Disclaimer: Noooo! I don't own TT.

Yay. A new chapter. Hope you all like this!

And yes, I know I probably got everything about Rae's past wrong, but that's ok. This story is a free-form kind of thing, not a hard-facts kind of thing. (:

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If there is one thing that I completely, honestly can't stand, it is jealousy. Jealously makes people do stupid, terrible things. Jealousy is the undoing of countless relationships, the brick that crushes friendships, the fire that consumed lives and leaves nothing but choking, worthless ashes. And I've never been any exception. Guilt makes me to ridiculous things as well, makes me just as stupid as anyone else. I've had my own fair share of instances where I judgment has been clouded by jealousy and I've done some pretty unreasonable things. I remember being jealous of Garfield and Terra way back in the day, though I wasn't really sure why. I hadn't had any feelings for Garfield then, but I was jealous anyway. It might have been because of the fact that Garfield had always had a crush on me, was always flirting with me, always trying to get me to laugh, and then suddenly all of his attentions withdrew from me. Suddenly he did all of it for Terra. I guess that was when I realized that some small part of me really did enjoy his attention. And so my point is, I'm no stranger to jealousy.

I certainly had plenty to be jealous of. Josie came over regularly for practice with the band, and she and Garfield would talk and laugh and I would pretty much generally sit there feeling like shit and beating myself mentally for not making a move on Gar while I had the chance. They never went on any dates or even saw each other outside of band practice, but I still could sense exactly what was happening here. I could feel the emotions blossoming. Oh God, why hadn't I told him how I felt when I'd had the chance?

I still did feel the same way. When he touched me or even looked at me my entire body would get a delicious wave of pleasure through it, and there were times when he left me so breathless I simply wanted to grab onto him and never let him go. I still thought of that rather embarrassing night in the bathroom, and I felt so strange thinking of how I wanted to see what I had seen again, how I wished I could. I still dreamed of him on a regular basis, and I became so irritated with needing to change my sheets so much that after a while sometimes I didn't even bother. This was no longer a standard crush. No, I'd had my share of crushes before, and it had escalated into something far beyond that. This was something more along the lines of pure animal desire, something raw and primal, caused by some strange side of me that wanted nothing more than to be with him in the very closest sense, to feel his heat on my own body, to feel what he would feel like inside me.

I had come past the point of feeling dirty from these thoughts now. Now I accepted them (though I would never reveal them), though I still tried to make them go away. There was just something wrong, just so, so wrong and unnatural about wanting to feel that shuddering, thundering heat inside of me when it came from Garfield. It was just unheard of. He was Beast Boy. I was Raven. It was just unwritten and unnecessary to be said that those things just couldn't happen between us. We could never share a romantic moment without flying into awkwardness afterward, we could never look into each other's eyes without pretending afterward that it was an accident, and we could certainly never fall together into raw and brutal passion as we did in my dreams…passion that was primitive and sometimes almost vicious in its intensity, burning and raging like an age-old flame. Never. This was simply for two reasons: one, Garfield had long ago given up on me, and two, my passion for him had never been returned. He had no passion for me, as far as I knew, and he was horrible at hiding emotions. He was always an open book…him trying to keep something hidden from us was like trying to eat soup with a fork. Somehow it always seemed to seep through.

I wondered sometimes if it was natural…if it was even healthy, to feel this way about someone. I wondered sometimes, did other people feel this way? I would lie awake in bed at night, long after the other Titans had all drifted off to sleep in their beds, even after the soft floating of music from Robin's guitar had ceased, and wonder if I had somehow developed some kind of new, never-before-experienced-in-the-history-of-hormones kind of emotion. Some kind of thing where the body and mind worked together to make you writhe with desire for a member of the opposite sex (or the same sex, whatever) until you are just about at the point of collapse from so much clandestine passion. It was a little internal war over something I wasn't really sure of, but it always felt like a war going on inside me, with so many emotions clashing against each other. Emotions were such fragile, gentle things, and were definitely not meant slam against each other all day in their attempt to drive me into insanity. It was like a war waging between roses.

