A/N: So this is my first ever story on FF. Please treat me kindly! :) Updates will most likely be weekly, on Fridays. Please R&R :D

p.s this is merely a prologue, actual chapter will be up tonight-ish?

Maka remembers the first time it happened, the very first cut. Mama was gone, Papa was off at some bar like always. The night was dark and lonely, summer air drifting thickly into her new unfamiliar room. Their divorce was to be finalized the next day, and emotions of panic and sadness she had never felt before hit her fast like a bullet train. She was just unpacking the last of her things in her fathers new apartment, tearing open boxes one by one to put away her things but before Maka realized it she was crying. Hot teardrops fell from her forest eyes, wetting her lips and falling onto her chest to settle uncomfortably into the crevice between her practically nonexistant breasts.

It was right below her left wrist, once single pure blood red line done with the box cutter she was holding. It wasn't deep, quite shallow really, but it was deep enough for the blood to swell. For the blood to gather, and Maka watched as it became a droplet that fell from her fingertips to the linoleum floor. The moment it splattered was the moment that Maka knew that she was hooked.

She knew that she needed that blood now, she needed it to pour from her skin and to stain her pureness. From the very first cut, Maka Albarn was addicted.

'''''''

"Maka! Sweetheart are you awake?" Spirit Albarn barges into his only daughters room, spatula greased with oil in one hand and a smile plastered on his face. Before he could take a look around the room a pillow came flying at his face. The impact made him stagger back and fall onto his ass.

"Don't barge in, Papa!" Maka yells, slamming the door for emphasis. Spirit moves the pillow from his face and chuckles.

"That's my Maka." He murmurs, getting up to finish her breakfast.

Maka turns back and forth in the mirror, tugging down the sleeves of her white button up shirt and checking the length of her red plaid skirt. She pulled it down a bit more to cover some faint week old scars, a gulp following the slight action. Maka straightens her cashmere vest which was part of the Spartoi high school uniform and continues to scrutinize her reflection. She was a tall girl with endless legs and sandy hair that was usually pulled into low pony tails. It was her preferred choice of hairstyle, it's the type Mama would always put her hair in when the family went out for a nice day. Maka cups her chest, grimacing at the size. She had hoped they would grow, but alas they had stayed small.

Maka sighs, knowing it really won't get any better than this. She grabs her white leather gloves and trench coat before leaving her room to find her Papa spooning a bit of rice into a bowl. He smiles at her, shoulder length red hair falling across his eyes. He blows it away with a breath and Maka rolls her eyes as she sits down.

"Itadakimasu!" They both say at the table before picking up their chopsticks and bowls. There was a comforting sound of kitchen clatter to fill up the strange silence.

"So, Maka, are you ready for your first day of school?" Papa asks cautiously.

"Mhm." Maka eats quickly, answering her fathers questions with single curt words. He winces at her harshness, knowing that he blamed her for the divorce. She was right for it, but it still it hurt him. He loves his daughter more than anything in the world, her Mama too but the man just didn't know how to show it.

"I'm done, thank you for the food. I'll be off now!" Maka stands quickly, grabbing her bag from the living room.

"Don't you want to ride with Papa, Maka?" Spirit asks hopefully with a smile.

"Ride to school with the vice principal?" Maka laughs at the idea. "No thanks, Papa."

"Good morning, Soul!"

Soul Evans grunted at the cheery maids voices, pulling the covers of his bed up over his head.

"No, you must be up, Soul!" A voice says.

"Yes, it is the first day of school, Soul!" Another voice reminds him. Before he knew it the warmth of his comforters were ripped off his body and he was hit by a blast of cold air.

"Ugh, fuck you!" Soul screams, sitting up abruptly. He rubs his face, glaring at the maids through his fingertips. They smiled at him, sugary and sweet as their hands were clasped and held in front of their stomachs.

"Good morning, Soul!" They say.

"The shower is running for you." The one on the left says with her hair in a braid.

"And breakfast is being prepared!" The one of right tells him cheerily, hair swept up in a bun.

"Fuck off." Soul grumbles, a hand running through his snow white hair. "I'm awake."

"Shall we help you into the bath?" Braid says.

"No."

"Are you sure?" Bun asks.

"Yes, just fuck off!"

Satisfied at his lively profanities, the pair bows and leaves the young master to himself. Soul crawls off his bed, lids still heavy. The man, no longer just a teen, walks his way to his bathroom and splashes his face with cold water. The steam from his bath was building up and Soul sighs. He strips the only piece of clothing he had on, a pair of boxers, and walks under the hot steady flow of water.

Sleep and hot water slides off his body, finding it's way down the drain. Soul stands underneath the shower, grumbling underneath his breath. "Fuck school." He murmurs, closing his eyes. Soul breathes in the steam, lubricating his parched throat. He sighs again and remembers a saying his mother once told him.

Each sigh you make takes away a little bit of your happiness.

Soul scoffs. He must have had no happiness left then.