I'm Teenage Bibliophile and this is my first ever published fanfiction. Here's a few things you should know before you start reading:

1.) There are LOTS of OCs and subplots. If you don't like fanfics that have OCs then you should stop wasting your time and go read something you will enjoy. BUT there will be canon charachters and Puckabrina galore.

2.) This prologue centers around two of my OCs who will become very important as the story progresses. I know it's long and you might find it boring since it lacks Puckabrina. But you need to read it in order to make sense of the story later on. However I will make up for it in the next chapter which will mostly be pure, unadultured fluff.

3.) I began witing this story between books 8 and 9, so it takes place immediatly after book 8. There are no spoilers or references to book 9.

4.) FLAMERS THIS MESSAGE IS FOR YOU: Go get a life and stop being first class bum-rags. If you flame me I shall come after you with one of those high pressure hoses they have at the fire department at full blast and extinguish your wimpy little flame heads. You have been warned.

5.) I am not Michael Buckley. If I was the entire nineth book would have been Puckabrina.

This fanfiction is dedicated to:

Annie, who always listens. This fanfic wouldn't be what it is now if it weren't for you. Thank you.

This chapter is dedicated to:

My little brother. Congratulations on completing fifth grade!

Prologue: The Color of Scarlet

Her eyes snapped open abruptly, and she stared up at the creamy, off-white ceiling. Where am I, she thought. She sat up groggily, and her head began to spin like she had just gotten off a thrill ride. She rubbed it as she studied her new surroundings.

She was lying in a bed from which she had a perfect vantage point of the room. It wasn't that strange of a place, just a normal kid's bedroom. But, she didn't recognize it, which of course, made it the strangest thing in the world.

The walls were a generic off white and plastered with karate posters and photos of a young Chinese girl. There were photos of other people, too. Mostly of a couple who were undoubtedly the girl's parents and two other little girls. One had skin the color of coffee and a black, curly mane of hair. The other was a slightly more serious girl with golden hair and stormy blue eyes.

Is this my room? But that was crazy. If it was her room she would remember it, wouldn't she? Then another thought snuck into her head. I can't remember anything, she realized. I don't even know my own name. A feeling began to claw at her stomach, twisting it into knots and wringing it out like a wt cloth.

Panic.

Just calm down, she told herself, just take a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Now think. It was like an instinct was kicking in. Just remain calm, breath and think. Never stop thinking. And never panic.

It was almost like she had been in a situation like this before.

Just think.

She opened her eyes again. Of course, the room! There had to be an answer somewhere in there. She scanned the bedroom. Now the important question was were to start.

There was a book shelf in one corner, filled to the brim with chapter books and, oddly enough, old scrolls. This piqued the girl's interest, and she pushed back the sheets and stood up. She did it to quickly though, and she had to clutch the headboard for a moment as eh swayed uncertainly. There were little spots in her vision and for one terrifying moment she thought she was going to faint. But, soon she regained her strength and was able to walk shakily to the bookshelf.

Gingerly, she picked up one of the scrolls. It was older than she had first thought, ancient even. She carefully unrolled it, the yellowing parchment crinkling in her hands. The first thing she noticed was that the scroll was written in Chinese, not English. The second, far stranger thing, she realized was that she could read it.

"The Ballad of Mulan." she murmured the title out loud.

Above the bookshelf hung a large mirror, and as she looked into it the girl gasped at what she saw. A young girl, no older than eight, with perfectly straight black hair falling down her back and eyes so dark it was nearly impossible to tell the irises from the pupils.

The girl from the photos.

She suddenly felt light headed again, and gripped the bookcase for support. Think. Think. Think. She repeated it like a mantra as the stomach twisting feeling began to return. That's me, she thought, that's definitely me. But, I don't remember.

The fact that she couldn't even remember her own name scared the girl. In a panic, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying with all her might to remember. She stood like that for a long time. Exactly how long, she didn't know.

Ever so slowly the girl opened her eyes. Hoping that when she did all the answers would be right in front of her.

And they were.

The girl jumped when she saw the boy's reflection in the mirror in front of her.

"H-how did you get in here." She stammered. She hadn't heard him come in. No door opening. No footsteps. It was like he had just materialized out of thin air.

"Good morning." The boy said, ignoring her. He was a teenager, probably somewhere around fifteen. He had hair that was such a deep brown, it almost looked black, and brown eyes that would have reminded the girl of dog's eyes. If they weren't so cold and emotionless, that is.

