The Blood that Flows in My Veins

I wrote a bunch of summaries for future stories I had wanted to write, but I didn't think of making it a fanfic until just now. So here I am, trying to change the plot of my original stories a little to make it Teen Titans….ish…well anyway, on with the story.

Chapter 1: Preface

The blood that flows in my veins is deep red. Deeper than the blood in most people's veins. The blood that flows in my veins is evil blood—murderous blood. But the blood that flows in my veins searches desperately for hope in a changed person. The blood that flows in my veins is turning brighter—normal. It's almost there, but never will be all the way. But it's still close. I guess I'm not that different at all.

I always let the blood in my veins do the talking—literally. Trying desperately to mend my evil ways, I often cut slits in my wrist everyday—to get rid of the 'bad' blood. I know it won't really help, but I don't care. It's my only solace, the only thing that I can do to fall asleep at night.

Well, other than him. Don't ask, it's a long story. A bit too long. It get's kind of…dull after a while.

But at least it's a real reason. I'm not one of those star-struck lovers traveling the four corners to find my one true love. No. This isn't some Sleeping Beauty or Snow White tale. And really. Like anyone would fight giant dragons and beat up huge guys in shiny armor just to kiss a girl.

Why do I feel this way for him? I don't know, really. But you're not supposed to have a reason. Especially if the reason is "He's so hot!" Please. Even an optimistic, peppy-hyper, sugar-sweet, emerald-eyed, ruby-haired, naive alien princess wouldn't use that as a reason.

Not that He isn't handsome—quite the contrary. He's more of a god-like person, but that's not the reason I feel for Him either.

Oh no, my reasons are much more realistic…in a strange sort of way.

I like the way He breathes, the way He looks when he's frustrated but too cocky to say so. I take pleasure in watching him look for a lost gadget, losing His mind over a small metal weapon.

Of course I help Him after a while. It's just more amusing to make Him beg. Like a little puppy-dog.

I do like puppy-dogs, to say the least. Probably more, but that's classified information stored away somewhere in one of the millions of file in one of the thousands of cabinets in my mind.

Do you see what He does to me? He sends me on wild goose chases, conveniently located in the folds of my mind. He doesn't know that he ruffles my feathers, He just does.

Fortunately for me, I've learned to keep my mouth shut during one of these unusual blizzards of thought. It comes in very handy.

Speaking of hands, I think there's one waving in front of me.

I guess I should look up. But I think I already know who it is.

And I think I'm going to have to answer some questions.

Some questions…

…that I don't want to answer.

Spunksterdawg