(っ・ω・ )っ: Hello, you. This is just a preview of a fic we might use for an example of a commission. We'll probably finish it. The style for this one is rather different. Blunt, straight-forward, and heavier story-line. All written in Arthur's POV.

In that part of the book of my memory,

Before which is little that can be read,

There is a rubric, saying, 'Incipit Vita Nova'. (Here beginneth the new life.)

Dante's La Vita Nuova

I have kept this memorandum, so that I will never forget him.

A Solitary Walker

To truly write a story, you must start from the very beginning. There is no possible way I could remember in crisp detail the extraordinary events of my birth, but I learned eventually….

Here is a transcript of the very beginning of my life.

"Arthur, do you think I'm a good mummy?"

I was seven at the time, with no complaints, so of course I told her so.

"Arthur, will you always be mummy's good boy?"

She tucked me in the covers, and smoothed my messy blond curls. Then she took off the blankets, and held me, as I buried my face in her squishy chest. She hugged me, and buried

her face in my hair. She then began to whisper the events of my first days in my ear.

"Remember, your mummy always loves you. When you were a wee one…a very long time ago….

My mummy told meI was born under rather unusual circumstances. While I was making my way into this world twenty seven-odd years ago, my real mother died of a hemorrhage,

which no one ever suspected of. After the doctor delivered the verdict to my father, he killed himself out of grief. It was made known in his journals that he was rather emotionally

unstable. After she had told me all that, I reached a conclusion of my own. Before I was a week in this world I had killed the two most very important people for the beginning of my life.

Not bad, as dramatic entrances get.

Stop looking so worried, reader. I assure you this will be nothing like those cliché dime novels of most orphans you hear about. The government had found different parents for me.

Elizabeth was a cheerful plump woman, who had the most marvelous talent for baking. David, my father, was an equally pleasant, stout man whose favorite hobby was reading the

daily news. My early days were just as pleasant as the people who adopted me, They were filled with Jammy Dodgers, Iced Rings, and all manners of sweets coupled with reading

equally delicious novels, both of which I "ate" with a growing appetite. I confess, reader, I was also a somewhat plump child, but my personality was so serious that people were

taken aback. I assumed that this was my original parents' scolding me, telling me that I could never be truly nurtured.

I always wondered which mother Elizabeth was referring to….

...

The building was made out of some grey stone, and was rather large. I confess, it was a tad charming, despite it's gloomy colour and representation of all the agony children

face. However, the class-room did not trouble me too much. As I mentioned before, I was an avid reader, and my mind was able to regurgitate a lot of the information I read into my

class-work. My teachers described me as a "seriously earnest fellow, certain to be a scholar." My parents were proud of me. Of course, one can not excel in all things! I

was blastedly terrible in the social aspects of school. The praise of me from my teachers really affected the others. They ignored me, but I felt that such a thing was normal, and that

I was responsible for starting the relationships. Remember, reader, I was not out much often, during my child-hood. I was ungainly, awkward, and a tad homely. I ran outside to the

play ground to say hello. In my dreadful earnest-ness, I ran towards them and fell, skinning my knees. This proved to be a humorous spectacle for all watching, and they all laughed,

exuberantly. I stared at the blood dripping slowly down my knees, in surprise. I had never broken my skin to the point where it would bleed so! The shock of it all, the

embarrassment of being laughed at by all of them, and the terrible dread that I might be neglected by them, made the tears fall out of my eyes. I couldn't help it. A wail tore out of

my mouth, and the teacher on duty came to me, and fussed so. This proved to be an ever greater amusement for my school-mates, and from that point on I was mercilessly teased.

A terribly accurate beginning to my life with others.

It got worse.