Hi All! I have jumped fandom TWICE in my attempts to finish a story of mine from Dragon Age, and I fear it will be a while before I am able to finish that thought. This is a story that's been bounding around my head for a couple months ever since I watched the DN anime series and refuses to leave until I put some of it on paper. The story is focused on an OC perspective, but involves all of the Whammy House characters, which I found the most compelling in the original story. These are mostly character studies, really, of the Whammy kids from another's perspective and how she is eventually involved/not involved with the Kira case.

Quick note before we start: George Lambert is a real person. Deceased, but real. I wanted to use something based in reality as an anchor to the main character who is entirely fictional. But hopefully, this does not offend anyone who might be a Lambert out there. Happy reading, and please let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

Jessica Lambert knew It was there for as far back as she could remember. It was a shadow that lingered in the corners of her eye, a passing specter that she could never quite catch. She felt Its presence most when she was around her grandfather, Lord George Lambert II, a scruffy old man aged well into his seventies. She just assumed the ghost must be her uncle, for all Its willingness to cling to him. The younger man died long before she was born, his grave situated in the family mausoleum on a hill in the local cemetery of Devon. The family had since moved after his death to Switzerland, and the little girl visited every summer whilst her parents travelled abroad.

Jessica was very close to her grandfather. George was a quiet man; years spent in British parliament had taken a toll on his desire to debate much on anything anymore. For all of his reclusively, however, he doted on the youngest Lambert in the family. The little girl, with her chocolate brown hair curling delicately out of her pigtails to frame a heart-shaped face was a darling, and every summer, he took his time to introduce her to his other elderly guests, who visited from all over the world. From dignitaries to politicians to artists to scientists, the girl had ample opportunity to charm her way around the gentlemen's hearts, running into her grandmother's arms when she suddenly became too shy.

Jessica soon learned that the shadow that lingered in the rooms her grandfather frequented was not immobile. It had seemingly taken a fancy to her too, as she would catch it whilst she was alone, playing in the garden or reading in the library. The presence did not feel morbid, but then again why should she think it was lurking out of some sense of malice if the spirit was an old relative. A guardian, Jessica decided. That must be what it is.

She would eventually spend her afternoons chatting into the emptiness of the room, although nothing ever answered back. The one-way conversations felt comforting for how much the stalker unnerved her at times. It would simply linger just out of sight and stare, she presumed. When she peered up from her tea set surrounded by her dolls and stuffed animals to the corner the offending gaze was coming from, it would be gone as always. And the older she got, the more she wondered if she was just seeing things, wanting to believe it was more than it was, or if she was just desperate for the being, whatever it was, to go away.

In the winter, her grandparents visited at her home near Wycombe for the Christmas Holiday, bringing with them presents and well wishes. She would hug her grandfather's lap and demand that he spin her stories of the old days before the War and his adventures overseas. He would always chuckle and say that she was too young. He would read her Christmas stories instead until she fell asleep and then tuck her carefully into the safety of her pink covers in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

It was on one of these visits, though, that she realized this shadow – this being that fluttered out of her line of sight – was actually following him. Even now in the stone cold of the winter night, in her home, her own room, she could suddenly feel its presence looming over her like a suffocating blanket, like the billows of death, and the for first time in all of her encounters with It, the thoughts It conjured were not pleasant. Bounding from her bed, she ran to her mother's bedside crying, certain there was someone watching from her wardrobe only to discover nothing but her clothing and teddy bears. It was then that she confessed her knowing that the creature that lingered in the corner came with her grandfather. That It must be her old uncle, but that he was not supposed to follow. He should have moved on to God in Heaven.

There is no such thing as ghosts, so her mother admonished. This was just part of her imagination, an excellent one at that, conjuring up figures from the shadows and light splashing across her window in the moonlight. The words felt like a scolding to the girl, who would never lie or make up stories for the sake of her fear. She instead turned to her grandfather with a pleading look only to see one of despair returned. He said nothing, but did not move to comfort her either. It was the first experience of betrayal in her short life.

But, by Christmas morning, Jessica started to let go of the fear clinging to her chest, her sole focus on the gifts beneath the tree like the night before was just a bad dream. All day, she willed herself to forget until the evening came, of course. Cautiously as her grandfather tucked her into her covers, she questioned in all the seriousness an eight-year-old could muster, "Why is there a shadow following you?"

He paused, patting her head softly, "Are you sure you saw something?"

Jessica nodded solemnly.

"What did this shadow look like?"

She blinked once, twice, raking with wide eyes around the room. What did the shadow look like? She must have seen something to scare her so badly.

After a long silence, the old man smiled, "Perhaps, when you are older, you can tell me."

