(Deals with touchey subjects such as depression, murder, etc.)

     My name is Izabelle, also known as Izy. Everybody says that I'm sick, and that there's a problem with me. I wouldn't say that, I would call myself... Ultraviolet. Special. Rough around the edges.

     But, who am I kidding, I am insane. I just take offense to people who point it out. So... Your wondering why I'm like this? It began when I was 11, I heard voices. They said they were my friends, and that I could trust them. But what kind of friend tells you your messed up, and that your an idiot, that your ugly?

     The voices told me how everybody hated me because I was ugly, and dumb. They said they could help me. I lost control, and blacked out. As soon as I could see, my wrists were covered in cuts, a pattern that looked like a checker board. They said the scars made me pretty. Me, being naive, believed every word recited in my head.

     They took it further and further, pushing me by the day. It had been a few months. I had been transformed into a dark minded, depressed middle schooler. In fact, I had no hope. Everything I did was what the voices had told me to do. They even gave me my own name, "Mujona". And that's what everybody called me. At the time, I hadn't known, but mujona means "soulless".

     My parents were worried. They wondered; Why is she always up in her room? That's because I was 11, listening to heavy metal full of curse words they didn't approve of, cutting myself, scheming up some good revenge plans, and studying things such as Zodiacs, spirit contact, and etcetera. Along with many other things I'd be busted for. My room was like my little cave, dark and alone.

     Around my parents and the staff at school, I'm precious ×100. Around anybody else, I'm that one emo girl nobody will love. I wanted to harm my bullies, the people who harmed me first. I decided to keep it in, save it for later.

     I kept this cycle going for quite some time, and I thought this is how it would be forever. But no. Its like I have stats or something. They can just raise and lower them as they please. They began to raise my insanity. Sure, depression was almost maxed out, but they kept it lower so I would not commit suicide.

     That's only because they wanted to use me. To make me they're puppet. A puppet designed to be nothing other then a killer. The process had been rather quick. And September 2nd, that was the day my parents and older brother died. That's the day I killed them.

A/N:

Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Well, prolouge. I intend to upload quite a bit, and trust me when I say this, if you didn't like the prolouge because it was dealing with depression and stuff, that's about 60% of the story so read at your own risk.

-Author Chan