Those nights would pass me by one at a time, inching by as I lay in the darkness trying to quiet the stirring of my body and mind. It seemed that whenever I found a quiet moment to think that every part of me was churning and stirring, at constant unrest from desires left unfulfilled. And I was well aware of these desires. I had never wanted something along those lines before. I had never really felt this kind of animalistic longing before. This went beyond emotional longing, as my longings never had before. These longings could not be satisfied by smiles or kind words, no matter how many I accumulated. These longings could only be satisfied in ways where my body could finally release its perpetual tension.

And so, there I lay one night like any other. It was only about ten, and I had just barely gotten into bed. As usual, my musings began without any real consent on my part. But that was just how my brain worked. There were times when I really didn't have any say in what it did. My mind went into its usual series of painful churning thoughts, racing by. Thoughts about how I felt, how stupid and pointless it was. I had a mad, desperate passion for a boy who was falling in love with another girl. It was ridiculous and pointless and yet the feelings always seemed to refuse to disappear. I still got choked up when I thought of him, my body tingled with that strange electric excitement whenever our arms brushed in the hallways. I was hopeless.

It was becoming very clear now that my emotions were driving me insane. I could see it very clearly now. I was just not equipped for these kinds of feelings, and yet they were forcing themselves on me anyway. I have never been a romantic person. Never. Crushes I've had have never been pleasant, romantic things for me. For example, my feelings for Robin way back when were a nuisance, an extra weight to carry with me that seemed to get in the way whenever I tried to do something. That was all it was. I'd become a little better since then, and wasn't exactly unhappy with my feelings for Garfield. But it still felt strange. Little half-demon me, with these romantic feelings that I wasn't designed for, in my opinion. In many people's eyes, I was designed solely to survive until the age of sixteen, when I would serve as 'the gem'…the portal to bring my father to Earth and end the reign of the humans. In my own eyes, I wasn't exactly sure what it was I was designed for. But…it certainly wasn't for love.

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When most people are at a state of unrest or are displeased with their own emotions, the only thing they can really do is grumble to themselves and hope that the discomfort with their current situation will soon become more bearable. Which is why I am, for once, extremely lucky to the freak I am. When there is something going on inside of me that I have a problem with, I can go straight to the source. The place where all emotions, unpleasant or not, originate. The mind.

Now, I must make this perfectly clear. I have the ability to physically go into my own mind, and interact with the physical manifestations of my emotions and sides of my personality. But just because you can do something doesn't necessarily mean you should. It doesn't even necessarily mean that you won't wish you couldn't do it. That mind of mine is not exactly my favorite place. I dread going there.

So you can understand why I sat on my bed that night, legs crossed, eyes turned toward the huge windows that covered one entire wall of my room (every now and then flickering over to where a large ornamental hand mirror sat on the table across the room), why I was dreading the mere thought of venturing into the world inside myself. Myself, Cyborg, and Garfield (it's a long story and probably not even one you would care to hear) have been inside that place…that strange little land that, in the tradition of the great Edgar Allan Poe, I have christened 'Nevermore'. When one gets inside that crazy little place that…well…essentially is me, they will never look at me the same. Never, never more.

That God forsaken mirror is the way I transport myself into that deranged little world, that sickening little community of freakish clones in multicolored cloaks that belong to me. That mirror stays away from me most of the time, I sometimes get sick looking at it. People think I'm creepy…but I don't scare anyone else nearly as much as I scare myself.

I remember how horrified I first was when Azar handed me that mirror and taught me how to use it. How heavy it felt in my little five-year-old hand and how confusing it was, how terrifying it was to see scores of little girls in cloaks just like me running among the dark trees of that barren, rocky landscape. The little girls who ran to me, who sent me away, terrified, running to the tall, safe form of Azar. She had taught me not to fear those girls, those girls who were me. She had taught me to befriend and understand each one. Particularly the one called Rage. The two of us never stopped having conflicts…I fought a neverending battle against her. And yet she was a part of me. I loved her just the same as I loved the others, despite who she was. She could not help that she was destined to feel nothing but rage, just as I could not help that I was destined to bring an end to the Earth. We can't change who we are, and we cannot condemn each other for the things that are written in our souls from the moment we come into this world.

