Decided to start the Death Note OC fanfic that's been in my head for a little while. It's *OC*, so don't like don't read. Not all that long of plot so if I stick with it will hopefully be complete by around the end of summer. Full-colour title pages to go with it can be found on my deviantART account, link in my profile. First chapter is more of a prologue... enjoy! (:

Reviews are always appreciated!

I do not own Death Note, but do own Scarlett and a good chunk of the plot.

The young girl, small for a seven year old, practically leaped into the waiting car through the open door. Her parents, a young man and woman also wearing evening clothing, followed a bit slower behind her.

"Hurry, hurry up, mommy and daddy!" she then spoke in her best royal tone, made even better by her British accent. "We cannot be late to visit the Queen!" She bounced up and down as though her seat was a trampoline.

Her mother laughed softly, tucking her daughter's cream silk dress under her to avoid to getting crushed by the car door. "Settle down, Scarlett. Please be a little more ladylike in front of Her Majesty!"

"Of course," the child smiled brightly, "thought it is me who she wants to see, not a stand-in fake."

Scarlett's father raised his eyebrows as he climbed into the front seat and started the engine. "Very true. Though I am still scratching my head as to how you scored so high on your school's entrance exam, and your athletic test! I mean, I was smart in school, but I was horrible at sports." He shook his head, feigning sadness.

His wife nudged him from her spot in the passenger's seat. "I was the athletic superstar of the grade, love."

Scarlett, who had been scribbling away on a paper in the back seat, piped up. "I think I got my talents from both of you!" She didn't use the playful tone of a child, but spoke steadily with bright eyes and conviction in her voice. Her parents couldn't help but truly believe her.

They drove for a few more minutes towards Buckingham Palace in silence. There was then a rustle of paper and both parents felt a tap on their shoulder.

"Look mommy, daddy!" Scarlett proclaimed as she thrust a page of newspaper at them.

Her mother took it first. In clumsy, second grade writing, many arrows and notes littered the front page of today's newspaper. It featured a murder case, and also held interviews with ten suspects. The arrows pointed to underlined sections of print, some sentences that outlined the crime and some lines that the interviewed subjects had said. One bolded arrow led from the picture of a middle-aged man called Len Copperfield to a space on the bottom of the newspaper, where Scarlett had written "HE IS THE MURDERER."

Even her mother, who was used to her seven year olds powerful crime-solving skills, was temporarily speechless. "Wow sweetie, I knew you were good, but this... amazing!"

The young girl beamed. "Show daddy now!"

Her mother laughed. "For all your intelligence, I have to say you have the worst common sense I have ever seen in my life. Daddy's driving, sweetheart. He'll look at it when we've parked."

"Oh come on, I'll take a look-"

"No, I really don't think you should-"

"Yeah dad, look!"

Just a few seconds after Scarlett's father and taken the newspaper and started to scan it, the road turned, but the car didn't.

With the squealing of tires horribly loud against the pavement, the family's SUV spun out of control on the slick winter road and rolled with incredible force into the steep ditch lining the side of the pavement. Scarlett screamed and grabbed hold of the handles on the inside of the car door, while her mother and father had only a little time to exclaim in shock. The car smashed violently into the orange, water-filled dividers between the road and the forest and every passenger in the car was propelled into the object in front of them. Scarlett's parents were instantly knocked out. The little girl herself collided with the back of the seat in front of her and cried out, pain shooting up the front of her whole body. When she stopped moving, Scarlett uttered a quiet sob before quickly examining her body. Her whole torso was badly bruised, and blood stained her dress from a cut on her lower stomach. She was about to climb into the front to see her parents, to get "shhed", to be told "everything was okay," until a strong smell caught her attention. Scarlett, with her knowledge above that of an average second grader, knew at once that it was gasoline. And it smelled strong enough that it would most likely make the car explode in a matter of seconds.

