Hey, this is my first GH fic, so please be nice. This was bothering me last night–what would happen when Kristina, the baby, finds out who she really is? This is my take on it.

Some notes:

-This is set fifteen years in the future.

-In this story, Summer does die, but not before leaving Lucky a son.

Disclaimer: These characters and this setting are not mine. No affiliations here—just a fan with an imagination who feels compelled to share. =D

Okay, enjoy.

*

Golden Child

Prologue

Hi. My name's Kristina.

What's my full name, you ask? Don't waste your time. I have too many names to count. But I did have to choose one to use, and I did, mostly because of its symbolism.

            I go by Kristina Cassadine-Spencer.

Oh, I see... you're confused. Let me explain for you.

When I was very young, life was simple. I had a father, and I had a mother, who adored me and treated me as if I was the only girl on earth. We were like any normal family, going on outings, walks in the park and around the beautiful estate that we lived in. I went to the best private schools in the country–my father had been born into a wealthy family, probably the most wealthy family in Port Charles [the town where I grew up], and so money was no object. Considering all this, my family was very grounded. As I grew older, I watched how my great-grandfather Edward treated everyone, and how everyone loathed him–especially my mother–and realized just how different my father was in treating people. For that, I admired him. And I grew to dislike my great-grandfather as well. It's a miracle he's still alive.

My great-grandmother Lila, on the other hand, was incredibly sweet, God rest her soul. I would always visit her, even when I was really young. I think my father started bringing me to see her when I was a baby, and somehow those visits just continued on. Sadly, she passed away when I was ten, and I was devastated–we all were. The most devastated of us all, I believe, was my uncle Jason–he had taken her maiden name after a big accident that left him without a memory, and feeling that he wasn't the same person that everyone claimed him to be, he changed his name in honor of our grandmother. He rarely came around, but when he did, I loved talking to him and spending time with him. Jason once told me I reminded him of someone, but he didn't tell me who–he said the resemblance was startling. At the time, I shrugged it off, but I realize now what he was talking about. We'll get to that later.

But for now, I want to talk about my mother... well, the woman that raised me. She is beautiful. Her name is Skye–already such a beautiful name–and she had stunning looks that probably made my father fall in love with her. I guess my great-grandfather called it "almost incest"–they were "almost" cousins [long, complicated story] but it turns out that my mother wasn't related to the family at all. So she married my father. Technically, she was my step-mother, but I didn't realize this until much later. She wasn't the stereotypical stepmother that most kids hate; she was very gentle, very loving, very understanding, but put her foot down where need be. Still, I knew that I was a soft spot for her, and I used that to my great advantage.

At school, I was one of the "cool crowd"–I got decent grades, played on the swim team, sang in the choir, and had a lot of fun with my friends. I don't want to sound conceited, but a lot of guys really wanted to go out with me too. It's true–they would call me all the time, so much that my friend Michael, who was about six years older than everyone else, had to come and kick them if they were especially relentless. But I didn't mind too much.

However, one day, I looked at myself in the mirror and realized something startling–I had long, dark, curly hair, with natural light brown highlights, and dark, dark eyes–darker than either of my parents'. Where did that come from? I had learned from biology class that curly hair was a dominant trait–but both of my parents had straight hair. I also realized that I didn't look a thing like my father or my mother. This disturbed me deeply, and I stood there, staring at my reflection, pondering over what this could mean. Then the sound of the doorbell ringing sent me back to reality and I went to get the door. Standing on the door was a woman, about the same age as my mother, with straight, brown hair, highlights in it also, looking very professional and crisp in her pants suit. When she saw me, she widened her eyes in surprise and asked, "Kristina?"

I nodded. She proceeded to hug me tightly and say, "Oh, my goodness, look at you... you're all grown up... oh, my baby..."

I pulled away from her quite abruptly and said, "Excuse me–I don't mean to be rude, but... who are you?"

The woman's eyes widened again, this time in shock, and then questioned me, "Do you mean that they never told you?"

"Told me what?"

Her eyes narrowed and she marched into the house, yelling at the top of her lungs, "Skye! Skye, get down here!"

"What is all the ruckus here?" my great-uncle, Alan, demanded, coming down the stairs. When he saw the woman, he stood there, completely still, for a moment, and then said, "What the devil are you doing in this house?"

"I came to see–" she began, but was cut off by my mother coming down the stairs and telling off this woman. "Alexis, you have no business being in this house."

"How dare you tell me that, after you stole my child away from me and raised her as your own!" the other woman–Alexis, I guess–screamed back at my mother. Wait. I blinked, trying to figure out what Alexis meant.

"You were the one who was unfit to be a mother, killing a mobster and then pretending that you were schizophrenic and that you were your dead sister!" my mother defended. "Do you think that anyone would want a child raised by someone like you, especially people that love her?"

"I love her, Skye," Alexis said, her voice suddenly faltering, showing her vulnerability. "I've loved her since the day she was born, my Kristina Rosemary Hunter, two months too early, so early that she had to stay in the ICU. Skye, she almost died. I stayed with her night and day, never leaving her side, making sure she was okay. And you have the gall to tell me that I'm unfit to be a mother? You weren't the one who decided to keep her! If I had decided to have an abortion you wouldn't have your beloved golden child standing right here!"

This was too much for me. My mother–no, wait, step-mother–was trembling in anger. "Get out," she said, much too quietly for my taste. I knew that when she spoke in that kind of voice, she was really mad. "Get out of this house, Alexis, if you want any chance of seeing Kristina ever again."

"Fine. I'll leave, but that doesn't mean I won't be back," she snarled angrily at my step-mother. Then she turned to me, under the very wary eye of my mother–step-mother–and said, very softly, "You have your father's eyes."

I watched her, shaken, as she stormed out of the house. My mother (sorry, step-mother... it's just hard to think of someone you've thought of for sixteen years as someone else so soon) rushed to me and asked, "Kristina, are you okay?"

I looked at her and said, "I will be when you explain everything to me."

So this is what happened. The woman–Alexis–was my biological mother. She and my father had had an affair, resulting in myself, of course. But right after I was born, my mother killed this guy that had killed her sister–my aunt, Kristina, whom I was named for–and then tried to get out of prison by pretending to be insane. It worked, but then she was declared unfit to raise me and gave custody to my father. He then married Skye, and the rest is history.

"Your mother is very troubled," Skye told me. "We would have given you to her if she was sane, but she hasn't seemed to recover in such a long time."

I nodded, but inside, I was wondering if Skye had plotted against my mother to frame her and make her out to be someone she really wasn't. And another thing... what exactly did Alexis mean when she said I had my father's eyes? This troubled me too... so I decided to go to her for more answers.