Identity Crisis

by Avalin Rose Ellyot

My name is the Raven. It wasn't always the Raven, but then again I haven't always been me. This is the story of a girl who wakes up in a odd place. This is the story of a Timelady who doesn't understand her own purpose. This is the story of the man, the box, and the years that finally show her that her lives are important.

1. Realizations

Hallo gorgeous people. First fic! Yay! Please read and review!

Disclaimer: anything familiar isn't mine.

I'd like to start out by saying that none of this was my fault. If you have to blame anyone blame Jack. It's usually Jack.

Now that we've sorted that out, it's backstory time. Hey, don't you start whining, you little Sycoraxian scum! You people need to know this crap. Anyway it was my 13th birthday, December 22, 2014. It was like midnight or something, and I was positively crushed. I'd just re-watched 'The End of Time P. 2' and was sobbing. Yeah, I'd watched Matt Smith, but I was in love with my Doctor. I mean c'mon, that hair? Perfection.

But yeah, I was really, really not ok. I went downstairs for a glass of water. After making sure I only had one shadow (a constant fear of mine since 'Silence in the Library') I grabbed my drink and bounded back up the stairs. The laptop was on my top bunk, but the screen had gone black even though it was charging and I'd only been gone for like, a minute and a half.

I rubbed my finger over the touchpad, like one does when trying to wake their completely unreasonable laptop, but nothing happened. I shrugged it off, and because I had family Christmas the next morning I decided to go to sleep. Yes, I know, I'm going quite fast. I dislike backstories as much as you do. Anyways, I fell asleep in my bed and woke up not in my bed.

I still don't know exactly where I was. It was London though, and not exactly the nicest part of town, so if that narrows it down for you then fine. So, I wake up on this really disgusting couch in this little wood shack in a place absolutely unfamiliar. I mean, it's not like it was a few blocks from my house. I live in Oklahoma, USA, which, in case you're not fond of geography, is like a whole frikkin ocean away from London, England. At first I was like "Frikkin freak, I've been freaking kidnapped. Time to go beat the crap out of some little freaking morons!" (As you can see, my vocabulary narrows in a crisis.) Then I was like "Son of a biscuit eater, the freaking door ain't freaking locked, those crap headed morons."

Suddenly I realized something else was very wrong. It didn't slowly dawn on me; it basically jumped up wearing a name tag, danced on my nose, and hit me on the head with a frying pan. It wasn't the fact that I was in Great Britain, or the fact that according to the newspapers strung about the place it was 2006, no, it was the fact that if I listened very closely, I could hear two hearts thumping wildly in my chest.