the most part, you were meant to stay in Solitary for days. This explained my utter surprise when the cage began to move, swaying as it was dragged noisily along the conveyors. I was thrown onto my side as it clanged noisily to a stop. Whoever was controlling this either didn't care much for whoever was inside, or had never run the system before. I heard the clattering of shoes against the metal above my head, looking above in hopes of seeing who my savior was. The cell continued to swing for several more moments, the matches around my feet rolling about quietly. In one sudden movement a crowbar slammed through the thin gap between the door and the other walls, ripping the door away and sending in smashing into the floor. Light flooded through, burning my eyes slightly. Blinking and removing me arm I took slow steps forward, waiting. I saw no one, only empty floor. Suddenly, a white painted face with a Cheshire grin and a mop of green hair looked down from the top of the cell, smiling creepily at me.

"Helloooo…."

A/N: Yep, that's all for now. Short, but just a chance for you to see my character. Yep – she tried to set Victor on fire, but she didn't know who he was. Remember, this follows the Arkham Asylum storyline, because… that's cool. Review, please! And remember, flame will be used to roast marshmellows.