Chapter One
Odd Arrival
Around 9:30 at night on August 3 of 1992, a navy blue car drove stealthily up the dusty, rocky driveway of Stonelarve Orphanage. It stopped at the end, where off to the right an ancient stone mansion, the stones holding it together looked worn and eroded. The grey sediments of the rock shone dully in the dim source of light extracting from the poorly built porch. The wooden floorboards were splintered, and creaky, the small stairs were tilted, and cracked. The chairs and other assortments laid upon the porch left creeping shadows among the blackening, aging wood. At the end of the porch stood two women, objecting to topple down the spindly stairs. Both still in their night assortments: nightdresses, covered by robes, slippers, and a few other things.
The first woman was short, and rather plump. Her few wrinkles were drowned out by the kind mannered eyes and smile, though deep circles ran under her beady, puffy eyes - showing she was extremely tired. Her brown hair was tightly pulled back into a heavily sprayed bun, keeping every strand out of her tanned face. She wore a cotton-woven nightdress, dyed with a Hawaiian flowered scenery, and she had a long sleeved robe to match.
The second woman was tall, and gaunt-faced. Her twiggy, frail body squirmed impatiently. Her eyes were cold, and un-welcoming, though were wide awake and cunning. She showed no sign of tiredness. A thick, green cream face mask was spread over her ancient face. Even still, it failed to hide the standing wrinkles embedded deep in her face. Her hair lay carelessly flattened on her head, perfectly straight. Her hair reached down to her shoulders, a grey-white mess of straw, giving the woman an eerie, ghost-like look. Which was encouraged by a thin, white, silk nightgown with a deep, rose red shawl to cover it and give the woman some warmth, for it was quite cold that night.
When both women noticed the navy-blue Cadillac park in the driveway, they both showed signs of alertness, standing upright and shaking off any further signs of exhaustion. They stood still, ready to meet the two men that had just stepped out of the vehicle.
The man who got out of the driver's side, looked quite young, apparently in his late 20s. His sharp black hair was lightly speckled with bits of white. He gave off a proper and very sophisticated feeling with his loose suit. With the same greasy black color to match his hair perfectly. As he walked around the car, his feeling of properness increased with his upright standing pose. With what light given off from the porch, he seemed to have very handsome features. A broad face, clean shaven, his thick dark eyebrows covered deep brown eyes. Though the slightly vacant expression inside his eyes gave a feeling of tyranny. The second man, who stepped out of the passenger's side, was almost completely opposite from the first.
He looked much older, though much wiser. Mid-neck white hair flowed freely as it pleased. On his chin stood a silvery-white goatee, making him look younger than he was, and quite fashionable. His wardrobe was entirely opposite from that of his colleague. He wore a sweeping, deep-violet robe tied around the waist with a crimson rope. Both barely noticeable, though, under a gleaming silver cloak, that looked almost liquid. The cloak even made his shining white goatee look utterly dull.
The elderly man closed his own door and opened the back in one swift movement. He reached in and fiddled around with something hidden within the car. He soon pulled out of the car and closed the door. He carried a bundle in his arms, inside the bundle was a small girl. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair bounced limply as the man carried her up to the porch, where the two woman were waiting anxiously. The older woman stepped forward and relieved the child from the elderly mans arms.
"This is the girl? Griffin? Is that correct?" She asked in a rough, scornful voice.
"No, he's Griffin," said the man, pointing to the man behind him, younger, who had just walked up, "I'm Archie Giorgini"
"Oh! That's right. I spoke to you on the phone! Mr.Giorgini, pleased to meet you! I'm Marcie Vargo!" The pudgy, cheerful woman piped in. She held out her hand joyously, and Archie took it, smiling brightly. The elderly woman showed no reaction.
"I'm Ira Culm. Marcie, here, is my assistant." She said coldly. Archie put out his hand for her to take, but she stood still. So Archie lowered it sourly.
"Well, then. This is she, the girl I've spoken about." Archie muttered. They stood in silence for a moment.
"Well! What's her name then!" sputtered Ira cruelly. Marcie scoffed.
"Now, now Ira! No need for rudeness! Be polite for once please?" She murmured. Ira glared icily at Marcie, who backed off immediately.
"Her name is Layta Arlem, thank you for the concern." Archie spat, glaring icily back at Ira. His feelings toward her edging a bit.
"Well I'd have to know her name wouldn't I!" Ira stated calmly. She turned her back on Archie and Griffin and directed Marcie to follow, handing her the sleeping child as if she were holding a disgusting rodent. Marcie took the child and hummed softly to her.
"Goodnight then!" Archie called after her. When he got no reply he turned sharply on his heel and began to walk away, summoning Griffin to follow; but he didn't.
"I don't trust them. Not one bit!" protested Griffin.
"Neither do I, but we have no other choice. This is the only place she'll be safe!" Archie stated, gritting his teeth at the thought of leaving the one girl, who could change the entire nation, on the doorstep of a monster.
"Ten years?" Griffin mumbled. Archie nodded.
"Exactly ten. No more, no less." He said calmly. He then walked back to the car, Griffin following this time. They got in and drove off into the cold, now stormy night as thunder rumbled menacingly in the sky.
"Good luck, and Happy Birthday, dear Layta." Archie muttered out the window as the Orphanage mansion disappeared from view.