"Answer my question!" The girl snapped, whipping around to face him. Her voice was steadier now that she had gotten over her initial shock. But, she was still nervous. There was something strange about the boy. He made her feel angry and happy and scared all at the same time.

"How did you get in my room?" The words 'my room' felt strange on her lips. But, it was her room—who else's would it be—and at the moment, it was the only thing she had.

The boy grinned mischievously in response. No, mischievous wasn't the right word. There was another word to describe that look. What was it?

"I have my ways." He said, disrupting the girl's thoughts.

"Who are you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "What do you want?"

"I think the question you would rather have answered, is who are you? I could tell you." He replied coolly, taking a step in her direction. The girl instinctively stepped back. She thought she saw him frown for a moment, but it only lasted a second before he resumed his usual expression.

"You're lying." She said. She didn't know why, but she didn't trust the boy. Still, there was something in his eyes that told her he was telling the truth.

"No, I'm not." His voice was smooth like silk, and the girl found herself wanting to believe him.

"But, how?" She asked baffled.

The boy grinned again. "That's a long story."

Malicious. That was the word the girl was looking for. His smile was malicious. And so is the rest of him, she thought.

"Would you like to know?"

"What?" she said. She hadn't meant to seem stupid; he had just interrupted her thoughts. But, she could see him loose his resolve again with a quick roll of his eyes.

"Your memories. Would you like them back?" She studied the boy again. She didn't trust him any farther than she could throw him. But, if he could give her back her memories—what did she have to lose?

"Okay," she reluctantly agreed, "I'll do it."

The boy raised his left hand, and the girl saw that he was wearing a black glove to match his leather jacket. He removed the glove and the girl gasped in shock. His hand was horribly burned, as if the boy had stuck it into a bonfire. Despite the girl's initial dislike of the boy, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Whatever had caused the burn must have been horrible. The boy noticed her staring and lost his cool demeanor for a third time.

"It's horrible, isn't it?" The boy said sadly.

"How did you—what happened?" She asked.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh." She whispered, embarrassed that she had stuck her nose in the boy's private business.

The boy started toward her, and the girl tensed instinctively.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The boy said. He sounded so sincere, and the girl stared into his eyes. They weren't heartless any more, they were soft and comforting and oddly familiar.

"You promise?" She asked. She didn't care how sweet his eyes looked, she still didn't trust him.

He hesitated a moment before answering, "No." and averting his gaze.

"It will hurt won't it? Getting my memories." She guessed.

"Yes." He replied.

"I still want them though." The boy nodded and walked toward the girl. This time she didn't tense her muscles or back away. She just let him come; although, she did twitch slightly when he placed the palm of his hand on her forehead.

The boy's hand was ice cold, and it felt almost dead. A shiver went up the girl's spine.

"It will come at a price." The boy warned. "Some part of you will change."

"What do you mean? What will change?" The girl was starting to question her decision now.

"I don't know." He answered exasperated. The girl could tell he was just as sick as she was at not having all the answers. Despite her distrust of him, she had to know. How could she go around not knowing her own name?

"I'll do it. I want to know who I am." The girl said.

The boy nodded and said, "Alright." But his heart wasn't in it, and the girl could see a terrible sadness in his eyes that he wasn't even attempting to cover up anymore.

"Are you okay?" She asked him.

"I'm fine." He snapped, but his eyes were reminding the girl more and more of a puppy's each minute. He locked those eyes onto hers, and for a moment the girl saw a million different emotions play across them. There was everything from remorse to anger, but the strangest emotion the girl saw, was love.

And then, with absolutely no warning, it started.

The boy's icy hand began to burn hotter than boiling water. If the girl questioned her decision before, she utterly regretted it now. She tried desperately to squirm away from the boy and his burning hand, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't move. She was completely paralyzed.

After several long and painful moments, the boy removed his hand. The girl gasped for breath, but she barely had a chance, before another wave of pain, this time with the force of a tsunami, washed over her. She let out an ear splitting shriek of agony as she doubled over in pain.

An entire lifetime of images flashed through her mind in a fraction of a second, making her head feel as if it would split open. But, the pain only worsened. The girl's head now seemed to be on fire, and there was a horrible squirming sensation. It was as if something was growing out of her head. And then, as quickly as it had started, the pain stopped.

Chang Li lay on her bedroom floor as she gulped down breath after breath of sweet oxygen. The boy knelt down beside her. She searched her new found memories, but he was completely absent from them.

"Never forget me." He whispered desperately in her ear, "Whatever you do, never forget." He stood up to leave, slipping the glove back over his macabre hand.

