Part 00: On Change

'There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly…'

– Richard Buckminster Fuller.

…

The music was loud. Angry. Blaring trumpets, deep, deep bass, crying violins. The attack was quite brutal on the ears. But in the darkness of the theatre one always feels safe. In the crowd of people, unrecognizable, one can pretend to be anyone really, someone important, someone with potential, someone on the verge of greatness. This kind of music really added to that. Powerful and grandiose. It swelled the heart and pumped blood faster. Yet exactly in this anonymous secrecy she cherished the idea that she was no one for once.

She didn't like the opera itself though. It was very impressive and all but she didn't understand why people liked it so so much. She didn't understand it plainly. Maybe it was the drama or the fact that people never really sing what they feel and do. But her father insisted.

The fact German operas were still performed on Britannian grounds was a rarity in itself. Relations with the Euro Universe had been strained for decades and had only changed for the worse. She had heard her father and grandfather speak of this at home in hushed voices, increasingly so the last couple of weeks.

Then again, the venue was beautiful. The dramatic chandelier in the middle of the ceiling sparkled in the lights coming from the stage and the red velvety curtains surrounding the performers were splendid. Her eyes drifted to them every now and then. But the visitors themselves were equally mesmerizing. If anything, she enjoyed how people dressed up for an occasion like this, with bow tie and all. Long, luxurious dresses, silky gloves, diamonds, red lips and beautiful hair, radiating success.

Tu-tu-tu tum-tutu-tuu-

How many hours it must take to look like that?

Her legs were swinging back and forth as her feet couldn't reach the floor. Almost done.

Looking for anything to distract her at this point, she looked to her left, a big figure rising from its chair. It was her grandfather leaving his seat and slowly moving through the rows towards the exist. Where was he going? He didn't fancy music, she knew that, but mostly he acted as if he did. That's what important men do, don't they? To look sophisticated and interesting?

Mom had once said she appreciated this in Hildred the most. Jane, on the other hand, disliked it when he smiled that fake smile of his.

Then, suddenly, the show was over. The music stopped and the actors were quiet. Applause filled the room.

…

She was exactly how he imaged her to be, to look like, to behave. Perfectly.

His brother had warned him not to go out in public like this but he couldn't help himself. He had missed this – blending in with the crowd, ordinarily, feeling normal. Almost though. Here, he wasn't worshipped for the god that he was but for the cute child appearance. The virtuousness of a young infant was, in the eyes of many, the embodiment of something divine and pure. It was as much a gift as a curse to him.

From his position up in the center balcony he could easily oversee the whole theater. From the enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, to the immense orchestra pit half beneath, half before the grand stage, to the rows and rows of chairs filled with one rigid figure after another; finally, to the dark-haired child in the center.

He hated her. Before he had even met her. The dull expression on his youthful features didn't display his inner feelings though. He put his chin in his palm, leaning his elbow on the balustrade made out of a shining golden metal. Eyelids sagged, he snorted.

Boredom, but you know what they say: well begun is half done. So he did as advised by his counselors. Observe and learn.

He was patient enough.

The old man left the room and he followed in his wake, carefully, which was child's play with his length and build. The temptation was too good to resist. The child's profile sketch would have to wait.

…

"Insufferable man!" The woman hissed, "This is outrageous! I cannot turn a blind eye any longer."

They were speaking in stage-whispers as the opera was still on-going. But in their corner, near a small staircase leading up to the balcony seats, they stayed unnoticed by everyone but one person.

Interesting…

She was testing his patience terribly.

Hildred looked away, avoiding the face that resembled his deceased wife too much to his liking, reminding him of something beautiful he wanted to forget, and spoke bitterly: "Your judgment is of little importance. Surely you know it's our duty–"

"To what?" She paused after interrupting him bluntly, not expecting an answer. She then changed her mind suddenly and took a different approach: "Tell me something, father. Do you even care about your family?"

His hand had closed around her throat before he could stop himself. An iron, almost inhuman grip.

Richard never questioned him the way she, his eldest and stupidest child, did. One day her defiance would come back for her. And would end her, definitely.

"Don't you dare question my authority, woman." And he was right. The women in this family had very little to nothing to say. It has always been that way and always will be. Then again, stubbornness also ran in said family.

'You haven't changed at all, old friend. Such a shame…' the boy thought, smirking.

Charlotte's mouth curved into a grin too, unknowingly mimicking their unidentified stalker, and she lifted her chin. "I was questioning your ability to love."