Odd Arrival
Around 9:30 at night on August 3 of 1992, a navy blue car drove stealthily up the dusty, rocky driveway of Stonelarve Orphanage. It stopped at the end, where off to the right an ancient stone mansion, the stones holding it together looked worn and eroded. The grey sediments of the rock shone dully in the dim source of light extracting from the poorly built porch. The wooden floorboards were splintered, and creaky, the small stairs were tilted, and cracked. The chairs and other assortments laid upon the porch left creeping shadows among the blackening, aging wood. At the end of the porch stood two women, objecting to topple down the spindly stairs. Both still in their night assortments: nightdresses, covered by robes, slippers, and a few other things.
The first woman was short, and rather plump. Her few wrinkles were drowned out by the kind mannered eyes and smile, though deep circles ran under her beady, puffy eyes - showing she was extremely tired. Her brown hair was tightly pulled back into a heavily sprayed bun, keeping every strand out of her tanned face. She wore a cotton-woven nightdress, dyed with a Hawaiian flowered scenery, and she had a long sleeved robe to match.
The second woman was tall, and gaunt-faced. Her twiggy, frail body squirmed impatiently. Her eyes were cold, and un-welcoming, though were wide awake and cunning. She showed no sign of tiredness. A thick, green cream face mask was spread over her ancient face. Even still, it failed to hide the standing wrinkles embedded deep in her face. Her hair lay carelessly flattened on her head, perfectly straight. Her hair reached down to her shoulders, a grey-white mess of straw, giving the woman an eerie, ghost-like look. Which was encouraged by a thin, white, silk nightgown with a deep, rose red shawl to cover it and give the woman some warmth, for it was quite cold that night.
When both women noticed the navy-blue Cadillac park in the driveway, they both showed signs of alertness, standing upright and shaking off any further signs of exhaustion. They stood still, ready to meet the two men that had just stepped out of the vehicle.
The man who got out of the driver's side, looked quite young, apparently in his late 20s. His sharp black hair was lightly speckled with bits of white. He gave off a proper and very sophisticated feeling with his loose suit. With the same greasy black color to match his hair perfectly. As he walked around the car, his feeling of properness increased with his upright standing pose. With what light given off from the porch, he seemed to have very handsome features. A broad face, clean shaven, his thick dark eyebrows covered deep brown eyes. Though the slightly vacant expression inside his eyes gave a feeling of tyranny. The second man, who stepped out of the passenger's side, was almost completely opposite from the first.
He looked much older, though much wiser. Mid-neck white hair flowed freely as it pleased. On his chin stood a silvery-white goatee, making him look younger than he was, and quite fashionable. His wardrobe was entirely opposite from that of his colleague. He wore a sweeping, deep-violet robe tied around the waist with a crimson rope. Both barely noticeable, though, under a gleaming silver cloak, that looked almost liquid. The cloak even made his shining white goatee look utterly dull.
The elderly man closed his own door and opened the back in one swift movement. He reached in and fiddled around with something hidden within the car. He soon pulled out of the car and closed the door. He carried a bundle in his arms, inside the bundle was a small girl. Her shoulder-length, light brown hair bounced limply as the man carried her up to the porch, where the two woman were waiting anxiously. The older woman stepped forward and relieved the child from the elderly mans arms.
"This is the girl? Griffin? Is that correct?" She asked in a rough, scornful voice.
"No, he's Griffin," said the man, pointing to the man behind him, younger, who had just walked up, "I'm Archie Giorgini"
"Oh! That's right. I spoke to you on the phone! Mr.Giorgini, pleased to meet you! I'm Marcie Vargo!" The pudgy, cheerful woman piped in. She held out her hand joyously, and Archie took it, smiling brightly. The elderly woman showed no reaction.
"I'm Ira Culm. Marcie, here, is my assistant." She said coldly. Archie put out his hand for her to take, but she stood still. So Archie lowered it sourly.
"Well, then. This is she, the girl I've spoken about." Archie muttered. They stood in silence for a moment.
"Well! What's her name then!" sputtered Ira cruelly. Marcie scoffed.
"Now, now Ira! No need for rudeness! Be polite for once please?" She murmured. Ira glared icily at Marcie, who backed off immediately.
"Her name is Layta Arlem, thank you for the concern." Archie spat, glaring icily back at Ira. His feelings toward her edging a bit.
"Well I'd have to know her name wouldn't I!" Ira stated calmly. She turned her back on Archie and Griffin and directed Marcie to follow, handing her the sleeping child as if she were holding a disgusting rodent. Marcie took the child and hummed softly to her.
"Goodnight then!" Archie called after her. When he got no reply he turned sharply on his heel and began to walk away, summoning Griffin to follow; but he didn't.
"I don't trust them. Not one bit!" protested Griffin.
"Neither do I, but we have no other choice. This is the only place she'll be safe!" Archie stated, gritting his teeth at the thought of leaving the one girl, who could change the entire nation, on the doorstep of a monster.
"Ten years?" Griffin mumbled. Archie nodded.
"Exactly ten. No more, no less." He said calmly. He then walked back to the car, Griffin following this time. They got in and drove off into the cold, now stormy night as thunder rumbled menacingly in the sky.
"Good luck, and Happy Birthday, dear Layta." Archie muttered out the window as the Orphanage mansion disappeared from view.