Daughter of Hades meets Mr. Frost ((ON HOLD))

Prologue

Hi. My name is Rebecca. Rebecca Hayes, to be exact. I'm a foster child, a foundling, a nobody. A weirdo that people kept passing on and on to the next one, because no matter how much they got paid to give me a home, it was never enough to make up for all of the creepy things that happened. A whole chain of them. Every two weeks, something odd happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to go to a new place.

This time, I was determined to do things right. I had overheard the foster parents talking to the child services agent, and they seemed lovely. Whenever they visited, I was on my best behavior. I never dared to look at them though, just the floor or my hands. I was myself, but I wasn't as moody and slouchy as I usually was. I actually wore something nice, or seemed appropriate for the occasion, and I never chewed gum in their presence. Not once. You see, I'm Dyslexic and ADHD, so combine that with a moody 17 year old antisocial goth girl, and you can probably see why nobody wants me.

But for these people, they seemed so nice and kind. I would still wear black, but with red too, and they would be in good condition, too.

Let me explain. You're probably wondering what I look like, my personality, the way I act. So I'll tell you. I'm medium height, 5'5", and I have long brown hair with bangs, which comes down to my hips. I'm goth. Let me just say that. I wear all black makeup, the heavy kind too, but never lipstick. Never. I always use tinted chapstick or something, I think black lipstick looks tacky. And my makeup never seems to run out, no matter how much I apply, for which I am thankful. I usually wear all black. Today, a loose black tank that says, "Normal is boring" on it in white lettering, with squares cut out of the back, leaving thin lines running vertically and horizontally that connect every inch or so. A black cami and black skinny jeans with rips in them. And no, not the fashionable kind, actual rips from falling or getting hurt. A black beanie and black nail polish, a pair of black knee high leather boots, a matching black leather jacket, and a necklace. It had a charm on it, just one, and it was in the shape of a helmet, and of course the whole thing, including the chain, was black as night. I could almost hear my father's voice cooing at me, calling me his little princess, telling me he will always love me. Practically hearing the tears in his voice as he told me he had to leave, and he could never come back. Him hugging me as an infant and clasping the necklace on me, telling me he will alway be with me, in my heart.

Bull.

But I never saw his face, only heard a distant echo of his voice and smelled his scent. Oddly enough, he smelled of rotting corpses, a smell which I welcomed if I ever got the chance. I still do not know how I knew what the smell was, but somehow, I knew it was moldering bodies. I never did smell one in person, but sometimes I would lay on my bed and talk to my father, holding my necklace, and I would smell decaying flesh. The smell soothed me, while others freaked out. Yet another reason I'm the oddball. But I always remembered blackness, total blackness, and it reminded me of my dad. That's why I wear all black. I tend to hide in the shadows, almost becoming invisible, and people don't even notice me. The black helps.

I poked black studs through my ears and slid on the backs. I slid on my dark sunglasses and sighed, grabbing my one suitcase full of my possessions and slung my backpack over my shoulder. It had my school supplies and my laptop, all of my pastimes and stuff. My suitcase was full with my clothes, plus my entire library of books. I was saving up for a smartphone, maybe an iPhone, so I could take pictures of the pages and the hide the books away somewhere safe, so I had the contents, but the books themselves were stored away for future use. What can I say, I'm a goth bookworm.

"Rebecca Hayes! Your new parents are here!" The manager -I don't know what else to call her- of my current foster home called. I could hear her fake grin and shuddered. I put on a brave smile and kept my iPod safely in my pocket along with my earbuds.

The foster parents looked at me and smiled, not even surprised by my attire. "Rebecca, it's a pleasure to have you in our household." The woman smiled.

I smiled back. "It's a privilege to come live with you, Mrs. Jackson."

She laughed lightly, holding her husband's hand. She had pretty curly blond hair, with stormy gray eyes. Her husband had black hair and eyes the color of the sea. They were both very young, maybe only twenty or so. "Oh, no need to be so formal, Rebecca. Call me Annabeth. This is my husband, Percy."

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Okay, didn't really want to leave you hanging. I have no idea what's going on, but it's 12:40am, eastern time, so I should be going to bed.

Toodles my noodles!

~iamanawesometaco