My story begins long before I was ever born. My story starts with my Mother. She was beautiful, far as anyone has told me, prettiest woman in her village. She's often described as gentle, considerate, caring, but the only words that come to mind when I think of her are; selfish, cowardly, and weak. Mother got into some trouble in her village, adultery, not with her husband, as she wasn't married, but with another woman's husband. She wanted this man, wanted him badly enough that she made a deal with the Devil to get the other woman out of the way. The Devil did what he promised but in the married man's grief, he pushes her away. This didn't stop the Devil and he took what he was owed. The only thing Mother had to offer was her soul. This suited him just fine.

Now I would tell you her name, but I don't know it. Everyone can tell me all about her; her personality, her looks, how I came to be!-but no one will tell me her name. The simplest of facts that I am continuously denied. But! I can tell you my father's name, the 'Devil' as I often refer him, here! Let me try an impression (I've gotten pretty good)

'cough cough' "Names Hades, lord of the dead, hi how ya doin'?"

Huh? What do ya think? Was it great? Or was it great! Not my favorite guy in the world (he lives in Rome) but he raised me, and that's a hell of a lot more than my mother ever did. Of course he is still a man, granted he has godly powers, so he fails to understand the emotional and social plights of girls and young women at times. But that isn't supposed to be his job; it's a mothers.

She left me, without a single thought as to what might happen to me afterwards, she only wanted out. She took the cowards way out and killed herself after I had been born; why she didn't kill herself before I was born will always haunt my thoughts. I sometimes feel sorry for Dad though, I think in some weird way he might have really loved her, but that's another question that will never have an answer. Mother did have the decency to name me before she left, an ironic, and in the light of events following, cruel name, Acazia. It means thorny tree; I suppose she saw me as a huge thorn in her side! Yeah horrible I know.

But enough of her, she's not worth the air it takes to talk about her. My birth (and conception, but I'd prefer not to think about that…) came as a great shock to Gods and Goddess' up on ol' Mount Olympus, not only were they shocked that the Hades had spawned a child it was also coincidentally the same time that a certain Hercules was born, of course everyone flock to see him, son of Zeus and all, so I was left out in the cold by everyone except Dad (even though I wish he would leave me alone too sometimes). The Gods and Goddess' never gave much thought about me; I stay in the underworld most of the time and I was only a demi-goddess, so it was like I didn't exist. I only saw them once a year, at some demi-god convection or whatever (more of a pain in the ass than anything else).

Dad had never been previously invited because he didn't have any children. So when Dad had finally been given a chance he made the most of it, he bragged and compared us kids, made the other gods increasingly uncomfortable, really he had the time of his life. The Gods and Goddess' eventually got fed up with both of us, partly because of Dad's obnoxious behavior and partly because I burned the place down a couple of times. On accident. Demi-gods, while not be as powerful as full gods, still inherit certain godly abilities from their parent, mine up until the age of 13, was an uncontrollable fire burst that would engulf my body and anything surrounding it. Anytime I got nervous, angry, annoyed or frightened I would burst into flames and burn down their little party. Needless to say it was Olympus so nothing was permanently destroyed; nothing but my reputation.

With the help of a few underworld dwellers, and help from Dad (he used minion roasting to teach me) I grew out of it and I could easily control my out-burst. Before I learned to control it I had thought of it as a burden. A horrible unwelcome and cruel burden, but afterwards after I had learned to keep it inside, it was almost…fun. It came in handy with keeping some of the bolder underworld spirits and creatures at bay, and kept the bullies up top away too. Didn't make me too many friends though, in fact it seemed to repel most people, animals, creatures, gods, anyone and anything. While I can't say I was the nicest person, I do blame part of it on my Dad though. Everyone knew who I was because they knew who my Dad was, and everyone either hated or feared my Dad, so in return I was hated and feared. I was never seen as my own person, only an extension of him. This is what started a lifelong rivalry between the Son of Zeus and the daughter of Hades.

Hercules was not popular. He was tall, fiery orange hair and a bit on the gangly side but he was stronger than a dozen ox. He had a bit of an obsession though far as I can remember, he was obsessed with all things hero, knew of all the late and great heroes of the time, trained constantly, and always found himself in my business. He had this preconceived notion that I was just as evil and manipulative has my Dad. While I will admit to the latter, I didn't consider myself evil just a little fed up with these mortals always picking on me. So what if I lit ones chiton on fire, or spooked their horses so they wrecked their chariots, they were foul and sickening people who disserved much worse than they got, much worse. He always seemed to come to their aid, and they were just as bad to him. I hated that about him, he never stood up for me or anyone else, and I had always thought heroes were there to help, not just when things got disastrously out of hand but when they saw injustice of any kind. He was only there to make himself look good, to superficially make himself a hero.

I was worth less than mud to him. In fact I'm sure if someone made a big enough show of whipping some disobedient mud in the middle of a busy square he would step in. That was sarcasm in case you couldn't tell. I can even see him now sitting at his table with Sunstroke and Lone-brow. I sit and glare, waiting for the inevitable outburst that comes from the table every day, either by Sunstroke or Jerkules himself. It was like this my entire school experience, as long as it lasted that is, I left and was kept away for several years against my will, kinda. It's hard to explain…

I had a story up previously on another fandom but I didn't really like it, so I took it down. I started this 'cause I noticed an increase in activity in the Hercules section and I had a few ideas floatin' 'round my head, And the readers here don't seem to mind OC's as much, So give me your thoughts, even if it's only one word it will keep me writin'. Is she too Mary Sueish? Should I do somethin' differently, tell me if it's even somethin' worth trying to finish. Anyway thank ya'll for readin'! (and I love to annoy people with my hick writin'! ;))