It was Azar who taught me not to judge others harshly for the things they couldn't change. She was the one who taught me to look beyond the exterior, no matter how strange it may be, and see the beauty hidden underneath. She taught me that beauty lies in all things, and that hope for a brighter future is the only sure way to survive through the hard times in life. She taught me all that was necessary to control and eventually master my powers, gave me all the knowledge that I used as a Titan. She taught me how to be a superhero without even knowing that my future was to consist of being exactly that, and on top of it all, she taught me to be a person. Azar was my mother. My birth mother, Arella, was only a confused, terrified teenager at the time of my birth. She had nothing to do with raising me for most of my life. Azar was the one who taught me how to live, how to dream, and how to hope. Robin had to re-teach it later, but it was Azar who first planted the idea of hope into my brain. I can remember times with her so clearly it's as though they were only yesterday.

Azar faces me, cross-legged on the floor, in a yoga position. I am copying her, trying to sit that way, hoping someday I will find that simple sense of balance that she gets so easily from chanting. "Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos," the words are becoming less foreign to me, more natural. I am six years old, and small at that. My white cloak is big enough for me to get lost in. I still can't focus clearly on the mediation, I've been thinking so much today about the things they say. The other Azarathian children whisper about me, speaking of a 'prosefy', something I just cannot understand. I watch Azar. She looks so serene, long ebony hair drifting placidly down to her elbows, resting along her bent arms, her shoulders, as she chants. "Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos." I believe that Azarath was named solely after her, its ruler, instead of the opposite. She tells me that she is named after Azarath. I don't believe her. Surely such a beautiful place could only be named after my beloved guardian and teacher. She is truly a goddess to me, so all-knowing, she can do no wrong. I am her obedient, admiring pupil.

The red gem on her forehead glints in the sunlight that streams in through the large window of the temple. She says that someday, when my powers are completely mastered, everything I lay eyes on will be able to be called to my command, and the world will be my tool, any object I want will be my paintbrush. The air will be my canvas. She says I will get to wear a shiny gem just like hers. It will mark my status as a monk like Azar. A monk of the highest order in Azarath, a symbol of respect and honor. And the gem will also complete my journey to master my powers. I will be able to channel energy through it, and receive energy through it. It will tune my empathy skills to an even more advanced level. I just can't wait. I will be a monk, a high priestess of the Order, and the other kids will no longer whisper strange things behind my back. They will be proud of me like Azar is. It will happen 'when I am ready'. I hate not knowing when it will be.

"You're not concentrating on your meditation, Raven," Azar states. Her eyes remain closed. But she knows all.

"I know," I answer, wishing she couldn't always tell. "I'm just…thinking too much."

"Something is troubling you."

"Yes. I…Azar, who am I?"

"You are Raven, daughter of Arella and Trigon. But that's not the answer you want."

"No, it isn't. I mean…who am I? People are so kind to me, but…they say strange things that they think I can't hear. They talk about me…they say things I don't understand. What lies in my future that could make them whisper that way, Azar? You know it, I know you do. You have to tell me."

Azar finally opens her eyes, fixing the intense blue spheres on me. She has such overwhelming eyes. They knock you backward the first time she fixes you with that probing, powerful blue stare. "I suppose it is time you know the truth. The whole truth." Azar sighs, a gentle release of air, before she speaks again. "At the beginning of time, there were two people. A man called Adam and a woman called Eve. They had three sons. One of these sons, Cain, killed his brother, Abel. And for this terrible sin he had committed, he was banished to a dark, terrible place. And there he was found by Lillith, who you have met before. She was charged with giving him just punishment for his sin. And so he was given a curse. He was cursed to live forever, but the life would not be a pleasant, pure one. He would live solely upon the warm blood of humans. He was the first of what was called the Vampyre."

I listen to her intently, though I do not understand. "But what does this have to do with me, Azar?"

"Patience, child," she tells me with a slight smile. "You will see." and then she continues. "The Vampyres became a long line of these creatures, some turned into the horrible creatures by force, while others, lured by glittering promises of eternal life, went willingly. And as the line contined, it became distorted, as every species does over time. The Vampyre was the first of a breed of creatures called demons. Many strains of them existed, independently of each other. And one of these separate species of demons included a demon who eventually came to be the ruler of all demons, a demon named Trigon. While Vampyres walked the Earth, all other demons were banished to hell. And Trigon vowed that he would overturn this injustice to demons.

