Gravel shifted and crunched underfoot as two young boys raced each other to the family home. The older lad tripped, scraping his knee, and was helped up by his cousin before the two sprinted the rest of the way.
Their destination was well built, and while it was almost two hundred years old the constant upkeep kept it both beautiful and strong. The boys scurried toward the front door. The older child jolted himself to a halt as the gleam of a polished blade flashed in front of him.
He stared at the sword blocking his path, and then looked up at the door's guard, who merely raised an eyebrow. The blade was calmly sheathed as both boys sheepishly wiped their feet before entering the manor at a more sedate pace.
They walked slowly toward the stairs, and when no adults were in sight the boys continued their mad dash. But before much progress was made, they were stopped by a servant, whose sharp eyes had spotted the scrape on the older boy's knee. The lad was instructed to sit upon a chair by the nearby window, and the maid knelt down and held up a hand. While the group was waiting for the soft glow of magic to surround her fingertips, the boy's towheaded cousin stomped his small foot.
"Mary, we're going to be late!"
"You're already late." The servant pointed out as she pressed a few small runes onto the affected knee. The boy tried not to flinch as the magic spread a mild chill over the scratch before penetrating deeper, creating an odd numb feeling as the skin knit itself back together. Mary looked at her work critically, then brushed some of the dust off and kissed it for good measure before standing up and backing away.
"Alright, off you go-"
The boys were already halfway up the stairs. She shook her head and smiled, then hoisted a basket of sheets back onto her hip and headed for the laundry room.
The children finally reached a sitting room on the second floor. It was a bright, airy room with sunshine pouring through the open windows. The curtains were made of lightweight, white cotton, and the walls were sea foam green. The furnishings were of a similar shade, including a dark green armchair, upon which was seated an older maid with graying hair, who was mending clothes.
A young girl sat on a cushioned footrest near the chair. She was about eight years old and already showed signs of her future beauty, with dark blue eyes, creamy skin, and black hair held away from her face with a maroon headband before cascading in smooth waves over her shoulders. Having just returned from etiquette lessons, she wore a maroon dress with white lace on the sleeves, hem, and collar, though she had removed her shoes and stockings and was now comfortably barefoot.
She scowled imperiously at her tardy younger relatives as they plopped down on the rug. The three children watched the maid expectantly while she took her time selecting the right shade of thread.
The younger boy fidgeted quietly on the floor. He was four years old with forest green eyes that complimented his dirty blonde hair. His cousin, older by one year, had gray eyes and brown hair. They wore dusty jean shorts and t-shirts. The brunette picked at a tattered edge on his sneaker as they waited.
The maid expertly thread her needle, bit a length of thread off, pushed it through a ripped seam on a skirt, locked the stitch, then looked at the gathered children.
"Ready to hear a story?"
The four year old nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!"
His sister glanced at him, caught between the familiar feelings of annoyance and love. The latter side winning, she reached for his collar and dragged her unresisting brother onto her lap. Their cousin slid closer to the footrest and leaned his head against the girl.
The maid sewed as they got comfortable, and then looked up at the adorable scene. "What would you like to hear about?" she asked them.
"Mama said you should tell us about our hist'ry." The gray-eyed boy piped up, his solemn gaze following the needle's movements.
The maid accidentally pricked her thumb, then carefully narrowed her eyes and looked at him closely.
"Evan."
"Yes?"
"Don't you mean your aunt Diana?"
"No. Mama has red hair. Auntie Di's is yellow."
"Blonde." corrected the girl.
The maid frowned indecisively, then shook her head and focused her attention on the seam. "Let's start at the beginning then…"
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Hello my peoples. It's been a freaking long time since I updated. I'm very sorry for that. On a happier note, I've given this story a lot of thought. A LOT. I've strengthened the plot in pretty much every way I can think of.
Anyway, Evan is Alexandra's father, and we will begin with a short overview of his life, including why he went to Mobius and created Alexandra in the first place. Then we get to follow her experiences up to her leaving the lab, and then we will FINALLY get to the story.
Read Not the Best Choice if you are interested in getting a better idea of who Alexandra is. But please don't judge me too harshly. I know that parts of it suck. I still shudder when I read the first chapter.
Thanks for reading, and hopefully I won't take a month to update next time :)