CHAPTER ONE
Before the Beginning
They came from me that day. I remember their faces, the blue-haired Albert Sartre, his face smoother than usual, free of the wrinkles that normally occupy it. He seemed taller than before, as if his experiments had made him shrink. But I remembered his face well, because he will be the only face I'll ever see in a few years.
Beside him was a raven-haired kid, I estimated about fourteen years old. His red eyes darted around, as if he was paranoid, and expected someone to jump out. But no one did. The only person who jumped out was my friend Maria Torres, and her point was to scare me.
"Rosalia," she called, beckoning. At fifteen years old, Maria was still one of the more childish teenagers, because she still played with seven-year-olds like me. But she was a good friend, and truly cared.
"Yeah?" I asked cautiously, tearing my eyes away from the two strangers in the orphanage. But at the last second, the dark-haired boy looked at me straight in the eye, and I shivered at the sight of his crimson eyes. "What is it?" I asked quickly, spinning around, not wanting another look at the boy's eyes.
But a few days later, those eyes were the only things I saw.
They said that they wanted to adopt me. Me, as their own child. Me, as the kid they will raise forever. The scary boy with the vampire eyes will be my new brother.
They will be my new family.
It was hard saying goodbye to Maria. I watched her face, torn down in sorrow. It was once a proud, shining face, basking in the light of glory. Now, it was broken, crumbling under the stress of it all.
"Goodbye, Rose," she whispered. I leaned up to hug her, but I barely reached her chest. Maria won't have a family to herself, won't be able to grow up with a mother and father at her sides... she'll grow up alone, and then leave the orphanage, still lost in the midst of loneliness.
I had to force myself to tear myself from Maria's tight grasp, but I did. That was the last time I saw of her... before I passed away silently in the carpet of blue death.
I wrote letters to her, but she never replied. I was worried that she had forgotten about me, or worse, hated me, because I was living with a new family. I was afraid to find out the truth of how she really thought about me, Crybaby Rose, the young girl at the orphanage.
The mere thought buried me deep in regret.
So basically, this is just a random fanfic on the tales of Rosalia. I'll be alternating between Rosalia's life (in italics) and Rosalia's afterlife (in regular text). Now, you ask, why don't I just do it on chronological order?
This is just a story of memories. I'm not going to narrate every day of it. It'll jump from one time to another, sometimes with years in between. Get it? No? Too bad.
~fighterkirby, who had to finish this really hastily to get started on the Healing Warrior...
