"Life is tough darling,

But so are you."

Her Beginning

She was eleven when her dad died, and though it should have been the most horrific experience ever for a girl her age, a girl who was also missing a mother… she wasn't shocked. There wasn't a time she could remember when he wasn't a chronic smoker, he'd been doing it before she was born and continued until the day cancer took his body over and squeezed the breath of life from his lungs; yet to this day despite the evidence that cigarettes did lead to his demise she still holds his habit as her favourite memory about him. The way the smoke would curl from his lips like the curve of a cats tail, how he had to keep at least five lip chaps on his person at all times because the smoke dried out his lips, and he had a bad habit of losing the small tubes of wax; and even though he smoked at least a pack a day, sometimes a pack and a half if he was feeling particularly nervous, his breath always smelt of mint and black coffee rather than death and ash like you'd expect.

She could remember that he only used one specific lighter, It was handcrafted from cedar wood and was inlaid with red jewels; and if he didn't have it he wouldn't light a cigarette. He always told her it was a gift from the Heavens and so to respect the Heavens he would only light up when he had that exact lighter in hand. He said it was his lucky charm.

Ayla, their maid told her that her Mother had given it to him and he was full of shit.

He wasn't.

She was eleven when her dad died, sitting by his bed at the hospital that smelt of antiseptic and mashed bananas, holding his hand that hung so limp between the spaces of her fingers. She always thought he was the strongest, most reliable man alive and to watch him deteriorate before her very eyes was not okay with her, but she knew it didn't matter if it was okay with her or not. It was happening. On occasion Ayla would come storming in, grabbing her by the back of the collar and hauling her back to school because she'd skip just to come watch her father sleep, watch his chest lift and fall. Knowing he was still alive was what kept her going that whole year. So when she lost him, sanity was no longer an option.

That's why she told herself that the odd things she was seeing were just a figment of her imagination, that she was just crazy because she'd lost someone so dear to her and now she was grieving. That she wanted something to distract her from reality, so she started seeing unrealistic things. But when she returned home one day from her newest boarding school, grumpy because she saw her step mothers sleek jaguar parked out front and found Ayla perishing at the claws of a larger than life black dog with pits of fire for eyes she knew either she'd gone totally insane or something just wasn't right.

"I'm home," she called through the entryway, dropping her backpack by the shoe rack because she knew it drove her step monster insane when she left things lying around. Tousling her blonde hair as though that would disentangle the curly mass she padded into the living room, expecting to see the bane of her existence sitting on the couch, watching some sort of reality show on TLC and gripping a glass of white wine and when she didn't, she felt a little at odds.

"Ayla, where are you?" There was shuffling coming from the kitchen, or more accurately snuffling. Cocking a confused brow she continued on her way without much thought, moving to head upstairs because whatever Ayla was up to in the kitchen wasn't her business anyway; but before she even reached the first step on the large spiral stairway she heard a sort of loud gurgle, like someone was choking. Without pausing she pivoted on her heel and jogged into the kitchen, fully prepared to perform some form of first aid to save Ayla or her step monster from dying, because one parent wasn't enough apparently, but when she came into the kitchen the sight she found wasn't one she expected at all.

The kitchen seemed to be painted red, little splatters of blood filling into the cracks between the white floor tiles, the liquid already drying to the cupboards, and the smell was sickly sweet and left a metallic tang in her mouth. Her shoulders stiffened, green eyes widening in shock as she came eye to eye with her step monster, sprawled out on the granite island, striking blue eyes open and unblinking, mouth gaped in a scream that was never heard, chest busted open to reveal her ribcage and all encased within it. The snuffling continued.

She had to force herself to move around the tall island to see around the other side, and what she saw she could have most definitely lived without. She could see Ayla's feet, bare as they usually tended to be when she was in the kitchen, painted a pale bubblegum pink, but covering the rest of her body that was jerking wildly was a large black dog that couldn't be a dog in the first place. It stood at least five feet tall, with a head bigger than the washer in the laundry room, its paws about the size of her head. The smallest of shrieks passed her lips as the realization struck her hard and when it turned its head to stare directly at her she stared into pits of smoldering fire.

That's when she made a mad dash for the back door, and that's when it chased her.

She crashed through bushes that surrounded the forest in her backyard, feeling the ground shake every time the demon dog's paws hit the ground behind her. It was huge, there was no way she could out run it for very long but there was no way she was going to give up either. About a minute into the chase she veered to the right to see if it was smart enough to follow, and sure enough it was; she figured she was done for, feeling the warmth of its breathe slither up the back of her neck. Then there was a whiz of air that flew directly past her left ear, a thunk, and a howl of outrage. She was barely able to skid to a stop when from her side a boy and girl came crashing out of a set of raspberry bushes. The girl, who had ink black hair and seemingly darker eyes slipped past her immediately as though she weren't even there, charging the dog who was now attempting to detach the arrow that had embedded itself in its right shoulder. Black goo dripped from the hole the arrow head had dug, and though it was temporarily distracted it didn't seem particularly maimed.

The boy, who had hair so blonde it was almost white and eyes a crystalline blue that reminded her of her step mothers eyes grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her behind him and unsheathing another arrow, notching it to his bow and taking aim. She was shaken up, barefooted and appalled at how fearlessly these two faced the demon like creature in front of them. She shook her head out, laying a hand against her chest and as he let the arrow fly, this time missing with a hiss of disappointment she asked the question she'd had running through her mind since her father's death.

"What the hell is going on?" He cast an amused glance over his broad shoulder, his lips turning up in a slight smirk that infuriated her despite the current predicament.

"My name is Knoll, her name is Evy. We're half-bloods, that's a Hell Hound, and- I'm sure you've figured this part out, it wants to eat you. Now are you going to stop gaping or fight, or are you my newest damsel in distress?"

His comment infuriated her, but also reminded her of her father's last words to her as he finally slipped into his coma.

"Life is tough darling, But so are you; and one day you'll make the biggest difference of all, I know it" and she picked up a rock, because she never went down without a fight.

That was her first meeting with Daevy Chea, or more accurately known as Evy, and Connolly Lorn, though he goes by Knoll. Rogue Half-Bloods that other, older Demi-Gods too caught up in some sort of war had failed to scout out, leaving them to their own devices… or more accurately their own deaths.

That is how she, twelve year old Keely Cole Bremner, became a Rogue Half-Blood herself.

But you can call her Cole.