Woot~! Okay, now. Whoever figures out who the girl's dad is first gets do decide... Um... Her hair length/style! ... You know, in the next chapter... Oh, I dunno, some kind of little prize like that. First shot at VK, I think I did pretty well, coming up with this little plot for my OC. But anyway. Enough of that. On with the Prologue! ... Or Epilogue! ... The part that comes before the actual storyline. Whatever. n.n;;

Chapter 0: Mama

''Mama, we all go to hell.''

"Such a naughty girl..."

SNAP.

I screamed. Mama's stiletto heel dug harder into my tiny calve. I was bad again. I asked about Papa. He left and hasn't come back. Mama says it's all they're fault. Papa loves them more than us...

Her foot lifted, and she crouched down to my eye level, her pretty green eyes dulled. Mama always looks like this when I'm in trouble. She cupped my cheek in one dainty hand, staring at me, though her eyes had this faraway look in them. "You look so much like him..."

I cringed. Mama doesn't like how I look. I look too much like Papa. She said once my eyes make her sick to her stomach. And another time, she chopped my hair so short, the scissors stabbed my scalp and I bled. It's dark, like Papa's. Like his heart, she said.

Her nails dug into my chin and I whimpered. Mama's eyes sharpened and turned disgusted. Uh oh. Did I do something wrong..? That's right, Mama says I'm bad when I make a noise.

"You look like him," she hissed, standing in a whirl of soft lavender silk and flowing blonde hair. "But you're weak. He was so strong..."

Her voice faded. I panted from the pain in my leg. I should be used to this by now. I pressed my forehead to the cool hardwood floor, struggling to lift my tiny seven-year-old body off the floor. I managed to get to my hands and one good knee when Mama's cold hand wrapped around the ankle of my freshly broken leg. I gasped and smacked my chin on the floor as she started to pull, dragging me along the floor. The door bell rang. We both froze. "Miss Yagari. It's the police. Please, may we speak with you?"

I looked back at Mama slowly, terrified. She snarled quietly and stared at me. My young mind reeled at the hatred in the look. This was bad. Mama hated it when my screams brought the police by. One of her deceptively small hands lifted me by the front of my faded sun dress. She brought my face close to hers, breathing softly against my mouth. A familiar taste numbed my throat. She wrenched the hall closet open and flung me inside without a thought, shutting the door quietly on my silent screams of pain.

"Coming, coming!" I heard her over the pain, her voice soft and sweet. Her footsteps clacked down the hall.

My skinny hands shakily felt around my broken, swelling leg. I screamed, but no sound came out. Mama's no-talking spell again. She used it whenever there were people around, because she didn't want anyone to know she had a daughter with that man. I leaned limply against a wall I couldn't see, tears leaking down my sunken cheeks. Why did Papa leave us? Why does he love them more? Mama said once that his hatred for them is stronger than his love for us. I didn't quite understand anything beyond Papa didn't like us. It made me sad, because he always acted so nice before...

The door flung open suddenly. I didn't look at Mama. I could feel her rage. The police were nagging her. She could get in trouble. And it was all my fault.

"Look what you've done again."

Her hand shot out and grabbed the first thing it touched; my hair. She yanked me up and out, walking briskly to the living room. I kicked and screamed and cried in silence. Mama was really mad this time. More than I could ever remember. She dragged me onto the couch and sat on the opposite end, face in her hand tiredly. I dragged my busted leg up onto the couch, sobbing to my heart's desire now. Mama wouldn't hurt me for it with the no-talking spell on. The couch was much better than the shoe covered floor of the closet. But my leg was twice it's normal size now. I stared at it, willing it to heal up like Mama used to do to my cuts, back when Papa still pretended to love us. But Mama won't teach me like she promised.

I looked back up and went still. Mama was playing with her athame. The sharp, cerated blade shone in the dim light. She looked at me, smiling her sweet smiled usually saved for strangers. It terrified me more than when she gave me mad looks. "Mama?" I mouthed.

Faster than I could follow, her arm stretched up and lashed down. There was a split-second when I was wondering what she was doing, when a fountain of blood erupted from my left eye. I was in such shock, looking at my hands, watching the river of blood leak into my palms, there was no pain. Mama leaned forward and patted my sore head gently, absently admiring her athame, the knife she uses in her rituals. It's supposed to be a sacred knife, but Mama uses hers badly. It was covered in my blood.

"Don't mistaken me, Bri." She smiled lovingly at me, green eyes shining. "You are my precious child. I love you."

She flipped the knife suddenly, holding it backwards. Her arm stretched over her head again. Somewhere, some instinctive part of me buried deep inside, said she was going to kill me, I should run. I couldn't move. I closed my good eye, waiting.

Instead, there was a gurgling noise, and something heavy slumped against my tiny body. Quivering, my eye opened slowly. A silent scream erupted from my throat, horror filling every nook and cranny of my being. Mama stared up at me, lips moving like a fish out of water. Her body jerked, and she went still, eyes going dim. But this was a different kind of dim. The dagger burrowed to the hilt in her throat. All of her blood soaking my bare legs. I could only stare.

I remember strong arms shoving her away and cradling me against a hard, strong chest. I remember the man's scent; familiar, spicy, sad. Papa. I tried looking up through the blood and the tears and the light-headedness. A mass of unruly hair, like mine. And an eye patch covering the right side of his face. He didn't say anything, but I remember Papa didn't like talking much.

I remember him taking me to my new Papa. Long blonde hair and glasses and always so cheerful, it was creepy… And I remember crying, but it was weird. New Papa had to clean blood off my cheek later. I remember crying as Papa walked away without a word. And I remember I hate him for it.

No, she's not gonna be a Sasuke-ish vengeful little twit against her father. OC's name is Brianna. American. o.o Oh, hush me! You'll just see. 3 Hope you'll like.