I like DNAngel, but I still think the end sucks, anyway this idea popped into my head and I realized that Dark fit the description so I decided to use this anime for my story.

Please enjoy all the blood and death in there...

This is also a one-shot

He was lonely, a dark shape everybody feared. He decided to make himself a friend. He found a woman, pregnant with twin little girls. He made a few chants and one of two, small, beating hearts turned black.

Her first picture was that of a human-like shape, a stick-figure.

It's face, surprisingly accurate, scrunched up in pain, it's small hands around the middle of the body line. A creepy knife stabbed right through it's back, blood, red blood seeping through and on the paper around it. Red blood, the only color on the black and white picture.

That was her first picture, at the age of five.

As she grew, she drew more and more accurate pictures. Every new picture more vivid than the last. All in the same technique. Black and white drawing, with red blood seeping from the wound of a knife.

At the age of ten, she had no more friends, but one. One that no other could see. Even her own twin left her for better. They deemed her crazy, a wicked child. Spawn of the devil, marking, drawing, some even believed, predicting others demise. Nobody knew that something happened to every person she drew...

Her eyes were becoming more and more wicked, from that warm, chocolate brown everybody knew to the ones with a crazy, reddish gleam to them. To him, she was all more pretty. Soon, her hair followed the same fate.

At the age of fifteen, her parents became more worried then ever. Her pictures, always the same, seemed almost alive, yet they showed only death. Always the same, yet always a different face, man or woman, all stabbed through back.

When faces of her friends, classmates, teachers, persons from town started appearing on the pictures, the knew they had to do something. They were afraid somebody might take her pictures as a treat. But non of people died. Though many got into arguments and broke of connections, or maybe, every one of them.

Her parents then decided, when she started talking about her friend, invisible friend. How she described him in full detail, violet eyes and dark violet almost black hair. With big black, feathery wings on his back. She called him her best friend. That's when they sent her to a mental institution.

She wasn't broken, no, she still talked about her friend, and drew pictures, and with every new picture, the scene of death became more clear. Every one so different yet always the same. A person, stabbed through back, dagger poking out from their chest, blood seeping from the wound and soaking the clothes of the person. Flowing onto the paper and almost of the page, the faces of victims scrunched up in pain, yet their eyes opened wide with fear.

And every day her pictures looked more and more like black and white photos of murders, with only one exception. A winged shadow standing behind every person, wide, pearly white smile on the, what seemed to be, the shadows face.

The doctors didn't know how to help the poor girl, she started trashing when they tried to take away her paper and pens, but aside from that, there was nothing they could do, nothing they could make out of her condition, a mystery.

Only one knew. She called him her friend, her dark angel that watched over her, the one she trusted, the one she called her love.

The last picture she drew was of herself, a picture with eyes as red as blood that seeped from the wound on her chest, and hair as fire. But her eyes were as cold as the ones of her killer.

The killer, no more a mere shadow, stood behind her. His eyes as cold and lifeless as the blood covered, cold metal of the dagger he held. His lips stretched into that cold, sinister smile he wore in every picture. But he was no ordinary killer either. Big, ebony black, feathered wings stretched behind him.

They never heard a scream of agony, nor pleading for help, not a sound was made, from a girl that drew her own destiny. When they came in, they were terrified. She was lying there, in a pool of her own crimson blood. There was a dagger stabbed through her back, it went out through her front, the crimson blood splattered over the dress, they didn't knew she possessed. What made them more worried was the blood that was slowly turning into pure black.

Later, they discovered the picture, thinking they could identify the killer. Nobody had seen such a man, or better, boy. And then her family remembered, the hour-long descriptions of her beloved imaginary friend. But nobody knew what meaning it had.

The only other evidence they found was a few stray, black feathers, slowly soaking in the now black blood.

She was looking through the window, crimson eyes looking at every person in the room around her body. Her, now fiery red hair blowing in the wind, and beautifully wicked crimson wings flapping behind her back. Then she looked at her dark angel, her reaper.

He was looking at her with something between love and sorrow. She knew she was now his, and only his. But she would never be free again.

Only now she realized what fate she drew for others, that was never death. It was never to be killed, but to be hurt.

And yet she couldn't tell if she was glad or sad she met such fate she predicted for others. If the justice was served.

That is how she became a curse, one of humans most deadly flaw, or sin. She became the angel of betrayal. The one in hand with the darkness of human heart. The dark angel.

„We have to go Riku."

„Yes, Dark."

So, how do you like it? Please tell me...

R&R

And look at my profile for any updates and information on the story Beastly I'm writing

Kuroneko is out :3