As Jessica aged, she stilled visited her grandfather in the summer and sometimes went travelling with him and her grandmother, Patsy, to see old friends. George Lambert II was a patron to agriculture and education, and he donated copious amount time and money to charities all over England and Europe.

George was particularly fond of orphanages, and his philanthropy extended to closing the state run schools and setting up better, private ones. There was a circle of elderly friends, of which, she guessed, must have all met during the War and that her grandfather was an inner member. These men were of similar mind and made an effort to keep in touch, even after their careers and notoriety had vanished into the ether with their retirement. They played cards together when they met up in Geneva on off summer weekends. Six men, all in their sixties or seventies, from various parts of Europe, recalled better and worse events in their lives as though they were sniffing out a fine brandy or dessert wine. Each one had a better tale to top the other.

The girl, now eleven, chatted away with them, making her best attempt at a poker face, all the while indulging in the cakes lining the edge of the table. Some of circle liked riddles, bouncing them back and forth across the table, attempting to stump her in the process like the grand game it was.

"Four dilly-dandies," the first man, Mr. Cross, chimed in song.

"Four stick standies," another respond across the table, Mr. Pfizer, placing his ante square in the center, "Yours Quillish."

"Two crookers," Mr. Wammy raised.

"Two lookers," A fourth, Mr. Nestle grinned, wriggling his brushy brows that made Jessica giggle.

"And a wig wag!" Her grandfather finished, leaning down to look her in the eye, "What is it?"

"A cow," Jessica replied smoothly, taking a bite of her cake.

"Ah, a smart one, have we," the sixth gentleman, Mr. Ruvie, said beside her. It was the fourth riddle she solved that afternoon and with the sternest expression over the rim of his round glasses, he followed up, "How about this one: I was abandoned by my mother and father. I wasn't yet breathing. A kind woman covered me with clothes, kept me and looked after me, cuddled me as close as if I had been her own child. Under that covering I grew and grew. I was unkind to my adopted brothers and sisters. This lovely woman fed me until I was big enough to set out on my own. She had fewer of her own dear sons and daughters because she did so. What am I?"

The table quieted as they all paused their game to gage the girl's answer. She had taken to English literature and read all of the books on Old English translations in the library that summer. Jessica furrowed her neat brows in concentration. Surely she read this somewhere before…

She chirped out, "It's a bird."

"What kind?"

"Well hold on," Quillish piped in, "How do you know it is a bird?"

Jessica pursed her lips, "Well, if it wasn't yet breathing and had to be covered with warmth, then it was an egg."

"How do you know it was not a lizard or a turtle? Many creatures come from eggs, my dear."

"Yes, sir, but lizard and turtles do not tend their young so when the babies hatch, they fend for themselves. Birds must be taken care of until they are big enough to fly out on their own."

The men smiled in unison.

"Birds are also greedy," Jessica added, as an afterthought, "so I cannot imagine the siblings would be nice to each other."

There was nodding and gentle laughter as the men went back to their game. It was Mr. Ruvie's turn to ante.

"I don't fully understand the last part though," Jessica's voice was small now, as though she was only speaking to the gentleman next to her, "Why would she have fewer sons and daughters by taking care of another?"

He spent his ante and raised his friend before commenting, "Sometimes to care is to sacrifice. Other times, what one might believe is harmless when small may turn out to be a monster in waiting."

The saying struck a cord and it was at this moment that Jessica glanced to the corner of her vision. By this time, the girl had, with hesitance, accepted the presence. It stood in the background as though It was taking in the men's conversations. If she squinted just right, never looking straight on, she could even make out a vague shape. It was tall and thin. It was not black like the shadow she imagined when she was young, and It was not immeasurably tall like she remembered. Still, the top of the figure reached near the ceiling of the sunny porch, the beams of light passing through it like a curtain.

How could no one else know it was there? Even her grandfather refused to acknowledge It standing just behind him, the shadow of the curtain surely brushing against his plaid jacket. It unnerved her, but Jessica had no one to press questions about whatever It was. She never dared asked her grandmother, if her own mother's reactions were any indication. Yet, the little girl could always tell when It was present now, wherever she was – no longer a benevolent feeling washing over her, the thought of visiting her grandfather instead invoked a sense of dread, a weight upon her shoulders pulling her down. Out of sheer frustration once, she yelled at It to go away, only to have her grandmother call into the room moments later wondering what was wrong.

She did not understand. What was Its purpose? Why did It plague her grandfather, a man who had never done anything wrong in his life? Why now was It following her, waiting for her in a window whenever she returned from playing with local friends?

