Hello dearies, so I know some of you are probably wondering why I haven't been updating my other stories so I wanna start off by saying I'm soooo sorry! I'll be getting to those soon and hopefully I'll be able to update them regularly.

As you can see I'm starting another story, and it's another OC/SI fic that has been stuk in my head for a while. The theme is a little used up ut I'm hoping to put a new spin on mine. If you've been a reader of my stories you'll notice I'm a fan of adding a bit of darkness to my fics so this one will be no different but I'm hoping to add some humor as well.

Before we jump in, I kinda wanna put out the fact that making a fic with a OC/SI is a bit difficult, and it's almost impossible without someone saying it's a Mary-sue or unrealistic. SOOOOO before we even get into it I would like to point out that this is MY story, MY plot, and MY OC! If you don't like them or you think she is mary-sueish then please don't waste both of our times by rudely critisizing me or my ideas just go find something else you wanna read. If you have constructive criticism and wanna share that's fine! But don't be an asshole please :}

On with the story!

~~~xXx~~~

I've never really cared much for life. That's not to say that I didn't have passions, because I did, and I like to think that I had talent in the things I liked to do. I was an avid artist and had a few of my drawings showcased at a tiny up-and-coming art gallery in my freshman and sophmore year of high school. I also played the flute and violen, as well as ran track. One of the things I'm most proud of is my dancing though, mostly ballet, but I wasn't too bad at classical and even a bit of hiphop.

So why did I care so little for life you ask? Well, it's simple really. Besides my hobbies, I never made any connections to another human being. No friends, no people I interacted with on a daily basis besides my parents, and even then my parents only acknowledged me with criticism and abuse.

Abuse is such a dark and taboo thing in the world, something no one wants to talk about or call attention to besides the manditory school assemblies and such when the teachers explain what it is and how to spot it. Bruises, skittish, withdrawn or standoffish attitude, avoidance of being touched, bad hygene ect. They spew the basic knowledge of it all, telling us that if we or someone we know is in this situation to tell a trusted adult. That was the day I realised that what happened to me wasn't normal and that not all chidren were beaten and starved and so much more for just being born.

I was six at the time in first grade and my naive and trusting self decided that I would take the nice lady's advice and tell someone about it. I told my teacher who took me to the principle's office and they called Child Protective Services who came and spoke to me. Worst. Mistake. Ever! They came to my house, interveiwed my mother and father who spun this great story of how I was an attention seeker who hurts and burns herself when she doesn't get her way. Load of shit, but they believed them and closed the case.

I never told another person again, obviously, so I went through my life with no friends and parents who hated me for breathing. I never did figure out why, I only had my assumptions which were that they were too young and were forced to grow up without wanting to and they believed it to be my fault. Whatever, after I turned ten I stopped caring and crying over it. I stopped wishing for my life to be different and crushed the last bit of hope and childlike innocence I had to be able to survive.

The only things I enjoyed during my life was art, music, dancing, books, and anime. Oh I was an anime freak I'll admit, I enjoyed it all. Inuyasha, Death Note, Fullmetal Alchemist, but my favorite was by far Naruto. I loved the story line, the idea of ninjas, but I most enjoyed the fact that even though Naruto Uzumaki was hated and labeled a demon he was able to acheive his dream and save the world. Cheesy I know, but I can't help it. I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Probably because mine wasn't.

I was seventeen when I died, March 19th to be exact, a month after my birthday. My father had come to me that day and told my to pack my things because a friend of his who owned a smuggling business (scumbag, that guy was) had helped my father sell me to a man who needed a sexual slave in Europe. Now, I knew my parents hated me and that they wanted rid of me but I figured they would just kick me out on my eighteenth birthday, not sell me to a man from another country. I was floored. So I did the only thing I could think to do in that moment, and no I really didn't regret it.

I went into the bathroom, ran a warm bath, got in with all my clothes on and cut from my wrists to the inside of my elbows on both arms. As I layed there slowly bleeding to death, I didn't feel fear, I didn't worry about the afterlife because I already decided I'd probably be going to Hell. I smiled for the first time in years because I finally felt free and in control. This was my choice, I didn't regret it and I was going to die on my own terms by my own hands. I was happy. It took a while before the world finally went black and I stopped feeling the sting in my arms as I lost all feeling and just let go.

~~~xXx~~~

I didn't wake up in Hell like I thought I would, there was no eternal fire and lake of the damned, there was just nothing. It was dark all around and I was kinda cramped. It was warm and I felt safe for the first time in my life. But I was dead wasn't I? I was so confused. It took a while before I started hearing voices, a muffled woman's voice who sounded like she was singing sometimes, but I could never make out any words. A gruff man's voice would sometimes be heard too but not as much as the woman's.

I'm not sure how long it was, but one day the space I inhabited started to constrict around me, forcing me to move somewhere. I was frightened, I didn't know what to do or where I was going so I screamed. Color and sound erupted around me as I was pushed out of what appeared to be a woman. Oh! I was just born! So I guess that theory of reincarnation was legit after all, awesome. I stopped crying as I looked around me to try and see where I was, but everything was so blurry. Curse my newborn eyesight!

I was finally cleaned off and wrapped in a soft cotton blanket before being handed to the woman who I assumed was my mother. Being so close to her I could make out her features and let me tell you, she was beautiful. Long, flowing pure white hair, porcelain skin, and large glowing red eyes. Her canines were sharper than most and she had beautiful tattoos of intricate designs starting from the middle of her forehead and fanning out to frame her face, going down her cheeks, close to her ears, and down her neck. I stared in awe of the woman before me, silently sending a selfish prayer that I got her features, and she smiled back at me with eyes full of love and adoration. I had never once been looked at like that, so I soaked up up as I let out a giggle.

The most magical moment I've ever had was broken by the gruff voice I head before, who I assumed was my father, saying something in a language I didn't understand but could place in an instant because of my love for animes. I was Japanese? Okay, I could work with that. But as I watched the light slowly leaving my mother's eyes and tears replace it, I began to whimper. What was going on? Why was she crying, and why did her grip slowly start to loosen like she was loosing strength at a rapid pace? She spoke then, her voice soft and light like a gentle breeze that flowed over you and calmed you in an instant, but her tone was so sad and weak. I didn't understand what she was saying but I could read her facial expressions like I had been doing it forever. Love, Gentleness, Fear, and Pain.

She was dying and I could feel it. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I felt her life force slowly flowing away from her and it scared me so bad that I began to cry again. She started crying as well and that's when I was taken from her arms. I kicked and screamed but my tiny body didn't deter my new father from turning away from my mother and walking away. I was able to look at her from over his shoulder and I watched as she cried and took her last breath.