In Which Angeline Finds an Egg and Hatches it

Angeline Oscar Portur was born a happy accident.

Her parents, Mark and Jessica Portur, were an archeological team. Travelling the world to find the best dig sites and most exotic locales. So, when it was discovered that Jessica was pregnant they were… less than thrilled.

So, when the child was born, she was swiftly deposited into the care of her Great Great Aunt Marinthana. Her parents continued their whirlwind adventures across the globe, sending back cards and presents for holidays and her birthday. Though the latter was usually sent as an afterthought, and mostly on the wrong date. As such, Angeline grew up with little thought for her parents.

Now, Marinthana Greyheart was a kind soul. She treated Angeline as the daughter she never had, doing her best to provide for her. But, at the ripe age of 86, she was in no condition to raise a young child on her own. In fact, she was mostly bedridden. For that such a time, her house, a tall and narrow gothic contraption, had fallen into partial decay, and the grounds were overrun with weeds. Though she tried her best to look out for Angeline, holding informal school through what books she owned and a tutor, she simply did not have the strength to truly raise the girl. In this manner, Angeline also grew up learning to take care of herself.

Angeline was in no way unhappy with her life. In fact, she was actually quite satisfied. Unlike her gypsy-souled parents, Angeline enjoyed having a quaint home to herself. She began living by routine; not only seeing to her own needs, but her aunt's as well. At the tender age of five, she took it upon herself to explore every inch of her house. She found her favorite room to be the attic.

Unlike other children her age, Angeline held no penchant for playing pretend. She was Angeline Oscar Portur, and she liked that quite well. She did, however, fancy older clothing and jewelry. Both of which she found in abundance in the attic.

As the attic was at times unstable, Angeline began moving the boxes to her room. This was no small feat, and often ended with each box being spilled and refilled for each set of stairs. Excepting an ornate, bright silver jewelry box, which Angeline could carry just fine on her own. This task being done, and all the boxes neatly scattered about her room, Angeline began exploring their contents in earnest.

The clothing were approximately Victorian Era, and came in all sizes for all ages. Being something of a rail, Angeline found she could easily slip into anything she chose (though more often than not, it was too large for her). And thus, her wardrobe was formed from the surprising well kempt clothing of her ancestors.

The jewelry Angeline favored were more simple than not. However, most of the jewelry contained in the silver box was rather ostentatious, and too heavy for a girl her age. There was one ring, however, that did strike her fancy.

It was silver, with a black pearl held by a dragon. By all means too big for her, Angeline none the less slipped it on her thumb when she discovered it. She smiled as she looked at it, and despite the fact that there was still room between her finger and the band, the ring never seemed to fall out of place. Almost like magic.

But of course, Angeline did not believe in magic.

No, Angeline held a firm resolve that magic was not real. Most likely due to her aunt's tutelage; Marinthana would read to her niece as she sat patiently on the side of her bed, hands in her lap. The stories she read to her niece varied, but Marinthana was not one for illusionment and told Angeline quite frankly that magic did not exist. And Angeline accepted this readily.

It was probably for the best that the subject of dragons had never been breached.

At the age of seven, Angeline was a very active child. She would clean the house, look after her aunt, read and then explore the woods surrounding her. She canvassed the land in her mind's eye, learning all the trails and hideaways. She did not engage in fantasized quests and misadventures. Rather, she sought the natural treasures around her, reveling in the real and present.

She collected flowers, pulling various vases from the attic in which to house impromptu bouquets as her aunt instructed. She learned to braid wreathes, often adding colorful plumage and berries to them as she saw fit. These also began decorating the house, varying with the season. Her aunt also taught Angeline to press flowers. This was reserved for only the most beautiful of flora the young girl discovered.

So, with such treasures as these, in addition to various other objects, it should come as no surprise that Angeline would take an interest in a relatively large stone she discovered in the underbrush. She found it curious, as she had never seen its like, and swiftly held it in her thin arms. She held it at arm's length, appraising it.

"Crrl."

Angeline jumped at the noise, pulling the stone to her chest and casting nervous glances around. She had seen glimpses of animals before, and it worried her that one may be near. However, seeing none, she turned her attention to the stone. Frowning, she put her ear to the stone and listened.

It was faint, but she pressed closer to hear a dull thumping. Like a drum, or… a heartbeat. She held the stone out again and licked her lips, feeling somewhat silly.

"Hello, are you… an egg?" she asked. Though for the most part unaccented, Angeline's voice held some of the cultured timbre of her aunt's very mild British lilt.

"Chirrp," the egg, for now she was quite certain it was an egg, replied. It wasn't exactly the most informative response, but Angeline felt it answered her question nonetheless. Holding the egg to her chest again, Angeline awkwardly climbed over the forest floor to wend her way home.

Over the next couple weeks, Angeline began caring for the egg. She mostly went by instinct, doing what felt most right. Sometimes she could have sworn it was the egg giving her ideas, but that, of course, was preposterous.

At least, she thought as such before it hatched.

It started in the midmorning, while Angeline was cleaning. A slight creaking and rocking. Angeline had paused, and proceed to watch as the creaking grew and volume, and the rocking became shaking. Climbing unto the table, she sat crossed legged, watching for what felt like hours as the shell cracked and split, until falling apart all together.

The occupant of the egg blinked up at her; he was the size of a smaller dog, but covered in dull, dark scales. There looked to be something smooth on his back, and bright purple eyes shone in the light from the window. He, as Angeline felt very strongly that he was, in fact, a he, took a step towards her.

"Hello," he said. Angeline blinked.

"Hello," she said. And with that he crawled into her lap, leaving little scratches with his baby claws.

The boy was bestowed with the name Rochester Charlotte Greyheart. Angeline proclaimed him her brother, and her days now including caring for him as well as Aunt Marinthana. She taught Rochester as she learned, and he took to following her around the house until he grew too big for such activities. At that time, he moved to taking care of himself in the woods, learning all he needed by instinct. Angeline frequented the woods as she always had, and the two took to lengthy discussions of their favorite subjects, those which Aunt Marinthana simply did not have the energy to carry on.

Sometimes, they found themselves at odds with the other's opinion. However, no matter how heated their conversations became, they never had an altercation. They had come to a middle ground of agreeing to disagree at an early point in their relationship, due in part to the way they were both still learning.

After some six years, Angeline did not find it strange in the least that her brother had grown fifteen feet long, nor that in comparison she had only reached five foot three. Nor did it occur to her to wonder after the fact that she could speak with him, as it had always been that way and she had not learned anything contrary to the situation.

To be quite frank, Angeline very much enjoyed the quiet life she lead with her aunt. She found simple pleasure in caring for her aunt, their home, and exploring and speaking with her brother. One might even say she could conceive of no better way to live, and wished only to be this content for the rest of her life.

However, it would seem the universe had different plans for the lanky, befreckled thirteen year old with the sun streaked brown hair.

It came in the form of the Greyheart family.