Her father tightened his grip – earning a small groan from her – before shoving her away with more force than necessary.

So she continued: "What about Jane? Your precious?" Recollecting herself and rubbing her neck for a moment, her eyes were spitting fire, "Will you treat her the same as everyone else? What if she finds out? I doubt a child will understand." She said 'child' as if the word itself disgusted her.

Charlotte had always hated her father for his favoritism – among many, many other personality flaws, a few of which they shared she had been told – especially when it came to his grandchildren. Why weren't her children good enough? What was it that caused his hatred towards them, his rejection?

Jane was loved twice as much because of that. Poor girl. Suffocation by affection. How high of an opinion can one have of an insignificant infant anyways?

"Only a fool would resist his destiny."

He was accusing her, she decided. He was accusing her of treachery of the worst kind: family disloyalty. Again, in his eyes self-evidently.

"I would rather be a fool than a–"

The conversation ended abruptly when a blue suit rounded the corner and noticed them.

Richard's smile faltered and then returned quickly as he assessed the scene before him. His sister's fancy red dress and posh jewelry stood in stark contrast with the pain-angered expression on her face.

Oh, not again.

"Ah, Richard, just in time. We need to head home. It's getting late for the little one." Hildred moved towards his son, his cane swinging one time before he started to walk to the grand hall. He didn't look back. Not once.

Richard mouthed something at his sister, taking a step in her direction.

"Com now, son," Hildred called out from the hall, "No time to hang about."

Meanwhile 'the little one' was standing in the foyer. Her companion stood out like a sour thumb in this environment, various heads turning and murmurs going around when they got notice of the foreigner, or better yet, 'Eleven', as the Homelanders called the Japanese people since the conquest of Japan two years ago. What the Emperor was looking for more than ten thousand kilometers away from home on that island, Jane failed to comprehend, unlike Hayato, who had suspicions of his own.

That's why his eyes were narrowed in a constant guarded tension, observing and listening alertly, like a trained spy, fox or falcon, seeing conspiracies everywhere. He could smell it when the anxiety his presence caused escalated into something more, something potentially dangerous, mainly to 'the little one' he was assigned to protect with his life. But he had already sworn to that particular obligation beforehand.

The reputation of the Godfrey family, and with that their company MECHA Industries, was also in the balance because of him. He owed them a lot and Hildred, above all, was not averse to letting him pay them back every single favor he had been granted, in higher values than money. It was worth it though. For the sake of his promise to–

Jane's voice disrupted his thoughts as did the laughter of others surrounding the two of them in a small group, including the Second Prince of the Britannian Imperial family. "But, Your Highness, isn't it okay to be scared sometimes? I think that Siegfried is scared and that he admits this is brave in itself, isn't it?"

Hayato tried to hide the humor from his features, failing miserably. In all honesty, Jane wasn't aware of the fact she'd spoken rather cluelessly.

But the handsome prince responded gracefully: "Absolutely, my dear, but great men simply do not know fear, you see." He began slowly, looking Jane directly in the eyes.

'–referring to himself, no doubt,' Hayato thought.

"…and if they do, they must suppress any urge to reveal that fear. That is, if they desire to continue in greatness of course," the Prince continued, smiling the last part; others joining in, including the Prince's right hand man Kanon Maldini, Vivienne Middleton – one of Jane's aunts, an in-law – and her son, Jane's nephew Frederick, who was three years her senior and therefore the second youngest in the group. Then there were two high-ranked military officers, their medals blinking on their chests. Jane didn't know their names, one with a large enough belly to eat her whole and a bald head and one with a whale of a mustache. The second one smelled like cigars and old, worn leather.

Jane gaped at Prince Schneizel for a moment, a small wrinkle formed between her eyebrows but all she could muster was a meek 'no', then confusingly looking up, half behind her, searching for some kind of confirmation on Hayato's part that she was right. When she only got a small shake of his head, she sighed.

"Come now, Janey, that's enough. Prince Schneizel is entitled to his own opinion," Vivienne almost chuckled, waving a delicate, gloved hand in dismissal, the one not holding a glass of champagne.

"No… I appreciate her reasoning, Lady Vivienne…" Schneizel looked perfectly comfortable and confident. "She has quite a unique view of things. I wonder where she got those from?" He had ideas, but wasn't about to verbalize them, glancing around the hall for the culprit, "But she'll learn the truth in time… I'm sure."