Spurred on by pure instinct and adrenaline, Scarlett opened the car door and half climbed, half fell out. She ran for her life out of the ditch, looking desperately for something, anything to save herself from the explosion. All that was running through her mind at this moment was the will to live. Scarlett spied the divider, and knew that it was filled with water that was the only thing here that might be able to save her life. She full-out sprinted for the object and leaped over the top of it in a sudden spurt of strength she didn't even know she possessed.

Crouched and shivering in the frigid winter air behind the divider, Scarlett's young mind was suddenly struck by the fact that her parents were still in the car. "No, no! MOM, DAD!" she sobbed desperately and was about to go back to get them, all sense of self-preservation forgotten, when the car exploded with the force of a stick of dynamite before her very eyes. The shock wave hit the divider and burst it, shooting bits of car, pavement and dirt at Scarlett. She didn't completely know how but darkness soon crashed down upon her senses.

"Dad... Mom..." she croaked faintly and finally lay still as a mixture of blood and water began to soak her once-lovely silk dress.

The traumatized young girl was found an hour later by the London police, unconscious and freezing. She was taken to the hospital immediately and was soon fully recovered, with only a few eventual scars as a reminder. The doctors said that it was her decision to hide behind the divider that had saved her. But most of her scars weren't physical. While at the hospital she would hardly speak, and would wake up screaming and violently shivering in the middle of the night. The counsellors who tried to talk to her eventually found out that she blamed herself for her parent's deaths, and they decided that the only way she could be saved from her memories was to let her out of the hospital with a caring adult. The only problem was that the Adams didn't seem to have any living relatives anywhere near London.

The answer came in the form of an older man who demanded to see her after a week of her residence at the hospital. After sitting with her in privacy for a few minutes he confirmed that it was the girl he had heard of, and offered her a place at his orphanage, one that only took the most gifted of children and "trained" them. The doctors decided that this was exactly what the girl needed and signed the release papers immediately.

So that is how the little girl found herself sitting on a windowsill at the orphanage called Wammy's House. She had only been there a few hours and had been introduced to the other caretaker, Roger, and had been shown her room. It was nicer than she had expected, although she hadn't admitted it. Scarlett had only uttered about ten words all week. She had seen a few other children in the halls, most of them younger than her, and even a toddler that had wrenched her from her numb, grieving state long enough to harbour the quick though that he was adorable. Then the accident clouded her thoughts once more. It's my fault my parents are dead, she told herself, wincing. I never deserve to be happy again. And because of her incredible persuasive skills, the seven year old believed herself completely.

The voices of the children playing in the new fallen snow drifted up to her through the window. A small part of her yearned to join them, but her self-hatred and newfound phobia of snow and ice stopped her. I killed them. A few tears rolled down her already damp cheeks.

"You're crying."

What surprised her most was not the unexpected voice when she hadn't heard anyone enter the room, but the way that it was phrased as a statement, not a question.

Scarlett turned her head slowly to see a boy no older than eleven staring at her intently. He wasn't that small for his age but appeared so due to the slightly hunched position he stood in. Dark, round eyes that gave him the appearance that he hadn't slept for days peered at her from behind unruly pitch-black hair.

He repeated himself, but this time added a question. "You're crying. Why?"

The younger girl turned away, wishing to be left alone with her thoughts.

His creased, crumpled t-shirt and jeans rustled as he sat on the windowsill across from her and drew his knees to his chest in an unusual sitting position. Scarlett knew that gesture was usually performed by people who were unsure of not their thoughts, but themselves as a whole.

"It seems as though you aren't going to answer me. This is a usual response for children on their first day here, but usually they also shout obscenities at the caretakers. But you won't talk at all, and that's strange. I can't say I know why."

Who does this kid think he is? He talked in the manner of someone much older than him. He was staring at her again, putting his thumb against his mouth and looking deep in thought. Scarlett could tell that he was analyzing her, and for some strange reason it didn't bother her that much. Or maybe she just didn't care.

