Disclaimer: I don't own Tokyo Ghoul but I own Mukuro!

The thing she remembered the most wasn't the intensity of a self-aware birth or even the years of her childhood in which she was dutifully cared for, but it was the startling memories of a life from before that burned into the twists and turns of her mind.

Though, she guessed a few situations came fairly close.

If she were to go in order it would have been the first time she caught sight of the news.

It was purely by coincidence that she managed to exit her room to the sight of her father watching tv. And it was with pure curiosity that Mukuro hide herself to the side so that she could watch it alongside him despite the fact that she was not allowed.

Mukuro supposed she regretted staying to observe, especially when she felt a half-shriek wheeze its way past her lips as the image of a dozen half-eaten corpses seared its way into her memory - but at that point, there was nothing she could do.

She hadn't known cannibalism was so morbid. Savage yes, but god she didn't imagine it like this.

Eyes shot to hers and in a split second the television was off and she was being scooped up into a pair of arms as trembled frantically into his shirt. Wide-eyed and tense, she allowed herself to accept the excuse that it was just a show - that it was just special effects - even though those screams sounded as real as she was.

Really, she should have known that from there on out that everything would just escalate.

Let it be said that since waking up in this body all she had ever known was her father. Him with his pale hair, blue eyes, handsome face and smile that always looked a little broken when turned to her but he was all she had and he loved her. And maybe she loved him too, it was hard to tell when they seemed to be so distant at times.

The next memorable insistence started with the vomiting. The only thing she had wanted to do was make herself something to eat, her father wasn't there and she was so mind-numbingly hungry that she had to do something.

And maybe Mukuro should have been alarmed when such an urge to eat took her over. Maybe she should have been worried at the fact that as the weeks went on the rumbling feeling in her stomach only grew but she wasn't because maybe, she thought, this was normal.

If only she knew.

So she had wandered into the kitchen, looking around as her eyes ultimately landed on the fridge in the far corner and she pulled something out. Mukuro remembered enough from her old life to at least do this much for herself. It was fairly easy to make a sandwich and even easier to devour it whole, but she barely got three bites in before she was upheaving straight onto the floor. Her back strained with the force of her coughs as bile slipped from her throat and tears burned paths down her cheeks.

And that's how her father found her, sobbing harshly and holding onto her sides as if they would split in half.

Wordlessly he took her into his arms - without a care as to what exactly was covering her - and rocked her until she was calm enough for him to take to the bathroom and clean up.

A few months later and repeated performances of the kitchen stunt, suddenly one day nothing she ate made her sick. Not even a tinge of nausea or a roll of her stomach and she couldn't even begin to describe the feeling of relief that settled on her shoulders.

Looking up into the haggard face of her father - his eyes looked so harsh and lost and it confused her - Mukuro smiled hesitantly, wrapping her thin, emancipated arms around his waist and told him her thanks. And in response a single - trembling - hand was placed on her head and cold shivering lips were at her temple.

"Anytime love." He whispered brokenly, hugging her back something fierce and she knew his offer was one of the most truthful things she would ever hear.

Taking a sniff of his jacket Mukuro idly wondered why after every trip to the place where he got her edible food did her father always smell as good as the soup she ate.

It wouldn't be until a few years later when she fully understood why.

But the first grain of comprehension would be given to her when she had arrived to take her away.

Mukuro had always been a sheltered child, she had yet to see another human being beside the ones on tv and her father, so to hear a knock on the door startled her - they never got visitors.

Her father's eyes sharpened from the dull hue they had come to take and with a fluid motion, there was suddenly a glint of metal in his hands. Following the direction that his gun - his fucking gun - was pointing she moved herself to crouch behind the couch and pressed her face into the skin of her knees.

All of the locks were thrown and the door was pulled open far enough that she could hear the clank of the metal chain being pulled to its limit - and when the voice spoke Mukuro gave a blink.

"Is there a Claude Toussaint in residence?"

The sound of Japanese startled her, after having been raised solely on the sound of French it was an awkward shift. Pushing herself from her spot to peek around the corner, Mukuro caught sight of someone who looked too much like her standing outside the door. With the same purple hair and the same curve of her face, it was like looking into a mirror with the exception of the eyes Mukuro had inherited from her father.

Violet connected with blue and she froze - it was girl, maybe a year or so older than her and she wondered where her parents were.

"Who's asking?" She heard her father counter and she became aware that this was the first time she had ever heard her father's name in any capacity.

Frowning at the sound of perfect Japanese coming out of her caretaker's mouth - he never sought to teach her so she was glad she retained her language skills from her past life - she moved to look at the girl in the doorway who had turned to look at her father.

"Amashi Kana." The girl introduced and despite that the name she had given could very well be the truth, Mukuro couldn't help but feel like it was a dirty lie. "And I'm here to talk to you about the recent murders that have been happening in this sector."

Her father paused.

"What would a child need to know about something so gruesome?" He muttered and the girl smiled.

"I'm very mature for a eleven year old." She said simply. "And I'm sure you're very knowledgeable about these murders for an innocent bystander."

