TheGreatLyagushka here. I was in a total Trigun kick, so I figured I would rework an old OC of mine, and make her not as Sueish. Don't think I succeeded in that, but I definitely like her a lot more. I've already used the name Elzabet, but, I figured, since this isn't a serious writing that I could just reuse the name.

Uhm, I think that this first part is going to be the only chapter written in first person. I just wanted to rough out her back story a bit. It's important, but I'm not going to focus on it long. Just enough to get a decent picture of the how, the why, the who and the what.

I don't own Trigun or any characters besides Elza. Please remember to critique! I absolutely need it!

I was only a child when I met him. I was a happy, normal child. I loved both my parents unconditionally, and aside from a few spats here and there, they loved each other too. Our home was nothing spectacular, but it was far from a shack. All in all, my life was wonderful.

I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself though. My name is Elzabet Warshed. I am better known by my moniker: Elza the Massacre.

I would have never thought, even for a second, that I could be so...docile, but that idea dissipated into nothingness the second I met him.

You must be wondering who HE is by now. Of course you are. The he that I refer to is none other than Millions Knives. I suppose I was taken by his beauty as a child. I'd always been quite a trusting child, so when he told me that flowers such as myself should not bloom in the desert, I was quite flattered. With a small wave of his hand and a sly smile, he took my hand and effectively dragged me from my home in the bright light of day and pulled me into an exhilarating blackness of which I had never dreamed existed.

I quickly grew accustomed to what Knives wanted of me. There were no sexual favors, of course, but I allowed him to violate my innocent mind; let him fill me up with anger and hatred for my own kin. I was entirely his. If Knives asked me to peel back my skin so he could rip out my still beating heart, I would've asked if he wanted me to pull it out instead so he wouldn't dirty his hands.

I knew that I was nothing to this god of a man, but, foolishly, I tried to gain his trust, thinking that it may very well lead to him loving me. I probably could've made him look at me, but Legato had to intervene at the last second-just like always.

By the time I was eight, I was so doll-like and fragile that I could easily stop grown men in their tracks, something neither Legato nor Knives were very appreciative of. Their solution was to cover up as much of me as possible. Each time I left, I was required to wear a hood, black pants and a black long-sleeve shirt. As much as I hated the coverup, I went along with it without question. If Knives didn't want men staring, then I was glad they didn't.

By nine, I was being trained as a sharpshooter. And I was good. I could hit a bullseye from two hundred feet and a sparrow's egg from four. The gun in my hand was never a weighty piece of technology; it was, instead, an extension of myself. Holding the gleaming steel piece in my hand gave me the kind of comfort most children would get from being cradled by their parents. As Knives so eloquently put it: I was a thing born to kill my fellow man.

I grew each passing day, spending my precious free moments sitting at Knives' feet and reading dusty volumes of poetry from long before my time. I was content to live in this manner for the rest of my life. Ah, but times change.

For years, we remained in statis, sitting silently in the other's presence, him lost in thought and me watching his lovely face change. But, once I hit fifteen, that all changed.

It was late at night. Though I was tired, I buried my nose into my latest volume, sitting peacefully at Knives' feet. In a blur, I was on my feet. "M-master?" I stammered, my eyes widening as his lips crashed into mine, hard enough to make me cut the inside of my lip on my teeth. My body tensed, then relaxed. His tongue slipped past my lips with no resistance, and his hands slid roughly up my back, nails digging painfully into the soft skin of my back. "Lay down." He growled, shoving me hard. I complied with little argument, laying on my back, and staring up at him. He discarded both of clothing, and, in cold silence, I lost my virginity to a man I saw as my god.

Okayyyy. That wasn't the most wonderful thing I've written, but it serves well enough. Thanks for reading!