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The Chosen One Unknown	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the DMC series nor is any money being made off of this.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. They belong to Capcom, unfortunately. Nor am I making any money off of this work of fiction. It is purely made for fun.

The Story: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.

There will be a slight amount of themes of the Adinkra/African religion. To the best of my ability, and that it flows with the story, I will explain them to you and provide info on it.

Story Tidbits: OC name pronunciation : My-shay.

Adinkra: Uh-deen-kruh

Ingonyama: In-go an-ya-mah

Nkyinkyim: Neh-key-in-key-em

Aya:Eye-yah

Afya: uh...af-ya

Apologies for the broken tongues trying to pronounce those words (sheepish grin)

Stats: un-Beta'd. 12 ½ hand-written pages/11 pages typed.

Final Word: Well then, read on!

The Chosen One Unknown

Dark gray clouds launched a thick sheet over its citizens, enveloping the area in tones of the damper hue. Small clear droplets of rain hailed down onto the city. People of various cultures moved as one to retreat from the falling force, scared to soak to the brim now that their shopping adventures stopped.

One woman seemed indifferent by the wilting weather, sitting alone on a bench. To the average layman she seemingly watched the world roll by, staring ahead with glossy eyes. Cracked air blew out in long exhales, her inhales crisp and sharp. Knuckles turned white from the solid grip under the bench with which she used to steady herself back in reality. Darkness consumed her vision until her sight opened into the standard setting; it started to happen again.

An episode of hallucinations hit her without caution, exposing her vulnerability out into the public eye. Deranged images took possession of her psyche, forcing her to endure its questionable will. Common it was to see the warped perception every time for the past nine years.

There was a man; tall, tanned and shirtless with ebony hair and glowing avocado-hued irises. His cold eyes burned into her with a salacious leer. His malevolent smile promised to enact dreadful harm in the immediate future.

Out of her peripheral vision in her delirious state she noticed weird intricate symbols carved along his torso. Some were high-lighted in green coloring, the others coated with specks of white and black. He inhabited a built structure, not overly strong but with sturdy muscular definition.

The man towered over something fixed with his intense stare. Except this thing he gazed at made her look at him from her perspective, like he lived as an entity inside her mind. She lowered her eyes, recognizing his hips moving in a thrusting motion.

The first time this instance occurred she imagined to have daydreamt, conjuring up someone to satiate a becoming, lustful hunger growing out of her then-teenage years. In the event she kept having this same experience however, did she believe otherwise.

The notion scared her, inclining towards a premonition foreshadowing this revelation taking root down the road. What exactly did this signify? Did it pertain to her dementia? And if so, why did it occur without warning in her life? Whether it maintained something simple akin to bathing to running daily errands, her illness always hit her when she didn't expect it.

The obvious option rested to see a psychiatrist, again, to update her diagnosis howbeit these episodes lasted a couple of minutes.

Reflecting on her past her and her double entity, more commonly known as a twin, had had enough of going to these "doctors" when she was a youth. One doctor tried convincing the guardians that the children suffered from a hereditary illness, which they vehemently denied.

Eccentric occurrences made a presence in her childhood, and she offered insight about it to her 'family.' Her sister shared the visions and thoughts too. They insisted that the twins undergo as many mental treatments to cure this issue. Her sister showed 'great results' interim the therapy, supposedly, didn't work on her. She'd like to trust that they worked at a point in time though these recurring images proved otherwise.

When the ordeal transpired into its last stages, the black-haired man dissipated from her view, fading like a slide show blotting away its final presentation.

Rapid intakes of breath descended from its frantic pace; the tight hold around the bench loosened from its strong death grip. Blood pooled into singular digits, outstretching her hand to reel the fingers into a fist. Brown eyes closed, relishing in the freedom from her tormented vision. Long, deep inhales composed frazzled nerves before she returned to her place of employment.

In the happening that she underwent this affair, she took off outside to tough it out. The rising feeling of a claustrophobic atmosphere came to the forefront whenever it happened. Such a thing held almost a ritual then; after the circumstance came her anchor back to normality.

"Hey Maisha," A woman called out from the store's entrance, head turning to the right to see the person in question on a bench. "There you are girlie. Are you okay?" The female, 5'5 with a caramel complexion, walked to sit next to her. Halima remained the only friend Maisha inhabited comfort and conversation with about her 'problem.'

