Chapter 1: First life.

Monica Francis was lonely.

A secret she had hid way too well within her 22 years of age in her first life. She had grew up skimming through pages of books while her uninterested parents gambled away their money or smoked ten cigars each a day. While her mother did more of the latter with a purge of alcoholism and an occasional spending on luxuries, she wasn't all that bad. Her father was the worst of the two, a visit to the bar was all it took to get him going and at the end of the night (or nights since it was an occasional thing) he would end up on the side of the road dead drunk and getting pickpocketed by random common children or at least in the jailhouse where he would be accompanied home and stay on house arrest until free where he would do it all over again.

Her mother had always called Monica over to her estate once every three months to see if she was still breathing, which was as she liked to claim. However the whole time spent the younger girl had always just sipped on tea while her mother badmouthed her father and gave her gifts to replace for the time she missed. Monica liked her mother, if not for the gifts she gave and not for the company that she had kept her once in a while, then it would be because of her mother's outspoken nature.

Natasha Francis was her mother's name after marriage, although Helms was her maiden name. Her mother only liked to be called her first name and on a small occasion it would suffice if she was referred to as the newer name. Natasha never wanted the marriage. She never wanted a kid either, but she changed her mind once she saw Monica. Natasha didn't want a lot of things that happened in her life. As well as separating from her home. But she didn't have a choice. Monica knew all of these small details her mother would never out-right tell her but she never once blamed her mother. Instead, she basked in the dresses, jewelry, and makeup her mother bought that she would never use or even buy for herself. It was the tiniest amount of affection from her mother, and even though she wouldn't wear any of the specially embroidered dresses she could at least collect them as a token of her mother's love.

Her father was another specific case, however. He had no interest in his only daughter who would only burden him. The feeling was at least mutual with Monica as she wanted to stay as far away as possible from the insane man. With a beer gut standing as big as a pregnant lady's stomach and a bald head that only shined with grease in the sunlight as well as an ugly face that insulted the eyes to look at he was an unpleasant man with both his looks and personality in consideration.

"Monica," her mother would often start out, taking a long drag of her seventh cigar of the day before exhaling. "Don't end up like your father." She continued with a cough. Monica would nod and hum in understanding. As often as Natasha had said it, Monica had realized sooner than later her mother was only looking out for her daughter. Another reason Monica had grew fond of her mother rather than her detestable father.

Those days that Monica had spent in her mother's estate had long stopped after her 16th birth year. An age she had anxiously waited to arrive. After her 15th year her mother had called her one last time three months before her Coming-of-Age banquet. That day Natasha had cried for the first time in front of her daughter, something Monica had never seen her mother do was cry. Sure, she had seen her in a rage or even yelling but it was never directed towards Monica, herself. That was the first time Monica had felt that strong of an emotion.

"Monica," Her mother cried as she hugged her daughter tightly with bruised arms, "I want you to know that if anything happens to me, it wasn't your fault." A sorrowful tear stained face had faced toward Monica as she smiled bitter-sweetly before getting up and walking towards the door.

"We won't be meeting in the future, darling." Natasha smiled softly, opened the door and then rushed her daughter out before she broke down anymore.

Monica had never disobeyed her mother, so she obliged as her mother had rushed her out of her estate without even asking questions.

Of course her mother couldn't have meant it, She thought, I'll definitely get called in three months again as she badmouths father while i sip on on her tea.

Natasha Francis had died the week before Monica's banquet was supposed to take place. She was pronounced dead at 11:23 in the evening after a concussion had turned deadly.

A pitiful funeral it was. With only ten or fifteen people coming to show up and a single rose placed on her casket, it wasn't surprising in the least. As her mother had the reputation that no one could defend and had no friends except her daughter.

Now, Monica wasn't blind nor stupid, she knew her father was hitting her mother. If she hadn't noticed then what would she be doing with all her knowledge if she didn't even know her or pay attention to her surroundings. She knew...But never said anything.

Monica had regretted those times. The times where she would notice her mother covering her face with her fan without even fanning herself. The times where Natasha's eyes would water and she blamed it on allergies. But most importantly the times she hadn't asked if her mother was even the slightest bit okay, knowing she wasn't.

Not long after her mother's funeral, the coming-of-age banquet ball was held. Monica had a terrible time, standing in the corner and watching everyone have fun socializing while her mother had just been placed six feet underground was not what she pictured her future like at the age of thirteen. As the night went on, her father had announced something particularly shocking.

"As you all know," He grunted as he called for a toast, wiping his sweat from his forehead with his personal handkerchief before he continued, "My first wife, Natasha had passed away recently.." he paused as he acted like tears were forming in his eyes.

"She has burdened my heart with deep sorrow from the unexpected news," Monica had heard enough. As she had turned with a disgusted look on her face on the way to leave she hesitated to continue her way. Before she made her final decision she didn't have to choose as she heard the worst news in her first life.

"I have found new happiness in these times of depression. Everyone meet my new wife, Erica soon to be Francis!" He coughed loudly at the end and wheezed while trying to catch his breath.

Something in Monica had snapped. Something sinister. She walked hurriedly to her room on the opposite end of the estate and slammed shut her door. She had wanted to shout- to scream. Something she hadn't done ever in her life was scream. But she did that night.

She cried with loud sobs and barely hyperventilated while picking up pieces of furniture and breaking them one by one. A deep feeling of sorrow had whelmed it way up to her stomach and up her throat as she felt stuck.

As she calmed down, she had made one promise to herself that she would keep no matter what.

'I will destroy my father.'