AN: okay. So kinda a short first chapter. It is only my second draft though. Hopefully I will manage to get it a tad bit longer.

"Demon! DEMON! Out! Get out! This is my house! Your not welcome here!"

His screaming and hissing were nearly drown out by her hysterical sobs. She held her son, who stared at the ceiling in shock. Other than the occasional whimper which escaped his pale lips, he made no noise. Whenever she saw the gleaming, blistered red handprint which marred his face, she would screech and moans and sob even more. My handprint...

'How did you do this?' The man growled, loathing laced his tone like poison. It poured from his very being.

My eyes met his. I matched ever once of his hatred with my own. And then some. This man didn't even know me, he didn't have the right to say any of the things he did.

The force of the blow he landed on my face took my breath away. Where his nails had stuck me I could feel warm blood trickle down my smarting face.

It took ever ounce of self control not to reach out and wring his neck.
'I asked you a question, girl!'

'Andrew...' The woman whimpered from behind him. His attention shifted from me to her. His scowl softened. Such a look of furry and hostility was reserved only for 'demons' like me.

'Dont hurt her...' She sobbed. My opinion of her rose. I had never known mother to be courageous. Ever.
'Its my fault she's like this. My tainted blood! I should have known one of them would turn out to be a problem... My mother... Send her to my mother!'
My opinion of her sank lower than it ever had been. I was a problem? How could she say such a thing! And I had called her mother!

My opinion of her sank lower than it ever had been. And I had called her mother!

'I don't care what you do with it so long as its gone before the week is up.' He turned back to me. 'Go to your room. I don't want to see your face again' he spat into my face.
I held his gaze for a few seconds, then, in a cool, unemotional voice I said 'I will kill you for this.'
And I meant it.


I had never had such intense feelings for anyone. Even after my rage had subsided, my hatred for him still burned greater than the fires of hell. He was the demon, not me. He was the one who deserved to suffer, not me.

The pain of their rejection left a shell filled only by the burning need for revenge. The thought of simply killing him no longer satisfied me. I had to make him suffer for what he had done to me. I would make his life fall apart around him just as mine did. He would regret the day he cast me out. Then he would die.

I cried that night. I couldn't believe what my life had become. I wanted things to be normal again. I wanted so many things that I couldn't have, things I would never have again. I told myself over and over again that it was all his fault. My life would have never come to this if it weren't for him.

I still could hardly believe what happened to me. The people I used to call parents, who used to say that they would love me until the end of the world, were sending me away to live with a person I hadn't even know existed. Why? Because I was different.

I couldn't bring myself to sleep. Questions about what was to become haunted my distraught mind and fear flooded my heart. What was going to become of me?