Her companion looked into the colorless landscape, tightening her blue sweater around her after a chill tore through her skin. Thunder roared and rumbled in the distance, igniting dormant fears into its remaining citizens scurrying to new locations. To punctuate mother nature's sudden fury, several streaks of lightning coursed through the sky, random people shouting in fear for the loud boom echoed with a violent strike.

"Ooh. Someone must've made momma nature a lil' pissed today, huh?" Halima's voice had specific, southern accented words in her speech; family hailing from the heart of Louisiana and naturally, it followed. Her original, thickened accent proved difficult for others to understand initially, yet as time went on her intonation took on a more subjective "normal" tone. An angered or emotional Halima brought the native tongue home.

"Yeah, it was in the upper eighties all week, and now this suddenly." Maisha rubbed her palms over her black jeans, looking in dismay at her light-blue button up shirt. The woman lips turned downwards, her work uniform reminded her of what she had to return to. "But yes Hal I'm okay, for the moment."

"Were you having one of your..."

Maisha nodded, taking in her bottom lip and chewing it. Halima first witnessed this matter when she found her in the women's bathroom one day, looking upon the girl in the restroom mirror with a spaced out visage.

Halima approached her by calling her name. When she stood beside her with her presence unnoticed she resorted to shaking the woman, receiving no response. She pondered what medical ailments she experienced, torn between leaving her and going out to call for help. Questions probed endlessly for her next course of action; she didn't remember the supervisor briefing them on what to do when an emergency struck.

Would she be in danger of fainting or would she snap out of it? Is she having a moment to herself or was this something more serious? An instant later, as if nothing out of the ordinary just occurred, did Halima slowly see her come out of her eccentric reverie. Halima stood resolute to know what that was all about, and determinedly, adamant to keep it between them.

"How long did it last for this time?"

"Maybe... five minutes at best."

"So they're gettin' longer?"

"Hmm, depends on the dementia's mood, I guess." For the longest, the doctors named the sickness... or rather what the father was fine with the ailment being. He didn't care, he found it a grand reason to use her as a “pity” donation pool. It was better to leave her condition be than to find out any "improvements" on her circumstance.

She hated going to the facility. From the physical check-ups to the stories of malpractice and the staff reinforcing those methods, nothing beneficial came out of being treated at these medical facilities from a young age. At least for her it didn't.

Maisha toyed with her red-orange, wavy hair, the other hand coming up to scratch her left-shaved head, the right side of her skull held the other half of her concentrated locks. Since her youth the elders always criticized her and her 'mother' for not dying her curls to a more appealing shade. They said it matched horribly with her white-peach skin. Despite them knowing that that had been her natural hair color, they wanted her to look normal because of her infantile antics scaring them. It made matters worse her twin looked the same way.

"You need another moment, hun?" Halima moved closer beside her, rubbing her back in small circles to offer comforting support. As good as it felt, she couldn't have her attitude further spoiled by her ass of a supervisor.

"No," she moped in light denial, reeling in her irritated mood to let the cordial one shine through. "Delaying the inevitable will only worsen things. Don't want Matthew barking down my back."

The man in question burdened their obligation to come into work during the week, the young Matthew Greene. His father was the supervisor of the place months ago and hired his son for the available spot, with Matthew thinking he controlled the employees. And just matching the arrogant hot-head he abided by, trouble followed him and his immature ways. Halima and Maisha capitalized on a particular... stealing-money-and-liquor-from-the-store... situation to use against him should he pester them beyond reason.

"Oh please, like he'll be stupid enough to muss with us."

"But that's it Hal, he is."

Both women shared a hearty yet bitter laugh at the memory. Maisha stood to stretch up high, moving to get some feeling back in her bones from sitting in such a stern position. "Is it your break?"

"Nope!" Halima shook her head, lips thinning into a mischievous smirk. "Ugh, unpackin' those canned goods are chewin' through my patience, had to take a break before I went on break."

Sitting comfortable, she huffed a strand of black hair out her face, burgundy-tipped at the edges which stopped at her shoulders. Her mane rolled into a ponytail, made in the design so it wouldn't annoy her throughout the day. Unlike the fiery-haired maiden who always had her locks down.

But it existed that way to hide peculiar "birthmarks" on the right side of her neck. Birthmarks that resembled ancient, African Adinkra emblems used to symbolize aphorisms and meanings of life, well at least the swirly-looking blemish did.

