Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Death Note, but I have not participated in the development or creation of its franchise. Therefore, I can only say that these characters, apart from my OC, are borrowed for unprofitable consumer enjoyment.
The Beginning
By: AAnnR
Story Arc 1: The Project
April 8th, 2004
Chapter 1
My eyes fluttered open, grogginess fogging my sight. My gaze traced the slick, unblemished plaster above as I un-stuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Had the ceiling always been that color?
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, scraping dried eye crust from the rims. I shrugged, yawned, and rolled over, tugging the heavy covers of my bed over my head. I curled my legs up to my chest, basking in the warmth.
A clean smell was wafting from the sheets; Mom must have recently changed them. I took in a deep breath, reveling in the scent, a memory pulling at the edge of my consciousness, and I closed my eyes.
Pine and maple trees in fall, the forest's light musk floating through the air. My father's deep and guttural laugh intertwining with my mother's light tinkling giggles, their hands laced together by fingers and palms. My mother's hair matched the burnt orange of the fall leaves, twisted back to keep from falling in her face. He pulled her further into the woods; he showed her the way; he steadied her with his strength.
Faintly, the door clicked open, throwing me from my dream. I groaned softly, yearning to continue my shattered delusions a little longer.
"Miss Flian." A deep, crackling voice broke through my dream. I attempted to bury myself deeper into my nest as the aged voice continued, "Would you consider eating something today?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to move. Please, just leave!
"I see." He coughed, the sound muffled. "Well, if you do happen to become hungry, there is food in the kitchen."
I whined quietly as he closed the door; his footsteps descending down the hall. Even just the mention of food ignited a warm hunger in my belly.
My eyes had begun to drift close again in hopes of reclaiming my stake in the world I had been rudely pulled from. I grumbled at the man for interrupting my dream, frustration and annoyance ringing through my head. Why couldn't he have waited a few more minutes?
A logical part of my brain sang out, its tone defiant to my emotions: He's just concerned for me.
Concerned.
Why couldn't people just mind their own business? Was it too much to ask for the world to ignore me?
I threw the blankets off, my eyes watering for a moment at the sudden temperature change, and continued my grumbling. I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for a while. The brief escape I had found was gone, leaving me with only a taste of a memory.
The bed squeaked, my weight rolling to the edge as I sat up and flung my legs over the side. The ground was so cold and so unforgiving, I contemplated rolling back into bed. But I refused to give into my petty whims; I wouldn't be able to find the previous comfort in the depth of sleep now that I was reminded of, well, everything.
I crossed my arms, rubbing them with my hands. Goosebumps rose on my skin as the coolness of air conditioning assaulted the miniscule amount of warmth my skin had managed to soak up from the comfort of the blankets.
The room was elegantly decorated. Warm colors accented the furniture while the walls were tastefully adorned with beautiful paintings. It was spacious; the furniture was pushed against the walls which created a large space to house a plush, red rug.
The dark brown floorboards creaked as I walked across the room to the open closet. I dug through the lone cardboard box, rifling through belongings and clothes before I procured a tattered hoodie and faded jeans from the unorganized mess. Stripping off my borrowed negligee and tossing it onto the bed, I pulled on my clothes, eager to finally wear something of my own.
But dear God, I needed a shower. I felt the grime on my skin as I pull on my clothing and shivered.
Dressed, I gathered my hair to the side of my head, sliding my fingers through the knots. I was careful not catch my fingers on my left earring. I couldn't remember the last time I'd pulled a brush through the tangled strands; it was probably some time before my arrival. I grabbed the lone hair tie from the top of the dresser and bound my hair into a low, side pigtail before stuffing the long strands into the neck of my hoodie.
I peeked out the door, glancing down either side of the hallway. It was deserted, thank God. I carefully shut the door behind me and began my journey down the hallway.
Large, paned windows lined one wall. The navy blue curtains shrouding them were pulled back to allow natural light to grace the corridor. On the opposite wall were dark brown doors, the wood matching the floorboards and paneling. Each of the doors bore a light wooden plaque, names etched and hand painted into each one. In the spaces between the doors hung paintings, each displayed a scene of nature.
The hallway was long and wide with the morning sun painting a bright atmosphere. The air seemed to ooze spring and laughter, the trees and bushes outside bearing thick foliage, the grass as thick as a carpet. Several hordes of children played in the sunlight - running, walking, and climbing.
I turned away from the windows, instead finding a semblance of comfort in my lone shadow moving along the wall, its legs and arms impossibly stretched out.
The hallway turned right, meeting with the grand staircase before dipping to reveal a beautiful entranceway. A maroon carpet lay in the middle of the marble floor below, sitting before two massive, wooden doors.
Bracing myself against the banister, I made my way down the stairs. I tilted my head back to gaze at the chandelier. Silver iron twisted into dangling crystals that caught the light and formed glittering, eye catching rainbows. I smiled to myself. Shifting my sight back down to Earth, I tucked my hands into the hoodie's pockets.