"Hmm... It must be something that happened quite recently in your past, because I do not think that you are mute. Most likely involving your parents, since you are now at an orphanage. You would have not had time to prepare yourself, so the event must have been sudden. There are also faint bruises on your arms and face, which look like they've been there a little while. So... I conclude that you lost your parents in an accident of some sort, most likely involving a vehicle, in which you were also involved. And it happened about a week ago." He spoke softly, in an almost monotonous, simple voice that made the connections he was making sound almost easy to figure out.

Scarlett was too shocked to be angry. In all her short life at her school, she had never met a child better at solving puzzles than she was. She was not mad, even after a few seconds of debating within herself. She only felt amazed at this strange boy's obvious intellect.

"I am sorry if I went too far with that. I wish you would talk, because I think that you would be interesting, but it is boring and pointless to have a one-way conversation with myself. Goodbye," and with that he slowly stood up and started walking towards the door.

It was a quiet voice, hoarse with lack of use; that stopped him.

"Yes. You were right... about everything."

The boy's face showed the faint beginnings of a smile as he walked back and sat down again in his seemingly usual position. "I see. I am sorry." Even in his voice, she could tell he meant it. "It would make things much easier if you would talk to them, you know."

"I know," she whispered sadly. "But it's my fault that their dead. I don't know what to do now."

"It is no one's fault. Most children who come here enjoy it very much. There are many books to read, and good things to eat." As if to prove his point, he pulled out a sweet from his pocket and began munching on it. "I think... you need to talk to some of the children here. You seem like a person who likes contact with others, and needs to be in a light that you can look strong in. Once they know you, they will realize your potential."

Once again amazed, Scarlett knew that somehow, unbelievably, his words were true. But she also had something to say, based on the boy's words and actions as he had been talking to her.

"You're right. But..." in an act of confidence that was very much like her former self, Scarlett reached out and took hold of his hand. It was limp in her grasp, but held a bit tighter when she got nervous and tried to pull away. "I think you need to be more sociable. You're extremely insightful and would make a great friend. You need to not just believe in your theories... but believe in yourself."

Scarlett's watery gaze was met with a slight grin from the boy. "I was correct. You are interesting. And it seems that we will have to help each other with these points, which is what... friends do. Are you my friend now?" He looked into her pale blue eyes with his dark ones wide and sincere, and Scarlett's heart went out to him because it truly sounded like he had never had a friend. And in caring for another, she finally let go, not of all, but of a little of her own grief.

Her face held her first smile in seven days as she replied, "Of course."

The two children spent hours sitting on the windowsill, exchanging few words and just being content with each other's company. When the sun started to set and the other children came back inside, they relocated to a downstairs room and selected a movie to watch. As the ending credits rolled over the screen, Scarlett, who had been sitting with her head on her new friend's shoulder, looked up at him.

"You know, I've had a few friends before, but I do think you are my first true friend. No one has ever understood me like this." She flashed him a slightly toothy grin.

He gave her his little smile. "Me too. And I'm quite certain I don't even know your name."

Scarlett let out a little chuckle. "Oh, it's S-"

At that moment, the man named Watari who had picked Scarlett up from the hospital entered the room. "Ah, what an unlikely pairing! But I think you two may have to separate for the night, because it's bedtime for you, little miss. Come along!"

Reluctantly, Scarlett hoped off the couch and followed Watari. Before she left the room, she turned around and gave her friend a smile and a wave, coupled with a mouthed "See you tomorrow!" He nodded and returned the favours.

Early the next morning, Scarlett was called from her room to the main office, where there were two adults waiting for her. They explained that they were agents from the British Secret Intelligence Service, and had come because they had heard of both her mental and athletic prowess. They offered her a place in their training academy, where she could put both of her talents to use, instead of only her intellect as Wammy's House would have done. She recognized the opportunity in the offer, and although she would have to leave the boy she had befriended, she accepted. Leaving the orphanage that very hour, Scarlett and the boy have never seen each other since.