Even though she had one of her own willingly tattooed on her shoulder (of the independent symbol of Aya) Maisha was born with an Adinkra sign, or it bore resemblance to the visual style. On the top near her ear was the marking of a lion, Ingonyama's the name if her memory served correctly. And the bottom mark was the twisting insignia of Nkyinkym, enduring hardships while being graceful about it... or some shit like that.

Her grandmother delved into these types of "voodoo-isms" as a child and some stayed with her to pass onto Halima. Come to think of it, their parents must have had a fondness for naming them after African heralds. To some (and recalling their verbally insulting opinions), it would be foolish to label their offspring after something the culture may be offended by. But obviously that wasn't a concern in Maisha's case. Halima's made sense, her grandma remained an influential figure in the practices, dealing with these aspects and Maisha's... didn't.

Depending on the region, Maisha Afya's name translated into the phrase ' a lifetime of health': Maisha meaning life, afya; health. And Halima's, for the record, meant gentle and kind. A title she tired of being since assholes presumed her to be a weak little flower. Hence the tattoo to tell people the opposite. With the two symbols (the lion representing vitality and rejuvenation) added to her name's betoken, it joined to a more "supernatural" allusion.

A lifetime of strength and health under hardships with grace and poise.

This idiom finalized its conclusion one day, Halima's grandmother reminding her of its symbolism, and the lessons she forgot. Dazed proved to be the holding expression to describe the fiery-haired maiden's reaction to hearing about her birthmarks. A solemn look flitted across her features; the slogan must have triggered an unwanted memory to the surface.

When probed further about their origins, she played innocent. The woman stayed true to her words; she didn't understand why she was born with them. The family, when Maisha asked at a young age, shrugged the inquiry away or ignored her, becoming irritable or nervous whenever the question arose. Her silent mirror image didn't worry about it much, then again her quietness led some to believe that she chose to be mute; to be oblivious to any odd occurrence around her.

What Halima realized about the girl survived her stubborn willpower. From the little bits and pieces she collected on her past, Maisha always looked for an answer when things turned crummy, and often they did. She prohibited an oppressive atmosphere gaining a hand over her. Just like her dementia. She didn't dwell on it, accepting this illness as a part of her life, searching to find a solution to continue her routine.

"Hey girlie." Maisha started walking back into the store, stopping when she heard her name. "Don't overcharge the oldies now. You know they're gullible you seed of greed."

"Oh come on, Hal. That's my specialty. It's the only way I stay alert in this hellhole!"

The rest of the day turned out slow.

Halima and Maisha took turns at the register, stocked foods, cleaned the restrooms and swept the aisles. Maisha's last rotation on the register endured a boring venture, waiting there idly until her shift ended at nine at night.

Ozone and pollution blended to waft into the store, leaving a heavy, humid scent for all to endure right when they walked inside. A few consumers ran in to buy a few sparse items: soups, teas, milk, and chocolate syrup. When they were ready to pay for their final purchases, they wanted to chat the world away with her. While she didn't give two shits about any of their stories, it helped pass the time.

An elderly lady, thankfully story-less, irked her to the fullest. Maisha had wrung up several food packages, to which the old woman demanded a price check to ensure she wasn't swindled. The cashier, so tempted to over-charge the senior, didn't have it in her to play around so close to going home.

The elder had this irritating hand gesture, waving it as if to chop through a cinder block. Her sharp fingernails would attempt to scratch her eyes out should Maisha dare to lean forward. It made the elder's black-dyed, shoulder-length hair shake into her wrinkled face, aging somewhere into her late sixties. To add to Maisha's frustration, and her nerve to shut down the register, the woman produced her handful of out-of-order coupons to her 300 plus goods.

"Ma'am, are you aware of our coupon policy-"

"No and if you had one you wouldn't ask me about it because I would have known. So now can you make this quick."

An indescribable sensation prickled her insides, rising like a tidal wave to submerge rational thought deep under its force. However, before the ship of logic sunk into a temporary chasm of darkness, she came back from the feeling with a calm disposition... albeit ready to snap.

Maybe she would allow it just this once, in the silence of her mind.

She knew the woman upheld herself to those stingy, ornery folk. The kind that seemingly lived alone old and bitter; the ones who sneered and griped every time a small youngster came into their vicinity. If she assumed this correctly, though she didn't care to confirm, what was she doing buying this large quantity of food?

