Ok so after seeing the prophecy, I had to write something about it. So I decided to include it as dreams Raven used to have as a child. It must have haunted her right? I also included why she did not realize she destroyed Azarath. So, the dream sequence at the beginning is sort of like her father contacting her, implanting the future, and revealing the past to her.

Thank you angst equinox and boynetough for taking the time to read and review my story. It means so much to me. I'm going to do as many characters as I can. I have a story developing for Bumblebee, Starfire, and I actually have an idea for Kitten. I think I want to get most of the characters to where they are right before Teen Titans started. Like how Jinx is recruited for the HIVE. Stuff like that. Again, it means so much to me you read my story, AND reviewed. It's like Christmas!

I don't own Teen Titans.


The air around her crackles, aching with a fiery red. Buildings are reduced to crumbling under the heat and pressure. Through her fingers, she sees everything unfolding, the strings of morality loosening at the seams. She hears the cries for Azar as a demonic growl tumbles through the demolished landscape. Her stomach tightens. She knows if she could find the source that she could capture and contain what has caused all of this. She floats gentle over the war torn area, trying to be respectful as possible. Again, another growl rumbles and she feels her bones shake. The closer she gets the harder her heart pounds. She turns a corner, and huddling on the ground is a small, girlish figure. The figure swivels, reveling four eyes. She steps back, gasping at the sight. The figure trembles and as she looks harder, she realizes these eyes glisten with tears.

Before she can pull herself away from those eyes, a claw like hand reaches out, clasping her waist and dances her through the air, until she is face to face with the figure. The force releases her to create a platform for her to stand upon. Part of it separates and snakes up her small body. It molds itself into a hand that now tilts her chin up. She feels its cold electricity scurry along her face and she swallows a hard lump that has formed in her throat. She notes the figure is standing now, the arid landscape framing the background. It is eerily beautiful and haunting as it steps towards her on the wasted land. It examines her closely, as pools gather in the red eyes.

Daughter… It reverberates through the melting air.

The figure moves as if it has been electrified. It contracts as if its insides have folded into themselves. She sees it is in pain, as it coils itself up into a small ball. She reaches forward as an attempt to console the figure. As her fingertips linger over its head, its face snaps into view. She pulls her hand away as two large, violet eyes gaze up, so very sad, so very fierce. They blink, those eyes, holding control of the figure's very essence. It releases itself from it binding, carefully unwinding its limbs so it can stand. Once stable, it flows forward, so its face is right in her ear, but as it speaks, its voice is distant.

'They do not know the images I have seen. They may feel the urgency to act, to fight the evil. But they do not truly understand it is I. I am evil. They have not seen the ruined city. They have not seen the twisted flesh with their agonized faces. They do not realize that that is what will appear on their visages. A modern day Pompeii. And I will stand ideally by. For this is what will come. Who could expect a gem so spoiled? Rotten and etched with toxins molded by the devil himself.'

'This is evil. And little do they know they will have held it. Invited it into their home. Respected it as friend. Invested trust in it. The very place they will rest their hands is where the maleficent force lays waiting. Pacing through the veins of its doorkeeper. Trembling under skin, waiting for the timely opening. And it shall come to pass. The writings will appear once more, no need to translate it will all ready be spelled out. The reckoning, the force will tear through bone. And the once colleague they've comforted and held, they won't dare touch. Foolish to escape the pass for with its cyclical nature it returns to future present.'

After the last words are whispered into her, she sees the figure's body manipulate once more. As it is rolled into a ball, she sees the soulful eyes give her one last glance. They are pained and she knows they have lost their control. The movement continues, but this time accompanied by screams as red writings sear the top of its skin. Then it pulls its face out from the fetus position, peering up at her again, but now with the four red orbs. They light up as tears finally spill, and its mouth bleeds a message out.

'What you will conceal, you will become. '

The child screams. Her frame shakes violently. Through her tear's she sees the shimmering frame of her mother. She feels the woman's arms wrap tight around her. The woman's body is panicked, bumbling down the dark hallway muttering under her breath, "why can't you just leave her alone? Why can't you leave her alone?" She clings tighter to her mother's chest, which makes her think they look like opossums traveling through the trees, instead of the looming hallway. The woman curses as she trips over some laundry on the floor.

"Damn you, Trigon. DAMN IT!"

The girl stiffens as she hears her mother say that name. Her face burns, and she is dizzy with confusion. The hallway blurs into the bathroom, its bright florescent lights stinging her sleepy eyes. Her mother shifts her from one side to the other. The girl squeezes her eyes shut. The movement makes her feel like her head is a top, spinning round and round. All she wants is for the world to stop moving. For gravity to hold just a little tighter.

The cool porcelain comes as a surprise to her clammy body. She shutters and stares up at the yellow ceiling. Briefly, she sees her mother's figure move over her and then a moan as the faucet turns. The water comes at her, flooding over her gray skin. The liquid creeps up on her, like marching ants. Her mother sits on the toilet, not moving just arms tightly crossed around her aging body. The girl lays limp as she watches the water continue to rise to the corners of her eyes. Her belly protrudes up like an island. She imagines a palm tree sticking out from her bellybutton: Like one of the ones she has seen in her books she has read. The mother whispers how sorry, how sorry she is and then collapses from her seat and is on the ground by the tub rubbing her hands over her daughter. The girl looks up into her mother's tear streaked eyes. Her mother's lips are trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Raven, I'm so sorry."

The girl blinks once. Twice.

"It was him again."

The mother wipes her hands across her face.

"I know," she says, "I know."

She sits up in the tub. Her mother stares back at her.

"What did I do to Azarath? Why did we leave?"

The mother bites the inside of her lip. The girl can see her hesitation, wondering what the mother could be mauling over. The woman knows she should say something. But what? The truth? How much can a four-year child handle? She has already lost her childhood. Her father made sure of that. How much guilt can the mother place upon Raven? How much?

"I missed my home, Raven. I did not always live in Azarath, you know that."

Raven bites her lip.

"I'm sorry mother."

Her mother immediately regrets what she has said. The mother knows her daughter could look into her mind, but her daughter has respect for the mother. If only she respected her daughter more. No this is right, she says to herself as she shakes her head. Her daughter already knows her destiny; the girl does not have to know what her destiny has done.

Raven has reached for a rubber ducky, splashing it lightly in the water. Her mother reaches a hand towards her, brushing a purple lock behind her ear.

"There's no need to say sorry, Raven. It's just the way it is."