Mukuro found that she didn't like what the girl was insinuating and by his reaction neither did her father.

With a visible amount of tenseness to his shoulder her father gritted out a rough "I know nothing" and slammed the door.

Making his way back to his crouching daughter he got about a step before the harsh sound of metal slamming against the wall drew his attention.

Staring with blown eyes at the steel locks that littered the ground - in pieces - Mukuro looked up in time to catch the bored look of "Kana" and the sight of her father aiming the gun straight at the girl who shared her face.

Maybe it was the fact that her father wasn't wavering with his aim as if he was used to firing that weapon or that the girl looked so very much like her, but Mukuro found herself moving forward and latching onto his leg.

"Daddy wait, please!"* She exclaimed, burying her face into his pants. "You can't - don't shoot her!"*

Feeling her father freeze it wasn't long before his hand fell on top of her head and she heard the safety click.

"Of course not baby."* He murmured to her softly before facing the purple haired girl standing in their midst and those crystal blue eyes narrowed.

"Be warned that it would take me less than a second to flip that back." Her father threatened with steel in his voice and "Kana" smiled.

"Now what do you want?"

Brightening her grin, she lifted one tiny finger and pointed towards Mukuro who gave a sharp flinch.

"It really should be obvious don't you think?" She smiled cheerfully. "After all I'm sure it's time she met her sister, ne?"

Shrinking back at the accusing hand she pushed herself behind her father and spared a frightened glance up at him. Catching the decidedly blank look in his eyes and the expression on his face, Mukuro was not reassured.

Gnawing on her lip she frowned and kept her mouth firmly shut.

"Prove it." He demanded quietly, glare caught in a slant. "With just that face - her face - it won't be enough, show me a trait that would be hers as well!"

"Kana" stared for a bit, seemingly appraising her father before she shrugged one shoulder.

"If that's what you want," She hummed. "fine then."

And with that those purple eyes - so different from hers - shifted and everything was black and red.

Without her conscious consent, Mukuro could feel her mouth fall open as a vicious scream crawled its way out of her throat and it was only halted as a palm smothered the sound into noiselessness.

Giving a brief struggle, she was turned to face the eerily calm visage of her father.

"Mukuro, go to your room." He cut in, face emotionless and she stared. "Now."

Flinching at the hardness in his voice - did he really want her to leave him alone with this woman? - she turned to face "Kana" and glared as much as she could even with the terror she was experiencing.

"Don't do anything to my dad."* She murmured from behind her teeth as she reluctantly left, barricading herself behind the door with her ear pressed against the metal.

Mukuro wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed but when her door jerked open, she found her eyes snapping open and drifting over to the tiny panel of glass that couldn't even be called a window to see the sky lightening.

Turning with a smile that dwindled away as she caught sight of the smiling face of "Kana", Mukuro tensed when the girl crouched down and held out a hand.

"Hello Mukuro-chan," She said cheerfully as said girl glanced behind her towards the approaching form of her father. "I'm your sister and it's time to come with me now."

Her brow furrowed as blue connected with blue and shook her head, sending her dad a confused look at his silent compliance.

"Daddy?"*

She saw a flash in his dead eyes before it flattened out and he nodded to "Kana" who without a word scooped her up tight into her arms - which only furthered her terror because no eleven year old should be able to pick up a nine year old that easily. Without a second thought Mukuro set to struggling and screaming, wondering why her father was just letting this crazy child take her away.

"Daddy?!"* She gasped out through her tears, fear clogging up her airways. "Daddy, wait I don't understand!"*

His face tightened as his blue gaze tracked the pair of them making their way towards the front door and he sighed.

"You have to go with her Mukuro," He started lowly. "There is nothing more I can do for you despite my willingness."

"In other words," "Kana" interrupted, grip on her writhing body tightening to the point of being near painful. "You have specific needs that only someone like me can help you with."

Their gazes clashed and the purple haired woman smiled brightly.

"You are special Mukuro-chan," She explained. "and who better to help someone like you than someone that has the same kind specialness?"

Mukuro could feel her body growing lax with the dawning realization that yes, she was really leaving with this woman and no, her father was not going to stop her. Slowly she moved her face back towards the still figure of her father, expression laden in desperation and asked the one question that was on her mind the most.

"Why?"*

Why was he so calm?

Why was he so fine with this?

And why - god why? - was he letting her go?

Lowering his lids, her father smiled sadly.

"Because it's the best I can do for you 'Kuro."

And perhaps Mukuro would have answered something back. Perhaps she would have cried or screamed or fought, but as soon as she took a breathe to react all she knew was the darkness and the pain at her neck.

"Listen Mukuro-chan, you should never call me 'Amashi Kana' ever again. From now on I'll be Kamishiro Rize. And since you're my new little sister, you'll be Kamishiro Mukuro."

Maybe, just maybe she was better off dead.

Tokyo Ghoul has taken over and all I can think about is Haise. Sorry but not sorry, this is a thing and dedicated to my friend Ann O'Neem!

Edit: 1/29/17