Meet Sandhya

Ch. 1 Introduction to a Dark Angel

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Rame family has a nasty perchance for getting into trouble, disregarding the fact if they want it or not. Of course, some credit goes to the family sticking their noses into places precisely where they shouldn't due to curiosity and a inborn thirst for knowledge. Others might attribute the Rame's bad luck to the higher powers controlling the world. They certainly do not like the Rame family line because the Rames are powerful and not entirely human, which is a dangerous combination even at the best of times. It was only a matter of time before most of the Rame's were killed off by paranoid higher powers or previous friends, by monsters straight out of legends, through wars, or by assassination.
Soon there was only a small branch of the family left; a father and his three children, a boy and two younger girls. The father Rame succumbed to disease plaguing him since childhood. The eldest boy Rame was killed by a monster while he was deep in the Amazon decoding old runes. The youngest girl Rame grew up to be a influential politician, and was assassinated by an enemy party. The middle child barley survived to late teenage years, and she bore a daughter before being murdered while taking her daughter to a park in Brooklyn.
So the last Rame was left out of a long and ancient line, burdened by the troubles of her ancestors as she struggled to survive in a world stacked against her. Much power was at her young fingertips, although she had no knowledge of it at the time, and with great power comes greater responsibility.
And hand-in-hand with power and responsibility comes trouble. It's a certainty when one is a Rame.

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Hello, people of this marvelous Earth, my name is Sandhya Rame.
(Doh Doh Duh! Insert evil crackling laughter here along with dramatic music)
Yes, my name is Sandhya. Heard of me? If not, I can't blame you that much. I have so many aliases for talking to strangers that even I lose track of them sometimes-
Wait, you don't like my name?
Tough luck. It's the name given to me by my mother, and I'm not parting from it. If it truly bothers you, use one of my main alias instead- Angela White or Sandra Collins. (Remember me yet? Yes? No? Mainly a resounding no? Okay. Well, at least I know my quest to be ordinary was somewhat successful.) I don't particularly care either way, but I have two rules concerning my name you have to abide.
1.) Do not give me nicknames.
2.) Do NOT under any circumstances shorten my name(s).
You can rage and rant and generally stew in hatred all you like, but I won't take any action unless you break one of these rules. But if you do cross the line... I will hunt you down and tear you a new one. There's this one guy, I couldn't be bothered to remember what his name was, who affectionately called me 'Sandy' once several years ago. He's still in the hospital recovering, if your interested in details like that.
Instead of pissing me off, you can follow my two measly rules regarding my name and we will get along fine on acquaintance level. That is if your not a complete asshole, moron, idiot, etc. and deliberately try to push my temper.
A note to all: Please don't. I don't have the patience of a saint. I'm a teen battling hormones and have a fascination for sharp, pointy things, and won't hesitate to stab the fluffing out of people. It won't work well out for you if you make me furious.
I'm currently about 11 years old and I attend Westover Academy, an old militaristic school located in Maine. Yes, I am American. Live with it, cause I ain't changing to please yah. I also have joint citizenship to Britain. Ooo, I can hear all those Brits cringing now. Hehe. Beware the grammar damage I can inflict on you country!
And yes, I know my language isn't appropriate for an eleven year old girl, regardless of nationality. But that's what happens when a kid grows up surrounded by teenagers, and American ones at that. Sacrifices had to be made. Manners among peers was one of them.
To keep an otherwise long introduction short, I hate the place. I hate Westover, not America, I love America for the most part. Besides, I think this introduction is a bit too long anyway. Who even reads these things and doesn't go straight to the story. But isn't the introduction part of the story? Well-
(Am I rambling? I think I am. Huh, you learn something new about yourself every day.)
Another note to whatever audience: BLAME THE ADHD for the distorted story telling. That's what I do. Actually, I blame my ADHD for most everything I do...wait. Story. Right. Where was I? Oh yeah, dreaded school. Westover. *shiver*
Westover Hall is an minor castle left over by rich immigrates from the time the colonists immigrated from Europe. It was in deplorable condition before it was rejuvenated as a museum. I don't know the whole story, but there was some difficulty maintaining the museum, then the school system sank its meaty claws into the property, and BAM! Instant school.
