Ichor

noun \ˈī-ˌkȯr, -kər\

An ethereal fluid taking the place of blood in the veins of the ancient Greek gods.

Prologue

It took me a while to understand what exactly happened to me.

I'm not referring to the shooting, as I knew exactly what was happening that night. Hell, I accepted it even. Sure, I wanted to live as much as the next girl, but my death was…Docile. I hadn't fought when that tall figure ripped my purse from my hands, nor had I struggled when the cool metal of a hand gun was pressed to my temple and the click of the safety being turned off ran through my ears. It simply was. I had closed my eyes.

When I was reborn, I was mildly surprised. In my previous life I wasn't religious, but I was relatively open to other ideas. Reincarnation was something I had thought about in passing, but I adamantly was the kind of girl that needed definite and unquestionable proof to believe in something. In some ways I'm still like that, but I'm much more tolerant of the idea that other things may happen that I'm unaware of. That's certainly something that was pounded into my head.

This time around I've been born into a kind Japanese family. My new mother was a lovely short haired brunette that birthed me at the relatively stable age of twenty six, and shamelessly doted on my brother and I. My father was thirty-three when I was born, a stern yet caring man who was undeniably a family man at heart. My brother, however…

I don't know what to think of him.

He was adorable, even at the age of two when I was introduced to this world. He had a full head of light brown hair, and wide innocent amber-like eyes. He looked like a fucking cherub. When I got a little older, a little more able, he would sometimes sneak into my room at night to clumsily help me out of my crib. He'd set me next to him on the cold floor, brush my chocolate brown hair out my vision, and read to me. He was a huge help to me learning Japanese, something I was extremely thankful for, as I had only known English prior.

His name was Yagami Raito.

I'll be the first to admit that in my past life I had a fucked up sense of morals, and that many of my beliefs followed me into this body, but I honestly had no idea how to proceed. Sure, at this age he was loving and helpful, but he would grow up. He'd get older, become more mature, and be more jaded. He'd live his life severely unhappy until he'd find the Death Note.

My brother would become Kira.

Staring up at the five year old who was reading me a story that was essentially saying goodnight to primarily inanimate things, I wondered if I would really actually care when the time came. I slowly slid my gaze down to the kanji his index finger was tracing, and idly wondered if that made me a bad human being.