Scream's Notes: I just want to begin by saying that I haven't thought of this manga in a couple years. I was simply skimming through manga books years ago (this was probably around the time that this series was starting out by one or two volumes) in a Barnes and Noble bookstore. I remembered thinking that the art style looked so beautiful and I as envious of the artists talents (along with so many others! Ugh!). Then when I opened the page and read the prologue, I immediately felt despair and darkness after the first chapter was concluded. Seriously?! YOU KILLED THOSE ORPHAN BABIES FOR THE SAKE OF THE PLOT AND MOTIVE FOR THE PROTAGONIST?!

Yeah, the art and story seemed great, but I quickly lost interest in it in favor of buying a new volume of Bleach (somewhere around the 15-20, I think) or Naruto. I haven't bothered with manga after so many years... until now, that is! I ended up watching the entire two seasons (though I probably missed one episode) and got lulled in by its plot. I was frustrated though, by how it was kind of pointlessly slow-paced (but that's the illogical me speaking, I just wanted to get to the good stuff), the constant motivational/dramatic speeches (I know, I know, Naruto, Bleach, and practically every shounen manga has this, but it was kind of corny in this one), and with Mika being all "I HATE HUMANS, BUT I STILL LOVE YOU, YUU!". I swear to God I wanted to grab Mika and slap him until some sense returned from his hypocritical jargon. Yes, we know humans are just as bad, but Mika, baby, YOU'RE THE ONE HANGING OUT WITH THAT FUCKING SASSY FERID DUDE (you know, the guy who practically murdered your ENTIRE FAMILY?!)!

Anyway, another SI-OC with a slight tint of AU because I we still don't know much about the vampires. That, and I want to do something interesting with this OC character of mine, and I hope you like her! Enjoy!

p.s. My history ain't so accurate, so excuse and forgive me for any historical mistakes.

Disclaimer: Seraph of the End/Owari no Seraph belongs to Takaya Kagami (writer) and Yamato Yamamoto (artist). My original character(s) belong to me!

I was born around the year 7 A.D., somewhere within a small, poor village in Germania that was then steadily getting smaller when the Roman's increased their vast territory. My mother was a simple milkmaid, her fiery red hair stemming deeply from her Celtic blood thrumming in her veins, and her eyes bright with life and spirit. Sadly, there was no father to have around, and it earned my young mother some scorn from others for being an unmarried woman with child, but not so much as to make our lives too difficult. In the early mornings, before the sun would rise beyond the forests that surrounded the village, mother would be up and ready, prepared to go out and begin her work in milking cows to prepare butter, cream, and cheese for the hungry villagers that worked on their crops.

I was two-years-old when war between the Germania tribes and Roman armies broke out.

There was a great rebellion against the superior military forces of the Romans, and they had proved in time and time again that they had the bigger swords and shields than the rest. The empire was full of gifted tacticians, strategies more useful on the battle than simply a bunch of powerful warriors (although, that was still useful). They were at the top of the world, at that moment, but they had overlooked something quite small that it would come back to bite them.

Arminius, a Germania-born noble who had been taken under the wing of the Romans when he had been a young boy, was the one who would deliver the biggest defeat the Romans had ever suffered.

I watched beside my mother as men took up their shields, spears, axes, and swords, and I saw them say their goodbyes to their families and friends. The ragged-looking crowds heading off to gather where Arminius called them to, somewhere deep into the forests and swamps of their home where the soldiers of Rome could barely cross through. And it was funny how such a big military power was toppled because they couldn't navigate through a forested area that they had never really been to.

After all, isn't that how America won its independence from the British? They were born and breed on that land, so they knew every nook and cranny of where to hide their soldiers to attack the red coats, what better position to fire cannons from onto the legions of approaching Britians, and—Wait, how does a two-year-old little girl, daughter to an unmarried milkmaid, who was born apparently after Christ, know about the American Revolution that was thousands of years ahead of her time?

Well...