Its not the most comfortable school though...
The halls are drafty, the ventilation needs fixing, and the windows are not secured properly. It doesn't have central heating, so the mini-castle becomes a icebox during winter. For some people used to living in northern climates, it wouldn't be so bad, but your talking to a girl who spends part of her summers in a beach house in Florida.
If you are so terribly isolated and ignorant, know that Florida is hot and humid and sunny all the freaking time. Geez, it barely ever gets mildly chilly even in the dead of winter. Yeah. I'm used to that type of weather. No, I'm not blond, but yes, I do have tan sun kissed skin. No, I do not surf whatever gave you that silly idea-
REGARDLESS, I have small defenses against frigid weather.
The evil, evil teachers (all teachers are evil people for assigning SO MUCH WORK; countless essays, book assignments, projects, tests, mountains of homework and stupid surprise pop quizzes among other things) banned students from setting fires in the fireplaces once one desperate, freezing group accidentally set fire to the east wing as they tried to stay warm.
I understand the logic of keeping the students safe from harm, but seriously? What's the point of a fireplace in a building WITHOUT HEATING if you can't use it? They, as responsible adults, should at least set up some form of staying warm (bundling up is not an option because we have uniform and get detention for breaking code, idiot professors) but noo, its somehow below the teachers to pay attention to small details, like student comfort.
Honestly, I won't be surprised if we freeze to death one day with the carelessness of the teachers at Westover.
Not like they would care much if we all become meat-icles. Besides, I'm already convinced half of them are monsters. I know for a fact that Dr. Thorn, our oh so 'loving' principle, is a manticore. Just an FYI, if you ever run into him.
The rules at Westover are way too strict. I know, I know, that's what every self-respecting student complains about. Rules. But I don't doubt that you would not complain once you learned that technology is banned. All technology. Phones, computers, music players, cameras, etc. ALL OF IT. It's a tragedy.
Westover is trying to encourage teenage rebellion, isn't it? That's my thesis anyway. They've been quite successful with me at least- I smuggle electronics and surgery foods, I have a total disregard for people in positions of authority, leather (a fabric decidedly banned from Westover's acceptable uniform) is my wardrobe staple...I'm no angel. For any and all possible young readers, please don't try to take after me. I'm not anyone's role model.
Another rule at Westover is that you can't color your hair. This wouldn't be a big deal to some people, but my hair is a dark black built from natural navy-ish and vaguely violet-colored strands.
Strange, I know, but Rames never look ordinary. It's a family thing to have unusual coloring. Just look at a picture of my mom for example- she had platinum blonde hair somewhere between silver and gold, lavender eyes, and milk white skin. It's unique.
But the teachers at Westover don't believe that the shades of midnight are my natural hair color. Of course they don't, if they did believe me they would have to go against everything they are and function outside the realm of dislike. I was forced to dye my hair plain ol' black to 'fit in' with the other students, and be less 'unnatural'.
Not like it works much.
Next problem on the extensive list is-- ding! ding! ding! I don't fit in with other students!
What a surprise.
Sure, sure, some other people might have a problem making friends (problems like personality and shyness really get in the way of a blooming friendship) but I never seen someone had the same trouble as me.
Regular people avoid me because on a subconscious level their instincts are screaming 'danger! get away! get away! Death immediate, get away!' anytime I come within a few feet of them. At least, that's how one person at the summer camp I go to describes it. Added on with my fickle personality, and I get very few people who can put up with me for long periods of time without murder on their minds.
Yeah, I have very few friends. But I manage.
Should I remind you that Westover is a military school? We have to get up at the crack of dawn regardless of weather to run laps around the campus. Rain, snow, sleet, hail -- you name it, we run through it. Then there are drab and uncomfortable uniforms we were required to wear at all times. Precise schedules, unappetizing food at mealtimes, unfriendly teachers-- all of it shapes up to a miserable school experience.