"She is very bright for a twelve-year-old." Kanon Maldini said to his superior appraisingly. As if she weren't there at all.

The truth? What does that even mean? She felt a small squeeze on her shoulder from behind her.

"Yes, Richard, you must be very proud of her," Schneizel said, switching his attention to where Richard had been standing seconds ago. The empty space Schneizel's eyes found made him frown, "Huh?"

"Frederick, why don't you take Jane and go to the other children over there," Vivienne pointed to a corner where half a dozen teens were hanging about.

"Yes, mother," was his compliant reply and he grabbed Jane's hand, which she thought felt clammy, and guided her away from everyone after mumbling a quiet 'excuse us'.

Jane let him.

Hayato made a move to follow her, but Vivienne stopped him. "No, you, stay." Her tone of voice made Hayato's stomach turn. "Let the children play for a bit. I'd like to hear your thoughts on a certain… private matter Richard and I were discussing earlier."

That didn't promise any good.

He heaved a sigh through his nose, "Of course."

"Very good. Follow me." She turned on her heels and he followed, like Jane had her nephew, like an obedient dog.

'Don't act so important, woman. It doesn't suit you.' But he had the feeling she knew something. Something that could possibly destroy him.

…

They were walking together to the limousine waiting outside – Jane was trailing behind. The music was still pounding in her ears and she was tired and cold, wanting to go home and to the comfortable warmth of her bed. Above all she was done with being silenced every time she dared to open her mouth.

She didn't like the Second Prince all that much she decide then and there.

The fact she had been shooed off to play with the kids was representative of the way she was treated by her family. Stupid adults.

It was past midnight and the sun had made place for a blanket of stars. Her sense of time was completely diffused when she exited the theatre. She yawned and rubbed some sleep from her eyes.

One of the downsides of being the only daughter of a billionaire, the media following your every move. Including now. A hand full of cameras flashed as she entered the unsafe, outside world.

Smile. Don't trip. Don't speak. Smile. Don't trip– The mantra Clarice, her father's secretary, taught her repeated itself in her head out of habit.

Glad she was wearing a simple white dress and some flat, easy shoes, she did as the hymn dictated.

Hayato came up next to her from God knows where. He looked distressed somehow as he adjusted the tie around his neck and fixed his hair, brushing loose strays away from his eyes and back over his head. 'How could that witch have known?'

"Are you alright, Milady?" He asked Jane as she yawned again, pushing his doubts away for now.

She nodded, "Just tired." Vivienne passed the two of them and gave a fleeting look over her shoulder before disappearing in the dark. Hayato hoped the girl couldn't classify that look. That look of– he shuddered with disgust at the fresh memory. 'I will get to the bottom of this. Mark my words, Vivienne Middleton, you haven't outplayed me yet–'

"Hayato?" He heard Jane. "I asked where you've been anyways." He swallowed.

"No, wait," she continued before he could respond, "Let me guess.. 'important business stuff'?" She said sarcastically.

"Yeah, something like that."

Jane pouted, "I thought it was your business to protect me? If that is so, you're doing a lousy job."

He laughed at that, "I will get my priorities straight, Milady. I give you my word."

"Better." She said, picking up her pace and skipping down the stairs in front of him.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eyes, by chance, she noticed a boy with blond hair in a white suit, the dark air around him in stark contrast with his appearance. He was casually leaning against one of the large pillars lined up at the side of the building.

His nonchalance was completely out of place.

She passed him.

'Who-What?'

Her eyes were glued to him as she ascended the stairs to her family, even to the point where she had to crane her head at a sharp angle to held his impenetrable gaze. She smiled politely as she realized he wasn't about to look away like others who understood staring openly at someone could be considered rude. But her face fell. A sinister vibe radiating from him, like his heart was made of ice, or stone. Death.

Stop staring at him, silly!

She saw him, fully, out in the open. He couldn't bring himself to care. They would have to meet sooner or later. Preferably later, because as it was now, she was too.. lovely – her innocence revolted him – and juvenile. Besides, she would probably think of him a ghost or illusion. Many did.

The wind picked up then, starting a fight with Jane's hair.

"Jane!"

She snapped from her trance upon hearing her name. She hadn't noticed her feet had stopped moving.

"Jane, come along! We have to go!" Richard called again for his daughter while holding one of the doors of the long, black limousine.

Jane quickly searched for the now almost familiar short figure against the columns again, trying to get her hair out of her face.

Regret washed over her. Too late.

The boy was gone.