And so he bided his time. Thousands and thousands of years, and finally a young woman named Angela Roth, your mother, mistakenly summoned him. And, taking his chance, he impregnated her with his child. For his plan was that the child he fathered, who would be born to a human mother and therefore be born on Earth, or in some way connected to Earth, would serve as The Gem, a beacon of hope for all demons. Because that child would, after her sixteen birthday, was destined to fulfill the ancient prophecy that Trigon had set in stone shortly after the world began. She would become the portal to bring him to Earth, where the reign of the humans he despised so much would end, and the reign of the demons would begin. You are that child, Raven. You are the Gem. You are destined to bring an end to the reign of humans on Earth."

I sit in shock, staring at her, eyes wide. I simply cannot believe what I have just heard. "That…can't be true! It's so horrible!" I shake my head. "No way is it true."

"It is true," Azar assures me in her blunt, honest way of speaking.

I stand up, by body shaking. "What's the point, then? What's the point in all this training, all this getting ready…for a future I might as well not have!" I may only be a child, but I'm not stupid. I know there's no way I'm going to become a portal and live to tell about it. "What's the point? Why do you keep trying to help me grow up when that's what I'm destined to do?"

Azar has gotten to her feet and has bent down to my tiny height to put a hand on my shoulder. "Because I believe in you, Raven. I believe that someday, not matter what you are destined to do, you are going to do great things. You can't decide who you are, but you can decide what you become."

"You really think so?" I ask her, the fight draining out of my body, taking on the stance of a child listening to her adoring mother. She nods. "Why, though?" I can't help but ask.

"Because sometimes hope is all we have to hold onto," she replies.

The memory washed over me like a cool breeze on a summer evening, refreshing despite the slight shiver it provokes. As I sat there, cross-legged as she had always sat, I couldn't stop floods of memories. They came rushing in like a tide of nostalgic whispered, lingering like stardust on the edge of my mind until I grabbed hold of them and pulled them in for a longer stay. The next memory that washed over me, pulling me into its warm, familiar center, was a far less pleasant one. I sat back and allowed it to fill me.

Azar has never looked this way to me before. She has always been so strong, so untouchable. She has always been an unstoppable force. Nothing can bring her down.

And now here she lies in bed. I have never known her to sleep past five in the morning. She always forces me out of bed so early to begin training. But now she looks so weak. So vulnerable. Her normally vibrant black hair that seemed almost alive, tumbling in cascades of ebony whenever the breeze came up, lies limp and lifeless on the pillow, spread around her head like a pile of dead ribbons. Her hands, normally so steady, so sure, are shaking. Her skin is paler than usual. Her breath is coming in small, shaky gasps.

No one needs to speak. I can feel what's happening. I am a psychic. I felt it the instant I awoke this morning that something terrible was going to happen on this day. I could feel her distress. And now the feeling is so strong that it almost rips me apart from the inside out.

I am barely thirteen years old. She cannot do this. She cannot leave me. I have so much to learn, I have so much to share with her. She cannot go. I have only three years until the end is to come, and I am in no way prepared. She cannot just leave me in this huge, empty universe all alone.

My mother, Arella, Azar's closest friend, stands several feet behind me. She is silent, retaining a kind of desperate but elegant composure. She holds herself so very much like Azar. And yet tears are running down her face.

I reach up my fingertips and nervously prod the red gem that now graces my forehead. It has been there less than two weeks and already I am going to have to carry it alone. She cannot go like this.

"Azar…" my voice is softer than normal, its harsh monotone softened by raw tendrils of emotion that wrap around it. "You're going to be alright. Tell me you're going to be alright."

Azar's smile, however shaky it may be now, still never changes, and when she flashes it at me now, it hurts me almost more than the weakness that I can see in her now, though she still gives off powerful waves of her strength. We're all aware of her strength. You would have to be a fool not to see it.

"I'm an old woman, Raven. Oh no, not my body," she says, seeing my confusion. "My body never ages. I retain the same physical appearance I've had since the age of twenty-eight. But I am old, Raven. So very, very old. And I'm so tired. I have been alive for over four-hundred years." she gives me another smile. Her skin looks so pale, so ashen, so waxy, but her eyes, those vivid blue eyes that have watched all the progress I've made through my childhood with steady patience, those eyes that laugh at me through all her seriousness, those eyes where I find hope and friendship, are still just as luminous, just as alive, as the day she took me under her wing. "we all have to die sometime."