There ARE some things I like at Westover, though. A part of a untamed forest is located on the campus. Filled with birch and oak and pine and maple, tree trunks twisted with time grew together and protected all those who entered from the boring habits of school life. Fallen leaves provided a multicolored carpet for the inhabitants on the forest floor, and silenced footsteps. A small clear creek, gurgling with water from the mountain, wound its way through the branches and underbrush. Animals crawled and chirped and foraged and ate; not bothered at all by a intruder finding brief respite in nature.
The miniature castle is not that far from the sea. Sure, there is a steep 90 degree angle drop down to the sea, but we (the students) don't let it bother us. Occasionally, during warmer months, some of the braver students go cliff diving. Its fun, almost like flying, as you soar through the sky. Twirling and tumbling, the fall seeming to last forever with every adrenaline filled nanosecond. Then you cut right through the cold surface, diving past the rolling waves. The shock of cold water chills you to your very bones, the speed of your entry plastering clothes to your body. You can taste salt as you sink into the murky depths in a flurry of bubbles. Then you curve upward, elegantly carried by the current as its brief passenger, and break the surface spluttering out water and laughter. No one has died or been grievously injured doing it, so the teachers turn a blind eye to our actions.
And there were nights that were dark without light from stars or the moon. Teachers and students alike curled in warm nests of blankets like hibernating bears. I would be the only one awake, stealing away in cold hallways, silent like a thief in the night. Weapons on the walls, dusty mementos of times long since passed, would be used once more. Swung through the air and fought against invisible others, the weapons relieved their glory days as instruments of war and not wall decorations. But the nights would pass like any other, the weapons would be replaced, and I would return to my dormitory to prepare for the day ahead with the rest of my just waking classmates. Days of work and problems passed by in a studying haze, punctuated by tests and quizzes where we would show our knowledge.
If you know me, you'll realize me studying in any form on any subject is a near miracle. I am diagnosed with ADHD (an attention disorder) and dyslexia (a reading problem). I can't sit still for more than ten minutes before I start fidgeting, thirty minutes before I start pacing. Being stuck in seven different sixty minute classes five days a week, my ADHD will start acting up if I'm not interested in the class. Dyslexia affects my reading. Words will start rearranging themselves on the page, making it difficult to read and understand written English. Luckily enough, I have a mild case of dyslexia that doesn't affect me all the time. It only makes itself know when I am under stress, which is a pain when cramming for exams.
Many people diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia get booted out of schools because they are too much trouble to handle, and it's too hard to teach us. I've been one of the few who have been kicked out of a fair few schools before actually staying in one school for longer than a year. In this case, the school I haven't been kicked out of yet is Westover Hall.
The symptoms are still there though, even when I have done everything to be somewhat ordinary. Constant fidgeting, difficulty focusing on one thing for any period of time, inability to concentrate in the first place. Active imagination, too much energy, a pressing desire to be doing anything but what is supposed to be done.
Now you see why someone like me (someone with ADHD & Dyslexia, and not the host of other problems I face) would likely give up on normal school. It's just to hard to deal with.
But I don't take the easy way out. Sure, my determination has gotten me into so much trouble that I've lost count of how many near-misses I've have, and how many expulsions I've faced. I have 'calmed down' in recent years to the point I can pass as a regular person (average grade and a simple lifestyle, that stuff), which is a blessing. But I'm positive my determination is to resurface in the future just to get me into trouble again - it's a stubborn little thing that I can't get rid of.
But I digress.
The point is, I've always strove to be ordinary (or at least somewhat ordinary) all my life. That includes going a Militaristic school for my ADHD, forcing myself to meditate & going to a counselor periodically to shave the edge off my emotions so my dyslexia wouldn't be as effective, and for the most part keeping my head down, avoiding the attention of monsters and mortals alike. All my hard work however, came crashing down when I received my Hogwarts acceptance letter.