A/N: All right people, this is rather a shaky thing, me writing. I'm not quite sure where this story is going, though I have plenty of ideas. It all depends on what the reviews do or do not say. Please be kind and take into consideration that this is my first posting – anywhere. Thanks for reading, or, if you end up not reading, for taking the time to click on the link.

Prologue

"Rock-a-bye baby, there's blood on the ground…"

He walked silently to the room where he had heard the singing from, and peeked cautiously around the doorframe. What he saw within the room made him pause for a moment before an incredulous look appeared on his face and without hesitation, he entered.

"…there's demons and ghosts that hunt without sound…"

It was Suicide with his lullaby-like voice that was singing the crude version of Rock-a-Bye Baby. The elfin boy was crouched within a rocking chair that inhabited the old nursery room, swaying back and forth, cradling a small bundle within his arms.

"Rock-a-bye baby…oh father, can you see?"

Random walked closer towards the chair so as to peer down at just what it was the scarred one was holding so close to his chest; he gasped slightly when he was met by the small, bright blue eyes of a baby.

"…that what was once locked now has now been set free…"

"Why the heck is that here, and just what the fuck are you singing to it!" Random exclaimed after the few moments spent regaining his composure.

"Shhh," replied Suicide in a hushed, singsong voice, "you'll make the baby cry if you yell like that, Random." Turning his head upwards, Suicide looked at Random with twinkling golden eyes and favored him with a grin. "I found her on the street in the City; isn't she cute?"

Random looked warily down at the little bundle held within Suicide's arms and studied what he could see of the infant, which, admittedly, wasn't much considering the child was so tightly wrapped up in it's blanket that only it's face was viewable. The child had a round, almost heart-shaped face outlined by tiny, bleached blond colored curls of hair, the nose of the child was already well sculpted and one could tell that, when this babe grew up, it would still hold the poise akin to that of a Greek goddess; the lips were slightly more red than what was normal, possibly from feeding, but were otherwise full and held a pout like look about them; similar to the lips of an eleven year old who hadn't gotten exactly what they wanted. In the middle of the child's face were two almond eyes of the brightest and most soulful blue color ever imaginable.

"Was she a discarded angel?" Random asked absentmindedly but sincerely; after all, the child was found in the City of the Dead, and anything or everything was possible in those parts.

"No," replied Suicide softly, "she's just from Heaven, doesn't have wings though. A pity, that," he sighed dreamily; Suicide had always had an obsession with wings and feathers.

Random "humphed" quietly and straightened up from his bent position, "I still don't see what the difference between the two are," he stated, referring to angles and 'Heavenly beings'. He looked at the back of Suicide's head and asked, a mixture of dread, worry and fear on his face, "You're not planning on keeping her, are you?"

"Oh, of course I am," Suicide purred, "She can be our Claudia; yours, Micah's and mine; you can be Lestat, Random, Micah can be Louis, and I'll be Madeleine," he said with a far off smile, perhaps remembering other pages from the book he was referring to. He started to hum the tune to Rock-a-Bye Baby again and resumed his rocking, back and forth, back and forth.

Random nodded minutely and let out a long, troubled sigh; he feared that that was going to be the answer. Every few hundred years or so Suicide would go out onto the streets in the City of the Dead and bring home misfit children to raise into adulthood. He'd care for them all like a parent cares for a child, and he'd teach them anything they'd wish to learn with a patience only the truly immortal could have. He'd teach them and play with them and protect them from all harm, but evidentially they'd all leave; either they'd be killed while wondering around without their guardian, or they'd just go off and disappear. The one's that'd just disappeared were the hardest for Suicide to get over losing, but get over them he would. Then he'd be going out, finding other ones like them to bring home and start anew his cycle with. Random wondered how many would be in this batch of misfits; how many brothers or sisters would this one little girl have? Would they be demon, angel or maybe another race all together? He sighed again and started making his way back out into the hallway.

"Her name's Hope," said Suicide suddenly, the undercurrent of bone-weary depression in his voice now evident, even though Random knew Suicide was neither tired nor depressed. The undercurrent shifted again and faded to become another background noise in the tones of Suicide's ever changing voice. "Hope is such a pretty name…"

Silence settled on the room once more and Random nodded again before taking the last step out the door. The little girl's name was Hope; it would now say so in all the record books kept in Heaven, Hell, and everywhere in between. Random padded down the staircase and into the kitchen, settling himself down into a chair at the breakfast bar. He returned to thinking about how many new members of the family would be added this year, how they might behave, what their personalities might be like, how they might die… He was still thinking these things as Micah came down, pouring cereal into his bowl and making the other necessary preparations for their mornings' meal.