Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing with the exception of the twins, mother, father and any others that do not appear in the Anime/Manga. All quotes/song/etc. are respectfully given credit to their creators and such.

Note: I actually had this idea in my head for a good long while. I basically pulled the main character, FemaleOC, from two cousins, one who is mute, a guy and the other with heart problems, a girl. The one who is mute is freaking huuuuge. Anyways I wanted to base this off them, with their permission of course. I hope that I did them justice and do the character's story justice as well. Mainly this story will be AU with the characters hopefully in IC, in character.

The sole aspect of humanity is based that ever individual is unique. Some are born single, others in pairs or even in odds. Some are born good, some bad and others neutral. My existence came in a pair. As to whether I was born good or not remained to be seen. I was born a twin to a male counterpart, I being the oldest by two minutes. My life began difficult, unexpected. I was born mute with heart problems, Atrial Fibrillation (1) and a small stature. It turned out that in my mother's womb, my brother had gotten the majority of the nutrients while I had gotten only some. We were born early due to the stress it placed on my mother, tiny as she was and she went into labor at 36 weeks.

When I was finally out the doctors were worried about the fact that I did not cry. I wiggled, and my mouth opened in tiny screams but nothing came out except tiny whimpers. My brother, on the other hand, yelled his little lungs out until they were sure they would explode which my mother still made fun of him today for. Her loud-mouth little man. Embarrassingly funny for me when it was brought up and I would always silently laugh much to his dismay.

My vocal cords never developed properly and even though I could grunt and whimper softly, it was not considered much and in the end I was diagnosed as being mute. Because I was small, much smaller than my brother, I was in an incubator for many days until I could properly breathe on my own and placed on medication for my heart that left me weak in body for the rest of my life. Or I would hope not, anyways, but the doctors said it was a possibility. So my hopes are lower than most.

In a way, I think god hated me since I was first born due to everything that had come to pass but my parents were loving and though they cried because they thought they failed me, they cried thinking my brother would somehow suffer the same fate and have problems of his own, but he did not and they continued to love me and for that I was grateful.

I grew up learning to sign. It bonded the family since everyone learned for my benefit. I even had to carry flash cards around my neck with a silver chain attached in punched out holes for people that could not understand me. I had a small book bag always with me with several packs of cards and pens for everyday life. I felt like a laughing stalk when I held them up for teachers and secretly I knew they laughed and pitied me behind my back and around others. I hated their pity.

What better way for us to grow closer? My parents reminded me when I began to learn. Yeah. But it felt forced but for them I kept it to myself. I did not wish to upset them.

I was special. I was always reminded but in the end I felt like a burden. They always had to watch me closely as a baby. My mother eventually had to quit her job until I grew older and she made sure I was okay. I would fall and sometimes get hurt enough to leave scars. Because I could not cry sometimes they would not notice until it was too late. I had constant reminders on my skin, heavy to light scars and one on my forehead and nose from a table. It left me with an empty heart when I was old enough to understand why my mother would sometimes cry after tending to my wounds. My brother, somehow instinctively understanding, began to shadow me afterwards. And every time I would fall or almost get hurt or did he would be my voice. My siren and alarm. My mother was grateful and would call him her second alarm clock. Always the loud one.

Even to this day we had a system. They would tap or knock on my door with Morris code and I would answer in kind to let them know the situation and when I did not respond they would barge in to make sure I was fine. They went so far as to give us a matching set of necklaces.

For protection... They said. But from what or whom, I would always wonder. They even went so far as to make us promise never to remove them. Especially when you get older. They said it was for the better. To hide your 'auras'. It sounded too hippy-ish. I never knew what they meant but they looked desperate so I accepted without fuss and always kept it on me. Even had my dad make a clip behind it so I could clip it on like a brooch.

Growing up in London was beautiful, proper. My mother was full Japanese and my father was English. They met at a convention my mother went to as a nurse and my father a Doctor. He was thirty and she was in her early twenties. They looked so young and beautiful and never seemed to age much except my mother whom had small crow's feet on the side of her eyes but otherwise she remained youthful. They fell in love at first sight, as cliché as it sounds but they are still together and very much in love with no end in sight so there had to be something to it. That was the story they told us, anyways. We always made jokes that they were somehow like wolves, they mated for life and we were their cubs. We told our parents one day and when they did not even chuckle and looked at us alarmed we never spoke of it again and it was forgotten. But we always wondered in the back of our minds, why the alarm, why those shifty eyes.

My brother and I grew to both cultures. English and Japanese speakers, or in my case writer and I knew what they were saying and could sign both, but it worked out. We were oddities. We were mutts. We were identical, but we were not. Almond shaped eyes, very Asian looking but not, high cheekbones, black straight hair, light silver eyes with freckles of blue. One tall and muscled, one short and petite compared to the other. It was strange and we were picked on often.

