AN: Wow, my first drama. Anyway, since I have finally finished typing this story into my laptop, I figure it's time to share it! Writing Alexia's character is interesting! For the record, I'm writing the original Code: Veronica Alexia, not the creepy, messed-up Darkside Chronicles Alexia. I hope I'm not messing up her characterization, but Capcom doesn't tell much about her childhood, so I took a few liberties.

What's going on in my life? I got RE: Revelations! XD It is absolutely amazing! I urge anyone with a 3DS to get it!

I've been working on the thirteenth chapter of UCSH, if anyone's wondering. I've got a bunch of ideas stockpiled for Wesker's Angels, but I'm kinda stuck on one scene. While I work on that, I'll post chapters of this new story when needed. Keep in mind, this story is going to be a three-shot, so it'll be pretty short.

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil and its characters; Capcom does. I also don't own the song lyrics below. That would be someone else.

"Don't you mess with a little girl's dream,

cause she's liable to grow up mean." –Poe, Control

I was in love.

It all started when I was ten years of age. I was always first in my class at the University. My older colleagues were always left dumbfounded in response to my performance and research, gaping like codfish. The professors followed them, grasping the wake of my studies hoping to build onto their own research like hounds that have caught the scent of an elusive hare. Despite their pleas, I vowed to keep my research to myself; I could never allow these imbeciles to even touch my opus, the Veronica virus, otherwise it would be ruined beyond purpose .

So instead of submitting my precious Veronica virus, I turned in my research on another deadly virus: Ebola. After a week of anticipation, my final paper was returned to me. The professor had marked all of my project's flaws in ugly red ink. Sure, I was preoccupied with Veronica while I wrote it, but this could not be possible! How could I have overlooked so many mistakes? I reread my paper several times, glaring at the crimson number "99" at the top of my essay, but the professor was correct.

I set my paper on the table in front of me and cast my gaze on the other students occupying the lecture room. I decided to take this little failure in stride for now as I continued my work on Veronica.

As I observed my classmates brutally harangue themselves over their own grades, one of them proved to be an exception. One of the young men sitting below me (I was seated in the top row; I enjoyed being able to see everything.) had earned full marks on his research. I was astounded! This class was held to the highest standard. Unless this student was a young prodigy, (like myself,) it was nearly impossible to achieve such a perfect score. I needed to learn more about him.

I was unable to see the content of his research from my position, but the young man's name was visible on the paper: Albert Wesker. "He is just as smart as I am," I realized as he stood up and prepared to leave. From that point on I would be lying if I didn't say I admired him. (And a queen never lies, even to herself.)

For days, I would watch him as we passed each other in the halls of the university, but I couldn't pick up the courage to talk to him, and my observations did not provide enough insight about Wesker for the purpose of personal analysis. I would have to gather information through other channels. "Butler," I ordered as I stepped into the limousine that picked me up from school everyday, "I want you to find information on a Mr. Albert Wesker and report back to me."

"Of course, Miss Ashford."

Later in the evening, after playing with Alfred and discussing business with father, I was able to set aside some time to write in my diary. It was the only gift Alfred and father could agree on, both saying "A lady needs a place to collect her thoughts." I had accepted the gift willingly, using the journal to record milestones in my research outside the laboratory as well as keeping notes on other trivial events. I opened the purple-covered book and began to write. "Dear diary, " I wrote in neat, tidy cursive, " An uncommon occurrence happened today at the University: one of my classmates surpassed my score on our final essay! I don't know very much about this person, except for his name: Albert Wesker. I have asked Butler to obtain information about him for me to look over." As I wrote, my feelings toward Albert Wesker exponentially grew into an attraction, dare I say.

The next time I saw Albert Wesker, he was walking with a William Birkin, an underclassman he usually worked with. I immediately felt strife erupt in my heart. It was the same William Birkin who had teased me horrendously about my age and small stature on the first day of the new term. Because of this treatment, I had developed a grudge against the gangly freshman, but the events of today deepened that grudge, turning it into unadulterated rivalry.

As I followed after Wesker, Birkin turned his head and noticed my eyes linger on Wesker. "Hey Al," Birkin snickered, "It looks like somebody has a crush on you." My face flushed bright pink, and I froze when Wesker turned and spoke to me.

"I don't have the time or patience to play your little game, Miss Ashford," Albert stated coldly. My face fell in disappointment. "I'll see you in class." And just like that, he turned around and walked away.

I spent the evening sulking in the bedroom that Alfred and I shared, sitting on my bedspread and clutching a pillow to my chest. "What happened, Alexia?" my brother asked in an attempt to comfort me as he stood next to my bed.

"That fool, Birkin, embarrassed me," I spat harshly, "I have been utterly humiliated, Alfred."

"Again?" Alfred asked incredulously, "I have an idea to cheer you up, Alexia." I loosened my grip on the pillow and listened to Alfred's plan intently, meeting the idea with approval. For the idiot my brother could sometimes be, he did produce some decent ideas. "We'll do it tonight," he said, "Bring Veronica."

Late that night, Alfred and I snuck out of our beds and into father's study. The old buffoon had fallen asleep in his armchair, as expected. Alfred had armed himself with a straitjacket and advanced towards our sleeping father. Alfred and I carefully maneuvered his arms into the straitjacket before tying the laces in the back. "Thank goodness father is a heavy sleeper," I whispered as I stuck a syringe containing T-Veronica into his neck and pushed the plunger downward. "It is done. We'll move him to the Antarctic base when I take control."

News spread fast within the household. Alfred and I put on a dramatic performance upon hearing of our father's "death". A formal funeral was held two days later, wherein I was announced as father's successor at Umbrella. From the information that Butler was able to provide about Albert Wesker, it appeared that Wesker was slated to enter Umbrella as one of the Head Researchers for his department once.

And thus my admiration for him was reborn.

AN: You guys know the drill! Review/Favorite/Alert! Preferably all three!

AN #2: I just did some editing here and there. I couldn't fix a couple of details to mesh with the canon timeline, otherwise it would mess up my story. I'm afraid I'll just have to live with it or rewrite this chapter later. :(