Disclaimer: I don't own Demonata, Darren Shan does. But I do own any OCs or non-cannon creatures that will appear in this fic. And trust me; I have a LOT of non-cannon creatures.
A/N: Yo, it's the Ghoolies here! After my long abstinence I have returned with a Demonata fic. I've loved this series since I was about 12 and was re-reading it a couple of months back and decided to write a fanfiction based off it. Originally it was going to be about one of my other OC's, Amy Moore, but I realised Amy's story is going to take a long time to write and complete, so I started off with a new OC-Esther Blake. Follow her story, and this will be more than a two shot. It may have some Grubbs/OC later if I can get round to writing the romance but for now, I just want you to get to know Esther as a person. R&R please, because I always want help on how to improve!
At first I thought mum was joking when she told me. My mum isn't one for humour but I thought she was having a go for once, and I was horribly mistaken.
She told me we were going to be moving house; and for once it was dad's decision, not hers, which really blew my mind away. Mum always makes the decisions for the rest of us, and I've learnt that shutting up and putting up with it works best-resistance is futile as they say. Especially to my mother when she's decided something is going to happen. Apparently dad wanted to move to somewhere more remote, more picturesque, so his artwork can improve; and for once mum was happy with some change, even though she'd be working for a much smaller company, with a lower pay.
My mum is a lawyer by profession, Serena Blake; my dad's the artist Michael Blake. Y'know? The guy who did the picture of the sort of floating apples in the sea and the sky? His only famous painting in his entire career, and that was when I was two years old, and mum was starting at her first official law firm. He tells us that he's working on his next masterpiece but this 'masterpiece' has taken twelve years. I'm fourteen now, and all his other paintings haven't gotten the same response as the weird apples. My name is Esther, it's supposed to mean 'friendly, approachable and generous', I am one of these three traits, the final one. I am not friendly by any means and no-one approaches me because I'm silent almost all 6 hours of school time. To be honest, I have no friends whatsoever. I hope you could call me generous but I'm not too sure about that one either, because no-one ever asks me for anything. But I try to be generous, I guess. And once I've done that, I can complete the others.
People find me 'too clever' and 'too weird' to be friends with. And I can't wear makeup so I'm not even viewed as pretty. I'm allergic to makeup.
I've got one of those faces people say is beautiful, if you take the time to look at it, like if you looked at it for about a minute you'd apparently see the beauty that's hidden there, but no-one does because I look plain. I am painfully pale, which is not my fault, it's my mother's.
My mother, who was born Serena Tolnay, is Danish, from Copenhagen the capital, and she's almost typically European. Y'know? The type of European people from America and other countries imagine everyone who isn't in the UK is like? Tall, extremely blonde haired, nice figure, pale skinned ('well she is Scandinavian!') and a really thick accent? That's my mum in a nutshell, only her accent is very English because she's lived here since she was twelve.
And my dad is pale too, so I came out white as a ghost. A sort of milky white, and I don't tan, I only burn. I've got a couple of freckles on my arms, nose and cheeks but they're also light brown, and only stand out properly in summer when the heat makes them more noticeable. But I'm so plain why stare at my freckly arms when you can't be bothered to state at my could-be-beautiful face?
The only features of mine that people might find interesting are my hair and eyes. I got my dad's eyes, and they stick out like a sour thumb because I mainly took after my mum in the looks department. My eyes are strikingly dark blue; a sort of midnight sky style in shade, and they're like crows eyes amongst my pale skin. They're dark, beady and glitter with a kind of bird-like intelligence. My eyes make me appear untrustworthy and almost frightening, a bit like a crows eyes.
As for my hair, it's a sort of pale blonde, a deep clash with my crow-sharp indigo eyes, but nowhere near as light as my mum's almost platinum shade, which I still wish I could have. I've grown it long (hey, it hides my plain face!) and it's wavy and wispy. I tried curling it once but the first time it got toasted so it ended up like straw, and when it did properly curl, the process took me about three and a half hours. For one side. So I gave up and washed it, returning it to its usual waves. Like I said, resistance is futile, and so far in life that motto has worked just fine for me.
And so my lack of resistance landed me in the back of my car, following a removal van, to a place in Ireland called Carcery Vale. That didn't make sense to me. I've lived in Newcastle my entire life, so why did we suddenly move to Ireland? I thought it'd be somewhere like Manchester or York, but Ireland? Although the place is beautiful (judging by pictures I've seen) so I agreed to come with mother and father, and my little sister, to live here. Oh yes, they gave me the alternate option of going to live with my cousins in Middlesbrough, shows how much they want to keep me, right? As for the little sister part, yep-I have one. But she's four years old, a whole ten years younger than me, and named Evie. She can be cute as a mouse wrapped in cotton wool or annoying as techno music, so I usually try and keep away from her.