Her figure leaned on the hefty side, but appropriate for someone her age. Alas, the lime blouse, tan capris, black fanny pack and matching gladiator shoes crippled the claim about her build. To further brew her limiting tolerance, the items paired along with the coupons were spaced out; some already down the conveyor belt, a few waiting to be purchased and still in the basket.

The elder glared upon the youth's face, not caring if she looked to curse her out or stared. Her gray eyes soon rested on the cashier's vibrant hair, momentarily engrossed with the styled cut before giving a dismissive blink.

She could be one of those women who listened to that heavy rock music, having a degenerate boyfriend who abused her. Probably threw away her virtue by being an unwed mother. Those were the only types to work in places like this.

But oh, the color of her locks clashed horribly with her blue shirt.

"You get a lot of attention with your hair."

"Mm hmm." The teller replied, moving the least amount of facial expressions possible.

"… You should dye it to a more appealing color-"

"I see no reason to dye my natural hair color." Maisha's words were sudden to cut her off from saying anything more, barely keeping her temper at bay from lashing out at the woman. Her brown eyes bore into the elder's, silencing her from speaking should Maisha stop servicing her. "Why did you dye yours? Because your natural color is unappealing to you? By the way, you should go to a professional; your gray roots are showing."

The cashier continued on as normal, grouping the misplaced items together as best she could before the coupons were used. Even going as far to hum a jazzy tune to keep her mind focused, glancing a look at the clock on the wall. She had twenty minutes until she retreated to her own abode and allowed the stresses of the day flow out of her body.

Dark and gloomy weather correlated with depression, anger and hopelessness. Somehow, in Maisha's mind, the elder woman thought it hopeless to look as eye-catching as she existed. Her unjustified anger welled up inside her since her days of prettiness were over, leaving a forlorn depression in its wake. That's the only explanation she could come up with to understand the lady's grumpy mood.

Maisha grew to love her round baby face, deep-set eyes, neat nose and uneven lips; the bottom one much fleshier than the top. She favored her C-cup breasts and the slender waist below it, which swelled again to a rounded belly, above thick thighs. And, undeterred by the harrowing memories of the bodily changes, self-esteem issues, and teasing from the other girls she learned to embrace her pear-shaped figure. She didn't spend the last four years trying to accept her natural looks only for someone to knock her down about it.

After pairing the goods with their respected paper savings, reigning in her bursting feelings and calculating the total price ($131 for 315 items, what a deal!), Maisha glanced at the clock again. She had eight minutes until she left this economical prison and crashed asleep to her recessive freedom. It seemed like a long time, but she had a lone customer to attend to, then she'll be free. She ignored the woman's gaze, refraining from giving the feisty granny her best shit-eating grin to rub it in her sour expression.

"Thank you for shopping at Oppy Foods. Have a nice day!" She provided a mock smile instead, the one where it displayed her irritation and loathing. It came in the form of white teeth and lips turned upwards at the side.

"Hmph." The senior raised her head, turning up her nose at the cashier despite only being an even 5'4, and waddled on to bagging her groceries. How that little woman carried on to put all her groceries in that basket and lug it to her car... Maisha didn't care. Helping the elderly to their cars applied to her job description yet she had seven minutes to go; Matthew stingy in paying the workers for any overtime. Her attention returned to ringing up the next items, noticing a smaller batch of things, nodding with a thankful breath.

"Ah, the old ones are full of spunk and vivacity, huh?" A masculine voice aired out his question laced with traces of amusement.

"By spunk and vivacity meaning they forgot to take their Ritalin? Oh yeah, I agree."

"Heh, you went in a little tough on her, don't cha' think?"

"She was tough on me before she even got into my line."

Cappuccino hues glanced up to meet with pale blue ones, piercing into her with captivating intensity. She fixed upon his smiling face, strong jawline and chiseled cheeks. A small trace of stubble skittered across the bone structure, forming a faint goatee. But what caught her attention, and should've been the focus of the mean woman initially, was his white hair.

Layered bangs parted to the right as the style stopped at the nape of his neck. By heavens, she had never seen a mane so vibrant of a tint. The transition of hair color changed when one grew older, ranging from gray to the color white itself, but those shades paled compared to the hue he sported. And he looked nowhere near old.

