Authors Notes: Hi Guys! Sorry this chapter took a little longer . . . Most people are updating their stories every hour, I swear! Anyway, comments, constructive criticism, hell, even a review because I love you guys! Anyway, I forgot this for last chapter: Disclaimer – Sadly, I own NOTHING, because if I did I would a) be rich b) loved by fans c) Maka and Soul would've gotten together ages ago. Anyways, I do own the plot of the story, any characters that are the character's children from the future, and the main character (Camellia). Enjoy!

So, here I am. Standing awkwardly, in front of Lord Death. I cough.

"Ahem. Lord Death?"

"Uh huh? Well, hi! How are you, Camellia?

I wince at my full name.

"I'm . . . good."

"Great! Great! Great! What've you been up too?"

"I nearly killed a kid."

At first, he thinks it's a joke, questioning me, asking me what a couple of times. Then there's really long silence. I could have sworn the temperature dropped.

"It is against our rules to harm other pupils." Really, I know I should have shut up then, but this little voice inside me wants to be let out, and heard.

"Well, technically it isn't."

"What?"

"As long as the dual's supervised, it's fine. But unsupervised duals happen too, and students get killed sometimes."

"Oh . . . well, my point is, your violence is getting out of hand. As your headmaster, and your grandfather, I'm telling you, you need help."

"So, what . . . I'm going to get a psychologist? Have to go to Mental hospital? You're going to treat me like a loony? I'm not mad! I don't need help!

Lord Death sighs. "But you do. Deep down, you know you do."

I sigh.

"This is your own fault you know." He turns around.

I start to speak, but he interrupts.

"You may leave now. You're dismissed." He turns round, and calls to me on the way out.

"Look, Camellia. Go home, do your homework or something, avoid Ox jr, and don't pick fights. Just . . . keep your head down, okay?"

I nod, and grit my teeth, in an attempt to withhold my rage.

I walk out, grab my black shoulder bag from where I left it outside, and run home. How will I tell anyone? Actually, how can I not tell anyone? How can I tell father?

I let myself in, jump the stairs two-at-a-time, and run into my bedroom. I sit on my bed and try not to cry. Instead I try to cheer myself up. Like what makes me laugh – namely my father throwing tantrums because my room is 'asymmetrical'. I began to form a list.

My alarm clock has the number eight scribbled out. Coincidentally, when my father finds this, I will have to get a new alarm clock, and the new clock will be the eighth one this year. No doubt this alarm clock will last a lot longer than the last ones.

I have tidied everything in my room but deliberately to one side, so when my father comes through the door to my room, he will be greeted by the sight of an uneven and asymmetrical bedroom.

I have moved my family photo two centimeters to the left.

I smile and walk closer to the picture. I can see why Ox (Jr) picked on me. My family really is . . . different, to say the least. In the picture theres a twelve-year-old me (it was taken last year) in the centre. Next to me is my laidback father, (his friends call him Kidd) my silly grandfather, and my dad's boyfriend, Crona (Yeah, my dad's gay, get over it). To left of me is my Aunties Liz and Patti (They're also our neighbors. When Crona moved in they thought they should give Dad, Crona and me some space to adjust as a family, so they moved. Dad didn't want them too, but he made sure they lived near us). To the right of us is my uncle Black star, and my aunty Tsubaki (who was still looking slender back then, before her bump started to show).

I smile at how different me and my dad look. He told long ago that I was adopted, so it wouldn't be a shock when I found out, but to be honest, I don't care. I mean, I still wonder about my parents, of course I do, I mean, in my situation, who wouldn't? But, in the end, I don't actually mind. This is my family. They're my family. And I still love them.

I look in the mirror. We do look different, though, me and my dad. I don't have shiny black hair, or a white line going all the way around my hair. I don't have pretty amber eyes that sparkle when they find something entertaining, or straight, white, perfect teeth.

Then again, I'm not a shinigami.

Instead, I have floppy, sandy-coloured hair (I used to wear it in bunches when I was a lot younger. Then I grew up. Now I wear it in a ponytail, which is also easier for fighting and makes it less likely to get blood in your hair), Blood-red eyes (which makes me look slightly psychopathic, but in the end, I thought it added to the threatening look which kept kids like Ox (Jr) away from me), and spiky teeth. When I was younger, the kids at school used to call me a 'shark head', or vampire, or a witch. In fact, they called me a lot of things that were a lot worse. And they hurt me. And I was tired of being pushed around. So I hurt them back. And I hurt them bad.

My father was proud at first. No daughter of his would be pushed around. He doesn't know how out-of-control I've become. Surely, I won't have to be the one to tell him?

Authors Notes: So, what did you think! Comments, review, stuff would be appreciated. (Cheers to Mystic Lion who did the very first comment. Have some cake.) Also, I'd just like to say, In this chapter I think it becomes really obvious who Camellia's birth parents are/were, and in this story I didn't just want some MakaXSoul fluff (much as I love it), and the repetitive family scenarios of the one mum, one dad and one or two kids family model, I wanted to have a different family model because you never really see anything different like that, so yeah . . . sorry to rant a bit!

Thanks for reading!