Our car lacks air-con so I have to role the windows down and pray a wasp/bee won't get in. Sometimes my prayers are actually answered. Evie is talking about some nonsensical Cbeebies show I don't understand so I sit there and stare outside. For the entire freaking journey. Sheep, cows, tree after tree and the occasional shock of thinking I've just seen something in the forest is only fun for about…ten minutes? I play with the hem of my skirt, untie my hair from its ponytail to re-tie it, yawn constantly, and stare at the ceiling. Anything but-
"Does anyone want any music?" dad asks from the driver's seat. Oh no…No! No, no, no, no, NO-
"Please!" Evie squeals. It is official, I'm in hell. Evie ruined my CDs by 'accidentally' snapping them in half (accidentally my arse), so now I have a choice between Slovakian disco music which only mum and me understand (she taught me to speak Slovakian as a way of 'bonding'), dad's old 70's/80's rock (which is tolerable I guess) or Evie's nursery rhymes or stupid pop (ear sodomy). I sink down further in my seat and wallow in despair as whatever stupid idiot begins to sing 'One Two, Buckle My Shoe'. The look on my face is a perfect example of how I am feeling. Tortured, I'd rather try waterboarding that listen to this whimsical awfulness.
Over the sound of the 'music' (it's a loose termology for this crap), mum calls to me. "Oh Esther, I've already enrolled you at their local secondary school, you start on Thursday the 20th."
Even better. Today is Monday the 10th, I have over an entire week of nothing to do! Stupid as it sounds, I'd rather be in school than at home. Watching daytime TV and mulling around is only fun for about three days, soon you get bored. School, as horrid as it can be, is a way of letting me get to know people. At home, I can simply wallow in my loneliness and boredom with Evie as my only companion. Sure, she's cute as a sugar mouse dipped in treacle tar and artificial sugaring, but she's annoying when she's excited. And boy is my little sister excited! I sigh and bury my face into my hands, wishing I could be in school right now.
Judging by the fact both my parents already have jobs set up for them, I'll be looking after Evie for most of the day. But I suppose I'm responsible enough to have her care entrusted in me. Mum has to start work immediately just in case someone else tried to get in an important job promised for her; and dad will probably want to get a good idea of his surroundings. I know we're not actually living in the Vale itself, more on the outskirts so we're 'closer to nature' or some bullshit like that. But I will agree with my dad on one thing, Carcery Vale sure is beautiful. In its own natural sort of way.
Filled with beautiful, luscious greenery; cool blue skies, and lack of…Modern technology. At least the part where we're living now.
There is at least one other house all the way on the outskirts of Carcery Vale; a mansion owned by a man named Dervish Grady. Apparently my mother knew him 'back in the old days', they attended the same college. He has a nephew, an orphan, but I don't know his name; apart from that I know nothing about Dervish Grady. I have suspicions that my mum and he used to date, and that the relationship ended messily, because she doesn't always speak too kindly of him. But she says we must go and visit him, so maybe the possible relationship didn't end too messily.
I've seen a couple of photos of my mum when she was a teenager in the 1970's, and she looked even more stunning than she somehow manages to now. None of the few wrinkles she now has, hair like a Disney princess, perfect figure because she'd had no kids, I can see why my dad loves her so much.
Part of me hopes I could grow up to be like my mother; blonde, Barbie-like, and stunning. Judging by the way I'm going though, I'm going to be more like one of Barbie's backgrounds friends, but not as plasticised or perky, I'll just sit in the background and be stuck with my Barbie friend. So far I haven't even got a Barbie friend though, so I'm pretty sure nothing is going to go well in my life. I don't get how my mum gets to be both gorgeous and have a high IQ, whilst I only get the high IQ, but some of us are luckier than others I guess.
Judging by the way our lives are going, Evie is going to be the pretty sister. Unlike me, Evie suits being pale, it makes her look like a child Snow White. Little button nose (cute right?), doey eyes that are blue like the sky, and raven bunches. Evie got our dad's black hair, so it contrasts beautifully with her eyes, and makes her look twice as adorable. If I looked like that, I'd be seen as creepier than people think I am now. My skin's too pale for dark hair, and if I had it I'd look like a corpse, and light blue eyes would pop out my face-in a very unattractive way.
Life's a bitch ain't it, and I'm already wishing I was in school, so I could be socially awkward properly around other teenagers.
The car stops, and I hear mum and dad get out. A pleased smile on her soft face and my dad looks ecstatic. Like a little boy with a new Action Man figure or something. I can see them whispering to each other, but I'm not in the mood for eavesdropping on my parents. Until I see mum put her hand over her stomach, in a way all too familiar. She's pregnant, again. Having horny parents-not cool. Especially seeing that I'm fourteen years old, and I'm going to get another sibling. I probably wouldn't mind if my siblings were closer to my age, instead of being a full ten and now fourteen years younger than me. By the time my upcoming sibling is my age; I'll be twenty eight years old, hopefully married with kids of my own.
To take my mind of the latest bout of bad news I find myself receiving I decide to look at my new home, and, much to my annoyance, I am impressed. It looked like it was pretty old, and was made out of solid white wood which I was shocked wasn't rotting yet, like so many houses eventually end up doing. At least three stories high, with a front porch and a hanging swing; large double doors which I guessed were supposed to be the back doors but my parents had decided this would be the front part because it faced the driveway. The garden seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. I had no clue where it stopped and the endless fields surrounding our new house started. It was mostly untrimmed, like a thick jungle, but I liked it that way. Imperfections are what make you special, that's what my Grandmother Tolnay used to tell us. Yes, I can feel myself smiling for once in my life; I think I'm going to like it here.