There held a certain boyish charm his aura emitted, balanced out with this mature aloofness he displayed with ease. A black leather jacket with a red flannel fit snug on his torso and a black, cowboy belt held up fitted dark blue jeans. The man acknowledged his handsomeness in such a get-up, sporting it with high authority while he stood there. And though conceited men failed to leave lasting impressions on her, she made the exception to those who could prove their ego to the better.

"You rung that up three times already."

"… Oh, huh? Oops, sorry about that."

An item of a tea box, silver needle white, happened to run by the scanner triple the amount under her assessment of him. Her fingers swiftly pecked on the keyboard in front of her, deleting the scanned package all together before ringing it up once.

The other objects went across the red light with no more interactions between them, mainly to avoid his pointed stare. Not on the basis of the male drive to take in her physical appearance, but trying to see past her looks... or maybe he just looked to look.

Observant reposed the term to describe people like that. The ones who remembered every little insignificant detail about your habits; could figure out your emotions and fears and toss them back into your face, if they were the vindictive type. Or use a chance to manipulate feelings and bend them to their will, crushing self-confident desires to be wiped away like dirtied shoes on a doormat. In another sense of the word, they are bullies.

Maisha finished scanning the items, sensing a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Okay sir, that'll be $22.04."

"22.04?" The man peered down at her with a questioning glance, appearing a little suspecting of her calculations. "You took the tea thingy off, right?"

"Yes. That item is on sale this week and it's $3.50 per box." So close to getting off work, she didn't care to double charge the consumers, at least not the ones who kept their eye on the register.

"Hmm, I don't feel like making you ring up the stuff again, uh, Ma-isha." He looked on her name tag longer than he should have, then resorted to giving her a smile.

"It's Mai-sha. And I don't think I should uh... ah-"

"Dante."

Hmm, the name suited him she realized, after staring at those white teeth. Yet something about his grin unnerved her, leaning towards the prospect of him being a predator of the sadistic type. She didn't know what gave off that vibe initially, but he sure did wear it like a perfume.

"Dante." She said once, clearing her musings from any straying thoughts, determined to sort out his problem with the total.

Her mind mentally recalled the items he had with skills honed over time: tea, $3.50; box of soap, $2.50; lemons, four for $1.00; honeydew melon, $2.98, kiwi, three for $1.00; cantaloupe, $1.98; Monterrey Jack cheese, two for $9.00. Ah, that's what it was. The dairy products hiked his total, not to mention that bothersome eight cent tax for the non-food item.

"Well Dante, you can thank those cheeses for bumping your score some."

"Oh really? How'd you guess?" He leaned in, intrigued she didn't look at the screen to determine the mistake.

"I picked up a unique gift working her for two years to remember what's on sale. Add that to the sale going on for seven days, me being at the register and unboxing the food... " She waved her hand in a motion to convey a repeated cycle. He made a show to get the hint, scrunching his lips together before he sent a nod her way. She continued, "Living on sales and bargains is what I strive for, even more so now that I'm grown."

Some emotion flitted across her features, Dante squinted to zone in on the target to decipher what it was. However as soon as his eye detected the movement, she gave a dismissive blink, mouth turning into a smug smirk looking too practiced to be natural.

She held this specific quality, a confident fire rising out of a hidden, dark nature that took care to stay protected, keeping it guarded and close to her heart. Did her parents have a part to play in her statement or was there a more twisted side to her meaning? Did she adapt a certain survival ethic she adhered to while being all on her lonesome? He wasn't one to intrude in on people's lives, but she had this magnetic zeal he couldn't quite explain the reason being drawn to it, partially.

"Yeah, nothing like a bargain to make you feel good. Alright lil' lady, you've convinced me." Dante pulled out four five dollar bills and a single, patting around his pockets to see if he had any more spare change. He occupied doubt his whole cost would be over twenty dollars. Maybe he should let her ring everything up again...

"Since I'm feeling a little generous today, how about I pay the dollar and nickel for you."

"What makes you think I ain't got it?" Dante raised his eyebrow at her, a bit insulted that she speculated he wasn't financially sufficient in paying for his products... howbeit correct, at least right now. That damn hunting brunette assumed he walked with an ATM sign on his head, much to his annoyance.

Maisha simply pointed to a wall, Dante following a finger to a clock, 8:57 meeting his line of sight.