I try not to choke up. "But not you…just…not you. Not now. You have to live forever!" I am behaving as childish as I ever have. I don't care. I simply can't lose her.

Azar laughs, a rare thing. A tinkling sound that I can feel ringing in my throat. "No one lives forever, dear," she tells me. "Nothing but the sky and the water. I've had a long life. I've taught you what you need to know. Oh no, not all of it. But enough. Enough for you to pick up when I'm gone and know how to start." she pauses to clear her throat. Her voice is getting more and more shaky and soft. "My granddaughter will resume your training when I'm gone." she hold out her hand, and I take from her what she is attempting to hand to me; two golden rings with small red symbols along their bands. "Rings of Azar," she tells me. "They have some power against Trigon, if you ever need it."

I fight back tears. She has taught me to be strong, to be as untouchable, at least on the outside, as a stone. I don't want to cry and ruin what she has taught me as a coping mechanism. I would like nothing more right now that to sob, to throw myself into Arella's arms and never look out into the world again. But I don't. That's not who I am. That's not what I do. I'm Raven. "I'll go to Earth, Azar," I tell her. "I'll go to Earth I'll find some way to help people. I'm going to do good. I'll…I'll make up for what I'm going to do to them. I'll finish my training and then I'll go."

Azar nods weakly. She is fading fast. There she is, my mentor, my guardian, my friend, fading before my eyes as though someone has decided to fast-forward the death of a flower at the beginning of autumn. It hurts almost too much to bear. "That's my Raven," she tells me softly, raggedly, and I think, it's a wonder her voice is still audible, with how labored her speech is becoming. "Just…promise me…one thing." words are starting to hurt her. I can feel her pain as clearly as though it is my own.

"What is it?" I ask, jerking back the tears that wait on my lashes to gallop in a liberating, bitter marathon down my cheeks and take swan dives off of my chin.

"I want you to promise me, especially when you're on Earth, that you will find yourself. And that you won't ever stop searching, or stop growing. Or stop hoping."

I'm not exactly sure what she means, but I nod furiously, sending my hair flying around my head. "I promise, Azar. I promise."

Azar speaks again, though this time so faintly I can barely hear her. The words have such pained effort behind them, such a long, tired struggle to produce each syllable. With my empathy, I suffer with her, feeling the mental pain as deeply as she does, the knife that cuts and twists. "You can do anything, Raven. Anything."

And then, as suddenly as she came crashing into my life to force me into training for a future that was uncertain, she is gone. Gone. Just like that. Suddenly, my Azar is an empty, lifeless shell. A mere corpse, lying with her brilliant blue eyes still staring at me, starting to gloss over, to lose their lively intensity. I can't grasp her being dead until I try to read her thoughts. I don't even hear the electric buzzing of her screening the thoughts from me. I just hear nothing. Dead silence like never before. And then it hits me, and for the moment, my whole world is gone. She is dead. And there is no brining her back.

It is several hours before I return to my room. When I do, I step in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors. I take them to my hair, my long, long violet hair, cutting it into a simple, tapered bob that I always wore my hair in as a child. Chin-length, easily manageable. And then I stare into my reflection, taking in my new, unfamiliar appearance. I look less vulnerable, stronger, more unapproachable. "I will not disappoint you, Azar," I say to the glass. "I'll go to Earth, and I'll help. I'll make up for the horrible thing I'm going to do. And I'll find myself." I say. And I know then that no matter what happens next, the journey ahead of me is in no way easy. I'm not even sure if it's in any way possible. But I hope it is. After all, sometimes hope is all we have to hold onto.

I sat on my bed, allowing all traces of the moonlight-drenched memory to wash away. These memories, flooding me. I was exhausted. My past was trying to kill me. But I knew what I had to do. Sighing, full of dread, I stood and walked across the room and stopped in front of my table. I picked up the strange, elaborately carved hand mirror that Azar presented me with so many years ago, and held it tightly in one hand. I gazed down into my reflection, bracing myself, and then finally, that hand , black and red and familiar, came for me. And I was pulled head-first into the world that I alone could understand.

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More soon. (:

"Life is full of disappointments. You are one of them." -Madame Rouge