NOTES: Yeah, 626 is Stitch's #. But, also, 626, or six and two other sixes. Which is relevant because 666 is the devil's #. And six and two other sixes is 666. Did you get it? If not.um.it's only a little pun. That's all. Completely irrelevant to the storyline. ~ Chapter Two

I know I'm not normal. Silver scales, yellow snake-eyes, huge black wings that spread from my back to an expanse of sixteen feet. They didn't need to rub it in. No, they didn't. The screams...the mobs...the army, even. I've even heard rumors that the Queen has recruited the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen to capture me. And reduce the oncoming 'hysteria' that I was causing. No one would really care that much about me. I'm just another scare. Most say I'm a hoax, and look at me disrespectfully because I can't wear clothes comfortably. They rub my scales the wrong way. So I don't wear anything. It's not like it matters. It only looks like I'm wearing a very skin-tight costume. And I've never actually killed anyone. I could not, cannot do that. How could I? The darker, more animalistic side of my mind tells me compassion is weakness. That state of mind was created by living on the streets, looking for food, scrounging up even bones to gnaw on and make my teeth cleaner and sharper. My smile is that of a monster. Malicious, filled with evil intent. I can't make it look any different. My face has been marred by the passing year of neglect and horror. Only when I am hungry enough do I stoop to the level of killing. And I cook my food. I don't eat it raw, like some animal from the woods that do not exist here in London.

Ah, the alleys and side-streets of London. Those places. You fear to go into those dark passages, for you might not come out. I sound pessimistic, but more then once, I have saved people, mostly young women, from unspeakable fates. And was stared at like some common python at a zoo. But this time, the python had gotten out of it's glass cage, its prison. Now it was free. And there was no stopping this serpent. I help, and get screams and alarmed gazes as my rewards. One time, a little girl said softly, as I cowered, trying to sink into a wall as men beat me senseless, "Mommy, stop the men from beating the pretty angel. See? She's got wings!" Her mother looked startled, and tried to drag her away. I had turned my gaze upon the little girl, pleading. That day remains in my mind, as fresh as blood from a newly created wound. The girl had tugged her hand free, and ran up to the men shouting, "Just because she's a different kind of angel doesn't mean you can hurt her! Stop! Or I'll get my daddy!" The men stopped, looking ashamed, as I whimpered, and began to cry. But shame was not enough for them to push the little girl out of the way and continue with their beating. I screamed this time, crying out for help. One kicked me harshly in the stomach. I had no breath. Before I lost it completely, I gasped out, "Help me." The little girl began to cry, kick and scream as her mother tried to drag her away. Soon, a crowd had gathered. They protested, and the men relented, finally. I looked to the little girl, and smiled softly. That had been the first time in my life I had smiled truly, without sadness and pain. It was a somber smile, one I demonstrated only for those who wished to see it. She had smiled back, and touched my face. "Hello pretty angel," she said, giggling when I sneezed. I was cold! What can I say? "I don't think you're ugly. Go fly away, and get away from all the mean people." The mother was hanging back, flitting around like a hummingbird over it's favorite flower, nervous that any other creature may harm it. I had chuckled softly, and thanked her. She only shook her head. I had pulled a feather from my wing, and handed it to her. "So you can remember the lonely angel," I whispered, before standing and spreading my wings. She had gasped, as did all the other people. Flapping them twice, I was twenty feet in the air. I waved to her, and she waved back, calling out, "Goodbye! Goodbye Fallen Angel!" It was all over the headlines. 'Fallen Angel Visits London' and 'New Threat? Maybe Not.' Those headlines promised a better fortune. I was amazed, from only being out of that dreaded cylinder for a year, I had already gotten onto the front page fifteen times. I counted.

Now, I walk the streets of London, in the twilight. The coming night is freedom calling, taunting me with it's entirety. I can never have it all. The night may be a release, but I still had to lurk in the quiet shadows, afraid of what could walk out and harm me. Yes, even I feared things. Even things as small as spiders went. I did not fear spiders entirely, but still, one small bite from one had left me in a horrible fever, wracking shivers, hacking coughs, and no one to care for me. I could also communicate with snakes, the creatures I reminded myself of. I had known from the beginning that it was not just my surface appearance that was different, I also could read people's minds when I put myself into a subconscious state of mind. I still could not do so while walking, or talking. And my telekinesis was moving along nicely. I could now move entire cars with a single glance. Yes, I would be suffering from head-pains later, but the thrill of the moment was too much to miss. When I moved something with my mind, it gave me a tingling feeling from my head to my toes, to the very tips of my wings. It was a pleasant feeling, one I loved to experience. And it tickled. I could not be tickled, though, from the outside, because of my scales. But I loved the sensation! And the itchiness that lasted for hours after...it was too much to pass up. Walking streets were dangerous, especially at night, but I still did it. And I still nag at myself, telling myself so many things could have been avoided by simple lack of idiocy I seemed to have a lot of. Though, some things my mind cheers me for. The things that led to adventures were meant to happen. They probably would have happened even if I tried to run away from them. One of these nights, this night, the thing that took place, was meant to happen.

I trudged down the longest alley in London, the one that stank the least. More room, and less congestion. I was weary, having not eaten in several days. I was used to it, yes, but I had run away from the police shortly after being shot in my wing. Since my wings had more nerve endings, it hurt twice as much. Sitting on a can of trash, I had removed the bullet, trying not to scream. After two more minutes, the wound began to stitch up. Slowly, but surely. I had smiled, and praised whatever gods listened to prayers from disgusting beasts such as myself. So I was weary, this night. No food, and weak from the accelerated healing. I tried my hardest to stay out of the streetlamps, the ones that stayed lit, even with the blowing wind, harsh gales and squalls that lasted no longer then a few minutes each. But this night, this special night, I risked stepping into the light. And that was my biggest mistake. Although, looking back, as I said before, that was meant to happen, so it was no mistake of mine. I had stepped into the light, and I heard a small laugh. It was feminine, so I was not too worried. But when she stepped into the light across from me, I saw the face that had covered the headlines, albeit with other men, but still, she was the only female of that organization. She was from the League, the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

It was Wilhelmina Harker.

Better known as Mina Harker, female member of the League, vampiress.

And she was standing right in front of me.