Evangeline Athanasia Katherine McDowell had never been a happy girl. She was born into nobility, surrounded by extravagant wealth and power. In a world where the average man had to work a 14-hour day just to scrap by, she never had to so much as lift a finger to get her every desire. Some would envy her very existence, but not Evangeline.

For all that her wealth and luxury afforded her, happiness was not one such commodity. Her parents were a non-existence in her life. Their marriage was, as most marriages in nobility one of convenience and pedigree, not love.

As a product of such a union, she was appreciated, but only as a means of continuing their own line, and perhaps for future alliances in marriage. She was after all a beautiful girl.

Even at the age of ten it was abundantly clear she would be stunning when she reached adulthood. He hair was a purest blonde, like spun-gold in the sunlight, her skin was a pale white, a sign of her high status of never having to work in the fields, and her eyes were a crystal blue that sparkled like clear water.

Yes, her parents were quite pleased with her. She would make such an excellent bride some day.

Evangeline was not happy, though surrounded by servants, she was alone, even though she was waited on hand and foot, no one ever really heard her, and though cared for by her parents and treated well, she was not loved.

Alone, she was so horribly, wretchedly alone, others may have envied her, but not she. She desired more than a live of nothing but empty smiles and unending boredom.

Yet, despite her desire for change, the way it came about was not what she desired. So, when she awoke on her tenth birthday to a fundamental feeling of wrongness, she felt a thrill of fear spike through her, when the sunlight streaming through her window, opened by a maid, burnt her pale skin and sent tremors of excruciating agony coursing through her she felt panic, and when her scream of pain tore through her throat, and her maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear for what would be the first of many times she saw that look, she felt only despair.

And so, at 8:32 A.M. on October 8th, on her 10th birthday, Evangeline A.K. McDowell became a Shinso.

And at 7:04 P.M. she left behind her previous home and life.

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Cold

He felt so cold

For as long as he could remember he was always alone. His first memory was when he still lived at the orphanage, huddled in a too small room in the basement, crying himself to sleep, afraid.

He knew he was different. Everywhere he looked as he wondered through the streets showed him that. Whenever he saw other children they were so carefree, always smiling and laughing, having fun, and playing with their parents or friends.

He never had that. Other children naturally shied away from, hesitant to be in his company even before their parents pulled them away. They could tell something was off with him, even if they could not explain it.

When he would walk down a street hateful and frightened glares would follow him, whispered words just out of his hearing. He was alone, and at times it broke him.

Not everyone would glare at him, in fact; only a small percentage was ever so open with their animosity. He supposed he could have accepted their loathing, to know where they stood and have at least some small form of acknowledgment, even if only negative. No, what the majority of the townspeople treated him with was indifference, and that struck deeper then ever the most fiery hatred.

They would glance over him, as though he did not exist. Dismiss his presence as though his very existence offended them and they choose to instead ignore it.

He had never known the warmth of a mother's hug or the assurance of a father. He had never felt the joy of playing with a friend, or the simple pleasure of coming home knowing someone was waiting for him, cared about him.

He was alone.

And so he desperately sought out attention, from anyone in any form. He was loud, screaming and shouting his every thought so that people had to pay attention to him. He played outrageous pranks to the ire of the village if only so someone would come looking for him, even if it was only to punish him. He wore bright orange clothes so people could not over look him easily.

Despite that, despite everything, nothing ever changed. No matter how loud he shouted, no one ever heard him, No matter what he did, no really cared, and despite his fashionably offensive clothing, no one ever looked at him.

He always felt so cold.

So, on his tenth birthday, when a silent shadow crept into his room, a naked blade gleaming so brightly in the dark room of his apartment, and stabbed him in the gut, he felt no fear. Even when his blood began to pour out at an alarming rate and the pain overtook him, he did not panic, and when blackness darker even then his room began to overtake his vision he felt only relief.

'Finally,' he thought, 'finally I won't have to feel cold anymore.'

And so, at 11:31 P.M. on October 10th, 10 years after his birth, Naruto Uzumaki died.

. . . And at 11:32 P.M., he woke up.

A.N. So I was reading some other fan fiction about an Eva/Naruto pairing, and frankly thought there was potential there. And despite the fact I have very little success with actually following through with my stories, I decided to give it a shot.