The kitchen was down a corridor to the right of the staircase behind a set of dark, wooden, revolving doors. Silver, stainless steel appliances were accented by dark, wooden cabinets and black marble counter tops.
I entered the kitchen and saw Heaven on a platter. A basket of confectioneries sat in the middle of an island. My stomach growled at the sight of food. I snatched a couple, hiding them in the pocket of my hoodie, before opening and rifling through the refrigerator. The appliance was packed to the brim with fruit, vegetables, and bottles of various liquids. I shoved an apple into my pocket before continuing my search. A piece of cheese in the back of the refrigerator caught my eye by looking incomparably delicious.
"Ahem," someone coughed behind me. I hit my head underneath the shelf of the refrigerator and hissed in pain. Holding the back of my head, I turned around.
In the doorway stood an elderly man, his hair was salt-and-peppered, and a thick pair of glasses were nestled against the bridge of his nose. Deep lines decorated the edges of his face. It was obviously the product of years of intense emotional and trying circumstances.
His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Did you get hungry, Miss Flian?"
I grunted in response, stuffing my hands into my pocket to protect the result of my fridge raid, before nudging the door of the refrigerator shut with my foot.
He nodded to the exit of the room. "Perhaps you would be willing to accompany me to my office?"
I frowned, bringing my hands up and gesturing.
"No, no." He shook his head. He raised his arms in a gesture of negation. "Definitely not in trouble."
I shrugged again, tucking my hands back into my hoodie. He held the door open for me before leading me to his office a bit farther down the hallway. The plaque on his door was similar to the ones on the second floor, the etching and paint making out a single name: Roger.
He again opened the door for me, and I stepped inside, admiring the uniformity of his office. The desk was strategically placed in the middle of the room before a large window looking off into the courtyard where the children continued to play. Bookcases lined the walls, and old tomes were spread to allow room for pictures and dusty trinkets. Two chairs sat before the desk, settling on dark brown wood.
"Please," Roger walked passed me to get around his desk, "take a seat."
I did as I was told. Taking one of the pastries I'd grabbed from the fridge, I took a bite. It was delicious, a sweet mix between banana and vanilla.
Roger shuffled through the drawers of his desk, pulling out a file. He opened it, searching through the papers and mumbling to himself. "Birth certificate. School records. Family records. Health... Ah, here we are," he stated, setting the paper to the side before closing the file. Roger straightened and took a quill. He dipped the tip in a small vial of ink. He began writing onto the paper he had pulled out from the file; his glasses fell down his nose as he bent over.
I sat back, finishing up my pastry, and licking my fingers to clear away the icing stuck on my skin. Fishing another pastry from my pocket, I hummed at the new flavor as I brought it to my mouth and took a bite—this one held an apple filling.
"Ahem," Roger cleared his throat again, catching my attention. He set the nib in the ink bottle and pushed his glasses back in place before settling down, his forearms and elbows on the table. "So, Miss Flian," He began, his deep voice light and pleasant. "Do you understand where we are?"
I nodded. We currently resided in England—even I could understand that, most of the children around the mansion spoke in heavy accents with intense diction.
"Good," He nodded. "England has such beautiful country. The towns are widely placed. The closest one is about twenty miles north."
I started, the pastry in my mouth becoming tasteless. I dropped the baked good on the ground in my hurry to move my hands, creating hand signals and shapes with sticky fingers. "So far?! I thought we were close to London!"
Roger shook his head, his glasses sliding down again. "Certainly not, Miss Flian." He pushed his glasses further up his nose, fixing their position. "We're about two hours from London."
I slumped in my chair, my head falling into my hands. Now what was I to do? I needed to be able to get to London. London would have information, clues, leads…and I had no way to get there.
"Now, Miss Flian," Roger's voice had lost its light, jubilant tone. "What's wrong?"
I sat up, my fingers signing the words to him, "I want to find my parents."
"We understand that, Miss Flian," Roger's eyes crinkled in the corners as his face split into a smile. "We have the best looking for you parents. There is nothing to worry about."
I rolled my eyes. "I don't trust the police."
"Now, who said anything about the police?"
Edited 1/21/2015: This story was edited by a wonderful beta by the name of gamegirl07. She is truly wonderful and fixed a great many things wrong with this chapter!
Edited 1/31/2015: Also joining the team of editing and making sure my writing is not grammatically inferior is Artificial Identity...In addition, a beautiful idea guru is making sure the characters (especially the OC) stays out of the Mary-Sue area, Grace-Logan. So, effectively adding a tentative three wonderfully intelligent writers to my beta helpers - where would I be without them?
Edited 7/1/2015: Edited with the help of the wonderful Mr. 'TheNotSoTalentedPoet'. Big thanks to him!
Edited 7/5/2015: InkstainedHands1177 went through and edited this to fix minor thing and tell me their opinion!