"So this has nothing to do with hurting my pride at my inability to pay?"

"… Wait, you don't have enough money?" It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, asking with an amused tone to not hurt his feelings.

"Yeah I do.” Actually I don't. “Just that the spare change is in one of these pockets of mine." Or rather in Lady's.

"Oh I know." She dug in her front pocket, withdrawing five singles that were all wrapped up. She separated two of the bills from the rest, taking his money and putting it in the register. "The male is one of the most disorganized species on the planet." She gave a sweet smile to mean no harm in the statement, but in her experience, they were.

Ninety-six cents came out of the transaction, in which she held the coins out before him in a friendly gesture. He smirked but lightly shook his head, stepping away to bag his items.

Your pride is not getting in the way, buddy! The cashier grabbed the front pocket on his jacket and pulled him closer, shooting him a wry look before shoving the receipt and change into the little space. A few pats were given to his pouch, the woman turning to shut down her equipment.

"I'm pretty sure that was illegal. You're not worried about your boss catching you giving-"

"The boss can kiss my fat ass for all I care. It's Friday and I am out of here."

Dante gave a hearty chuckle at her determination, seeing how her mentioning of her posterior drew his eye south to her curves. True her hips stuck out from the rest of her body, which he lingered to oogle at, but the blue shirt she wore was too big for her. Even though she indicated her shift ended, he had to head on home to his own abode and attend to his responsibilities. Would be nice if he could walk her to her car and possibly get her digits...

"Besides, the next time you come here, you can have your money right at the ready."

"That's smart... I'll try that."

"You'd better."

The cashier watched the man walk down the aisle, pushing against the conveyor belt pad while readying the brown paper bag. He inhered quite the charmer, a gentleman with gorgeous features, tall and strong with confidence soaring to the highest high.

The kind she... loved to stay away from.

Those characters brought trouble to anyone foolish enough to fall in their charismatic trap. These 'types' used this façade to hide their monstrous personalities, able to make someone feel anxious and muddled, as miserable and worthless as she did after a loathing strapping from her 'father.'

Shaking those sordid memories from her past, she walked towards the employees' area, almost jumping in surprise with the woman's cold look. The senior's energy focused on her like she was the only other being in the room. Two men, looking in their forties, had since showed to help with the items.

Honestly though, the woman insulted her without so much as a second thought, and when she stiffened her spine, the wench had the nerve to be mad at her? Well who cares. She was on her way home to plop down face first on her bed. Good times shall be plentiful once she rested on that nest of plush pillows and soft sheets.

And her attention to her goal nearly fled away, calming her riled up nerves at the indignant use of the word 'bitch' to justify the elder's opinion when she passed her. The best course of action to take simply involved ignoring her and continuing on with her day. However she couldn't let the lady disrespect her, regardless of the age. How can she resort to such childish tactics as if she didn't know any better?

Perhaps she lingered in the beginning stages of growing senile.

Fingers raked through red-orange waves, extending the tresses before she grabbed the base of her roots. She swung the mane in front of the jealous granny with a haughty smirk etched onto her visage. This notion showed every sign of embittering the profile on the senior's face, Maisha seeing the woman follow her out her line of vision. She reached the employees' door, intending to turn around to give the ancient pessimist one more glimpse of her envious beauty when another pair of eyes stole her attention.

The handsome fella, Dante, seemed to enjoy the little show, amusement glittering in his eyes as he continued stuffing the brown bag. He gave her a knowing looking before he shook his head, white strands falling over his eyelids to hide his expression. It was then she disappeared behind the door and completed the final act of shedding "off" her working demeanor. She shared a small laugh; Dante insinuated to share her sentiments on the situation.

A/N: So, I guess...I'll try my best to deliver a story worth reading...I hope. Drop me a line and tell me what you think!

P.S.: I don't want anyone to think that I'm just throwing an illness in there just for the sake of it. I know Dementia/Alzheimers usually happens in older adults, but some children can get it through hereditary factors and infections, so I will be elaborating on it folks.

P.S.S.: I know about the race of my OC and I am well aware that I am talking about African culture in here, but the relation with Maisha and the African culture, too, will be delved upon later. If this bothers you too much then I thank you for your time and hope you can find a story that suits your needs. Cultural mixing is nothing new folks.
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The Chosen One Unknown