Once upon a time, before I had been born in 7 A.D. in the country of Germania... I was born in 1994 A.D. in the country of the United States of America.

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..-s-X-f-..

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"Mina!"

I sighed in relief at the call of my name, finally taking a break from milking the cows. It got boring really fast doing this job that my mother was passing onto me, but it was better than just simply watching and doing nothing while my mother did all the work. My mother didn't trust me to do work until I turned five, and seeing as I was being obedient and dedicated despite my very young age, she finally left me as I was and she had a much easier time producing milk into other dairy products for the villagers. Many men had returned victorious after weeks of killing, slaying, and beating the Roman legions into defeat, leaving their corpses for whatever element to take and do with it. There was much cheer and celebration to go about, especially since there was no retaliation of giant Roman army that would sweep through Germania, but apparently the Emperor Augustus gave on us rather than dealt with the trouble of killing off more of his own people.

Arminius was hailed a hero, many lowered their heads and raised their mugs of mead in respect and honor.

It was so weird, kind of scary, and amazing to be living and breathing in the same space of a person most had heard through documentaries and history books, but here I was, a twenty-something-year-old woman reborn in the body of a young girl who was currently living in the ancient world. It made me wonder if there was something I could do to change the world in some way, but that thought was quickly squashed before it could grow properly. It still remained in my head, teasing me to think more on it, but I kept away from it as long as I could.

Besides, who knew what would happen should I start telling people to go at the coastlines of Europe, build a giant boat that could carry almost a hundred people, and then sail off to find the New World.

Pulling away from the cow (and making sure to put a thin rag over the milk bucket so stuff wouldn't end up in there), I quickly hurried over to the small shack that was my home. I entered through the wide opening (which had always worried me since animals, intruders, and cold air could get inside easily without a door to block them), but immediately froze when I saw that my mother was not alone in the small home.

It was a rare occurrence when we had guests inside our humble abode, given that people (especially women) looked down on my mother, but they happened every now and then.

But this person, whoever he was, made me stop cold.

There was a man standing close to my mother, dressed in rich immaculate clothes that stood out from our furry, itchy, and poor material that covered our naked frames. He was also clean-looking, a person that took daily baths when given the chance (meanwhile, everyone took a bath every few weeks (in the river!), making him stand out from the rest of us.

He was an outsider, probably a Roman, but that was not had my body freeze up when my eyes looked upon him.

It was his eyes; his red, bloody, beautiful eyes that cut itself into my very soul when they gazed on my dirty, feeble form.

I had seen eyes like that before. I remembered going to a library, browsing the books that quickly transitioned to Eastern comics. A title caught my attention, its neon colors and beautiful art style tempting me to pick it up and open the cover. My eyes absorbed everything, from the plot, to the feeling of helplessness, vulnerability, and determination characters felt, and the lovely images the artist portrayed from every page that went on. It had been years now, a couple years that made me slowly forget the kind of perfume my first mother wore every day when she got ready for work, or the phone number to my father's cellphone, or the color of my brother's eyes... But the image on the black and white page of a manga still remained with me, burned into my brain.

The man in beautiful, rich clothes, standing next to my mother, was a vampire.

"Mina," my mother spoke for the first time, for she had gone quiet when I had been too busy staring at the stranger. She smiles sweetly towards me, oblivious of the fear and turmoil running through my mind as of that moment. "This man... He is someone of importance to us."

I couldn't break my eyes away from his mesmerizing ones, refusing me the right to move as my body remained in place.

"Mina, my little mouse," my mother's cool, rough fingers glided across my baby fat jaw, her voice close and sweet as I ever heard them.

It was like being sucked into a black hole... a very deep, red darkness that never ended.

"This man is your father, my little sweet mouse."

This was the day that I discovered, not only was I born again in a time from long ago... but it was in a world where it belonged to the vampires that were spread across the globe, lurking in the shadows of humanity—only to emerge when a virus swept across humanity, killing all but few.

And this was also the day I found out that I was the daughter of a vampire noble named Caine.