Our Life Our Story - Book 1

Chapter 5 - Hell's Angel

"I'm called the Devil of The Mourge. I wasn't always like that."

Katrina Roso was her name, "Angel of Death" was her alias and she lived up to it. She killed and beheaded many with a single swipe of her scythe, poisoned more with her toxic words and lured some to their belated end. She took in a victim's trust with the clever words of her own and would stab them in the heart. Quite literally. She was the trickster. The Loki of Los Valburn.

Los Valburn's "Angel of Death" dressed either one of two ways. Sometimes she dressed stealthily, with black hand wraps, shimmery grey tights, and a long dark green scarf covering her honey-hazel brown eyes. Her wavy dark brown hair was loose, framing a light-brown-sugared tone face. Her dark purple scythe always situated itself on the holster on her back, giving her a haunting shadow. Sometimes she geared up undercovered, with a white shirt that had blue sleeves and faint red smears on the front if you look closely, and black shorts. Her footfalls were light and brushy against the floors, or loud and frantic in her haste.

She was agile and quite strong for her size, with a mind like concrete if made up. She had wits of steel, but the education system was never on her side. She just learned slightly slower and needed the slightest bit more explanation to understand, that was all. The crew were the like the siblings she never had, understanding and loud, with a little bit of spice. They were one of a kind, and she would stick with them through thick and thin.

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What was she really? Ever since she was younger, she never knew the real her. Her father was gone before she was even born, and her mother died 4 years later. She was sent to an orphanage a few days after her mother had succumbed to her unknown illness, where she was filtered from home to home.

Her first home wasn't so bad, as well as her second. It was probably since she was so young. By the time she was out of the second house due to the death of the old couple who adopted her, she was 7.

Her third house was.. unpleasant, to say the least. Her room was an old one, with peeling walls and rickety floorboards. She got 2 small meals per day, a bowl about the size of her small hand at 6:30 AM and 9:00 PM on the dot. It usually consisted of dollar tree gritty brown rice and cold canned corn. A small bottle of water would be right after. Her door would be closed and bolted shut all the time, and she would only be allowed to go to school with her step-brother, who was 4 years older than her and disliked her as much as the couple who adopted her. She wasn't trusted, and she didn't know what to do with that. She was 9.

Her next house was in DC. Her foster family was rich and lived in a large 3 story house, with crisp white walls and a neatly trimmed garden out front. The father was a politician, the mother: a lawyer, and the three children as high school kids. She wasn't allowed to go to school, even though it was technically required by law, because the family was very traditional. She was a girl, and according to them, she wasn't allowed to educate herself. For this reason, she would be trapped at home, not unlike her previous home, though with much better conditions. She was taken back by CPS when they visited the house to see her alone for hours on end. She was 11.

Her fifth and final house was the worst. It didn't look so bad from an outsider's point of view. Like her previous house, but the people were considerably less indifferent to her presence. She wouldn't be fed most days, would leave to school feeling miserable. A stomach aching to be fed, eyes screwed shut in pain, and blue splotches of a bruise spread on her skin. One day, she just snapped. She had bolted from the house after an argument with her foster family, taking her belongings and a liberal amount of money she stole away to Los Valburn. She was 14.

She met her real family there. It was almost worth all the pain.