"Wait!" Chang cried, grabbing the boy by his other hand, "My name is Chang Li."

He looked at her a moment, and then said, "I know."

"Exactly." She said.

"Excuse me?"

She stood up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I've never met you, but you know who I am. Who are you?" She said, with a forcefulness way beyond her eight years.

"I have to go." The boy replied.

Chang stomped her foot in frustration. "Stop ignoring me!"

"Red." He mused after a moment.

"What?" Chang replied baffled.

"It's my favorite color, red. It's the color of rebirth and freedom." He turned to look her in the eye, "And blood."

"Well, that explains everything." Chang said her sarcastic nature beginning to surface.

He strode back to her across the room, and knelt down to whisper in her ear again. "You don't remember do you?" His whisper was so quite, Chang could barely hear him, "What happened to you and the others last night." Chang stared at him dumbfounded. What the boy was saying know made even less sense then anything else he had told her.

"You'll remember someday," he began again, "and when you do, promise me you won't think badly of me. I did what I had to do, and now I regret it." He looked at her waiting for a response. Chang just stared back.

"Promise me!" He yelled.

"I-I promise." Chang stammered, losing the cool attitude that she would come to be known for.

The boy nodded in relief. Then he did something that caught her completely off guard.

He hugged her.

Hugged her like his life depended on it, like he was lost in an endless ocean and Chang was his life preserver. Like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning in a murky abyss.

Chang was so taken aback that she just stood there, stock still and stiff. She wanted so badly to push him away. To slap him across the face and demand to know exactly who he though he was that he could just pop out of thin air in a little girl's bedroom and speak riddles and answer some of her questions and not others and then hug her. HUG her! Like they were old friends.

But there was another part of her that was just a little eight-year-old girl, who not only minutes before, had been lost and confused. Had been alone. And now here someone was. Someone who had told her who she was. Who, as cold and hard as he seemed, also seemed to genuinely care about her. Who was clutching her close to his chest like he would never, ever let her go.

"Please," he whispered into her ear. "Don't forget." And he sounded so desperate and lost and alone, just like she had felt not to long ago, that she couldn't help but wrap her arms around him in return.

And then he vanished. Without a sound. He just disappeared into thin air. Leaving Chang clutching at emptiness like the boy had never even been there. Like he was just a dream, Chang thought and then she caught herself.

No, she thought to herself. No, he was real. I promised him I would remember and I will.

And then Chang turned around and all the doubts were chased from her mind as she saw her reflection. Because, there she was, the same skinny third-grader with the same round face and coal black eyes. Exactly the same, except for the blood red strands streaking her black hair.

Some part of you will change, he had said. This must have been it. The price of her memories. Chang breathed a sigh of relief, she had to admit when the boy had told her that she would change, she thought it would be serious. But this wasn't nearly as bad she thought. Actually, she kind of liked it.

0==[]:::::::::::::

The deluge of water hitting the plastic basin of the bath tub sounded like a mini waterfall. To Chang, it was a calming and normal white noise after the surreal events of the morning. It wasn't even breakfast yet and Chang's head was already spinning because of all the impossible things that had happened. But, then again, everyday was an adventure when your mother was a character from an ancient Chinese legend.

Chang stood up and pulled off her night gown, yet another thing that didn't make any sense. The nightgown was thin and white and it was loosely tied in the back. Chang knew from her many experiences in the hospital because of various misadventures, that what she was wearing was a hospital gown. But, she hadn't been in the hospital since last winter when one of the school boys had dared her to ride a sled down the slide on the play ground and she had broken her arm.

Chang held the hospital gown up in front of her and studied it. Today just can't get any weirder, she thought. But, as Chang would say again years later, the universe just loved to prove her wrong. Because just then a folded up note fell out of the hospital gown's pocket. Chang picked it up the note and unfolded it. It was written on a small piece of crumpled and dirty paper in an almost unintelligible scrawl:

Don't believe anything. Everything they tell you is wrong.

You can't trust anyone. Not even yourself.

-Y.F.

Chang dropped the note in astonishment. What was going on? Who was Y.F.? What did the note even mean? But then something reflected in the mirror caught her eye and all these questions fled her mind as she slowly turned around and gasped in horror.

Running diagonally down Chang's back, from her left shoulder to her right hip, was a long, jagged scar. A scar that hadn't been there when she went to bed the night before.

It was the color of scarlet.

Thanks for reading! Did you like it? Yes? No? It doesn't matter if you thought it was the worst crap on this whole website. Just let me know! Review! Please!