The summer of her twelfth birthday, Jessica refused to go to Switzerland. Her parents were shocked by the announcement and when prompted, the girl flew into a fit and locked herself in her room. She was angry. This thing, this shadow, had come between her and her beloved grandfather by just… by just being! She wanted It gone, but she could not for the life of her figure out how to get rid of It. There was no one who she could talk to who would believe her anyway. For the first time, the girl felt a pang of loneliness that would slowly eat her inside out if she let it.

If she only knew then.

Her grandparents phoned and tried to coax her to visit. Her parents were aghast by their daughter's sudden shift in mood from a carefree, happy child, to one who was constantly distraught and anxious. She refused and refused until one day a family friend came to their home near Wycombe to have a chat.

The elderly gentleman was one of the circle of friends that met in Geneva to play cards. He was a slim man, tall with gray wispy hair and small, round rimless glasses. He smiled kindly down at Jessica and offered a seat.

She had to be polite. She was the granddaughter of a Viscount after all. Shoving all of her obstinacy aside, Jessica curtseyed, "It is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Ruvie."

"Please," he chuckled, "Call me Roger."

She sat on the other side of the older man, the table between them set for afternoon tea. Jessica looked down to her side, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I have come on behalf of your grandfather-"

"I know," she interjected. "He is unhappy that I have decided not to visit this summer."

Roger smiled, "He is disappointed, but I think he understands."

She looked up suddenly at that.

He continued, "He suggested that perhaps you might want to come stay with me for the summer. I run a school, you see – one that your grandfather is a patron of – and he suggested you might benefit from socializing with others your age."

Jessica clenched her jaw at the accusation. Did her grandfather really think that she thought the old men too stuffy to be around? This was just a phase? She was getting older and uninterested in their stories and jokes? She huffed through her nose in a most unlady-like fashion.

This behavior did not seem to faze Roger, however. His smile broadened as he leaned in to take his tea, speaking as he did so, "You are a very bright girl, I can tell. How are you with your studies?"

She blinked, "I do well enough."

"Do you ever find yourself complacent?"

"Is that what my grandfather tells you? That I'm bored?"

"No, quite the contrary," He took a sip. "He says you are very inquisitive. Read all of his books last summer."

She huffed, "His library is massive; I could not possibly go through all of them."

"Of course not," he placated. The words came across condescending, though, "But you have taken to English literature and history. Why is that?"

The little girl across from him stiffened. A terse smile, not unlike her mother's when she was faced with something that displeased her, crossed her high cheeks such that it forced her thin lips into a line. Positioning herself as graciously as possible for a upper class child having afternoon tea in the shady corner of her parent's estate, her tone was far less charming, "I am sorry, Mr. Ruvie, if I come across as disrespectful, but what exactly is the point of your visit?"

There was a pause with her challenge, Roger visibly considering how he should take it. Jessica remained stoic, ready for a power struggle when he spoke again, "The truth? You have always gone to your grandfather's for the summer, Jessica, whilst your parents travelled abroad."

"So this is their way of getting rid of their belligerent child so they may vacation in the Caribbean?" Pink reached the girls cheek, yet her composure remained, "Please correct me if I am wrong."

"Yes and no," he answered honestly, his tone cajoling. "You were sent to your grandparents so that you may spend time with your family. They are getting on in age; George will not be around forever. But, he also knows you are old enough to need new challenges, new people in your life."

"So, this is not a choice I am being offered, rather a notice of my relocation?"

Roger raised an eyebrow at the blunt response, but pressed on, "Jessica, your grandfather loves you-"

"He loves me so much that he is willing to jail me to a boarding school as punishment for refusing to visit." Her petite hands clutched at her armrests just as new betrayal clutched at her heart. Boarding school was inevitable. Even she knew that she would attend an academy out of primary; probably a highly esteemed one given her family's wealth and her test scores. But she was so young. She wasn't ready to be away from her family yet. She just did not want to face that thing in the corner again! How could he punish her like this?

The elderly man sighed at the girl's reaction, however predictable it may have been to him. With a weary smile, he set his tea aside and motioned to a standing position, all the while allowing the silence to weigh heavily on the child below. He rested a defined hand on her shoulder reassuringly, "You may find this is no ordinary boarding school, no matter how unhappy you are about the circumstances. Yet, you may also find that you prefer this place, even over Switzerland, if you give it a chance."

This was a horrible prospect, Jessica decided. And she was not about to take it like the lady she was being raise to be, no matter her parents' objections over her tantrum that followed Mr. Ruvie's departure or the hasty letter to her grandfather admonishing his treachery in all things that grandparents and grandchildren share. This was utterly unfair, unjustified, uncouth. She hated him for it. She hated that damn shadow for coming in they way of something she loved. It was all she could think of as she slunk down the stairs with her bags in toe, not even bothering to kiss her mother goodbye as she was guided to the car and sent on her way.