A/N: Ok, peoples, this the first chapter of my rewrite for "The Rain Never Ends". I personally think it's a major improvement (it's also longer than the original first chapter) over the original first chapter. I hope you enjoy.

And of course, once you finish reading, don't forget to review. It's always nice to see other peoples opinions. ^^

If I'm lucky, maybe I'll attract some new readers along with my fans of this story. Heh heh...

Anyway, enjoy!

Important Edit: The ENTIRE direction of this story has changed, starting in chapter 5. Instead of this story being about one OC (Nicolette), I have decided that all seven of the Pecadoras (all of them are OCs) would play a huge role in the story. Chapter 5 of this story introduces two new (ones that hasn't been introduced in the story yet) Pecadoras, but most chapters will have their main focus on only one Pecadora per chapter. The chapters will not focus on a specific Pecadora in any particular order; chapters may or may not focus on the same character for more than one chapter in a row. There will also be more pairings that will be introduced as time goes on along with the original pairing of Grimmjow and Nicolette. Hopefully, those who already read this story will be reading this edit to this author's note as well, so they'll be in the loop, so to speak. Thank you for reading this note. Now, enjoy the story.

"Off with her head!"

"Death to the traitor!"

"Dye the roads with her blood!"

The jeers came from every roadside as the horse-drawn wooden cart's wheels clacked on the uneven paving in the darkness of the night. The cart's passenger, obscured by a black hooded cloak, silently sat as the cart clumsily bumped and jumped to its destination. Were the cart not guarded by four tall men wielding a spear and two holstered muskets each, the cloaked girl would likely have been tortured to death by the vengeful bystanders and her head displayed proudly on a pike.

A raven-haired woman wearing an elegant black dress, who could be described as being neither young nor old, walked on one side of the cart; a blonde-haired man who had seen many years come and go walked along the other side, occasionally sneering at the girl sitting on a haystack on the cart.

The cart finally came to a stop.

The girl, who appeared no older than eighteen, rose from her spot on the haystack, brushing off any rogue pieces of the dry plant material from her cloak. The action wasn't necessary considering the circumstances, but it was more out of anxiety than anything else. A guard opened the fencelike barrier between her and the rest of Paris and offered his hand as a final courtesy to the adolescent girl. She accepted his assistance and stepped down from the simple carriage.

She reluctantly turned around to see what she greatly desired yet feared. The guillotine several yards in front of her was taller than she expected; she had heard stories of beheadings and had even witnessed one or two herself, but actually being one of the many condemned whose blood stained the guillotine's wrought iron blade during what had been appropriately dubbed "The Reign of Terror" was admittedly frightening.

But as terrified as she was, she wanted this. Her life had been nothing worth living in her opinion. She lived every day with an abusive father. She would've had to spend a lifetime married with an even worse man, Jean-Pierre Robert, had an insane twist of fate not have her falsely accused of treason just as she was walking down the aisle to be forcefully married to a man she didn't even know, let alone love.

The condemned young woman saw this as a blessing; she saw it as a way out. When she testified in what could barely be called a fair trial, she had admitted to her "guilt". Traitors to France were more often than not at that time, executed… and she wanted death.

"Nicolette Angelique, Duchess of Paris," the executioner spoke, tearing Nicolette from her thoughts, "you have been found guilty of treason. Your punishment is death."

Nicolette nodded curtly before removing her cloak and tossing it carelessly into the wind, letting it drift in the air. Her pale blonde hair flowed down her back like a waterfall. Her amethyst eyes looked at the metal blade of the guillotine as though they were entranced by the blood of countless victims and rust encrusted on it. She shook her head to bring herself back to reality and she stoically walked up the staircase that lead to the platform on which the instrument which would soon be her downfall. Step by step, she walked closer to her death. As nervous as she was, there was no backing out at this point, even if she wanted to. By pleading guilty, she had sealed her fate.

She finally reached the large block of wood on which she was to lay. She stood behind it, getting a closer look at the blade, resisting the urge to run her slender fingers across the metal and rust; it would already be slicing through her neck in mere moments. No need to scare herself more than she already was.

Nicolette turned to face the public one final time. "Au revoir, devils of France. I hope you enjoy living in eternal damnation in this hell you've created." she spat, her slight accent rang clear in her voice and her face was contorted slightly in disgust towards… well, pretty much everything. France was in complete chaos and it was quickly spiraling out of control; pretty much everyone lived in fear of each other. Nicolette was able to use this anarchic state to her advantage, to meet her own ends, but she would wish death due to this out-of-control state to very few people; she could count the amount of people she actually wished death upon with the fingers on one hand.

Nicolette laid on her stomach on the wooden block in front of her as soon as the executioner raised the blade. The wooden arch that would secure her there closed snugly around her neck, her hair falling around her face and hanging in the air. A bishop with a bible open in one hand who stood in front of the guillotine and several feet below Nicolette softly asked, sorrow in his eyes at such a young girl having to die, "Any last words before you are brought to God's domain, child?"

Nicolette took a tentative breath, seeing as how it would be her last, and said, "May God open all of your eyes to this horror of your creation." A few tears trickled down her face.

It was silent for a few moments. "I'm ready." Nicolette whispered. The executioner nodded although the guillotine's newest victim couldn't see it and he released the blade, letting it slice neatly through flesh and bone and vein and artery. The girl's head fell with a soft thump to the ground.

Then it was silent, and within the silence were unsounded screams from the girl. Her mixed emotions were so strong, that the screams sounded nonetheless. The silence was haunting, as though the audience that was once so intent on her death were listening to her saddened screams. But very few seconds had gone by before the moment had passed and the Parisians remembered that the very thing they had desired had happened. And they cheered.

Then it began to rain.

Whether the storm was the heavens celebrating with the citizens or the sky mourning for the girl, along with her silently crying mother, the raven-haired woman who followed the wagon that carried her dead daughter to her doom, no one really knew.

The citizens thought the heavens were celebrating Nicolette's death along with them.

The heartbroken mother thought that raindrops were the tears of God, mourning over her daughter, who was just barely an adult.

And in the darkness it rained, and the citizens cheered, and the mother mourned.