I was young when I grew depressed, my weight fluctuated often and at one point I grew heavy set. I had stretch marks and my once 'pretty' face was a bit rounder. I was called fattass, wide load, and other typical insults and because I could not speak it was pressed down on me and no one would leave me alone. I could not defend myself and though my brother tried and beat up some of the kids that found it funny to upset me, it still did nothing and I grew sadder but hid it under fake smiles and silent chuckles or a stoic face. I could always hide it from my parents but never him, never my brother who was my other half, my opposite and also my copy.

I found that he felt the most responsible for me because of the way I turned out. He blamed himself because he turned out fine, 'perfect' to my parents as I would often sign to him and I was the 'special' one. I never blamed him, though. But at night, after a day of suffering and crude laughter, it was not my sobs I heard. It was his. And I would go into his room and hold him until we passed out from out tears. We would always find ourselves in each other's rooms. It was our second home to the point that we each had clothing in the others drawers and closets.

Time passed and we grew older. My brother grew taller and bigger and I stayed small and felt petite. I had hips due to my old weight and I developed early and fuller due to my English heritage. Our eyesight grew weird. At points we could see far and clear and at times we couldn't and we saw close and sharp. So we got glasses and contacts to correct it. It seemed to work. We got matching black square glasses. They made us feel hip and different.

I grew in academics and he grew in sports. Though I lost the weight I gained when I was small at the age of 14, my stretch marks stayed, only fading a bit after creams and I continued to stay self-conscious and shy. I had no friends but my brother did and my family became worried. At a young age I used to look at the shadows that cover the dark spaces of our possessions and it felt like they moved with me. I used to imagine that they were real and I used to play with them. For some reason, my parents were never alarmed because of that. In fact I thought they would institutionalize me for it, but they just smiled a knowing smile and said it was awesome. Even as I grew older I'd feel like the shadows of trees and people would follow me, but as soon as I'd look, nothing would happen so I learned to ignore it and continue my everyday life.

I was a hermit most of the time and since I could remember all I would do is just read, draw, which I grew good at or write. I learned to cook to give myself something to do when at home with my brother and we were hungry or when my parents were away at work or visiting friends and would surprise them with dinner. I even began to get into the art of whittling (2). My hands, though still soft and smooth, had knicks and calluses from the hard work I put into creating. I would create chess pieces or small tables and chairs with intricate designs. I had had the knicks and calluses beforehand from learning the violin when I was 5. I found that due to my lack of speech my other senses were sharper and my instructor told me I was a natural. Though for some reason I always felt it would have even been exceptionally sharp without my disabilities. It was the same within our immediate family with the exception of my mother. It was like we could hear a fly sneeze. But either way I loved the violin. It helped me express myself better than half the time and it kept me sane with it melodic sound.

Because I was on medication for my heart I was generally always weak. I would cough roughly and my heart would be in pain ranging from minutes to hours. I could not run for an extended period of time because the shortness of breath would hinder me. And one day after I turned 15 I suffered an attack after being chased by tormentors and it lead me to the hospital. It was difficult for a while and my family suffered. They would spend days at the hospital with me hoping that I would pull through. In the end it was a miracle I did. My father received a promotion and finally decided to move us. He said Japan was the place even though he really did not wish to return anytime soon after the first time he went, my mother, to my shock, agreeing wholeheartedly. Their top notch doctors and medicine would benefit me well. He told me he did not wish a repeat of it and would no matter how reluctant he was go, claiming that no parent should have to bury their child and then cried. And without question we moved. For me, the burden. Always for me.

When we arrived, luckily I had skipped a grade so I spent the year home studying, brushing up on the language and growing better and stronger each day. I had taken a test to enter a prestigious school, Meioh High. It had high academics and even though pricey I wanted to become something, hoping I would live long enough to repay them back for everything. Receiving the acceptance letter made my family happy and pushed my one step closer to a good college and to fulfilling my dream.

We even had a little mini party later that evening and though my brother going to a different school, more specifically Sarayashiki, upset me but he promised to come pick me up every day so I would not feel lonely and to make sure no one picked on me. Him being almost 6 feet at age 16 with big muscles that for some odd reason he achieved without even trying and I being a small 5'4", shy and speechless girl, it had made me more secure than I would have ever imagined. A month had passed before the first day of school approached and though I was nervous and my heart hurt from it, I was excited. I hoped that god would appease my wish and finally give me luck. But in the end if He did not hear me, I only hoped that it would be different and I would enjoy my new life and clean slate.

Chapter End

Well that was the prologue. Read and Review if you wish.

(1) I have a cousin who was born with this, sadly. She had a heart attack when she was 15, mild case with hardly any side effects. She can't exercise heavily, she gets really dizzy, is super tired half the time and her chest usually feels tight. It's really sad. It runs in our family line and though I'm lucky not to have it, it still makes me want to take the pain away from her if I only could. She is lucky that it is only a mild case and sometimes she doesn't even get symptoms but with her medication, it really weighs on her heavily.

(2) Whittling is working with wood, bone, etc. When I actually began doing this, I cut myself more often than not and it is not an easy thing to master. Not cutting yourself, I mean. The best thing I made in my opinion is a chess set.