DISCLAIMER:

Hello! This is my first fanfiction so bare with me! No matter how much I wish for it, I do not own Ouran High School Host Club! Translations in italics.

PREFACE:

Fair does not exist. Needless to say life isn't fair. But for a while, life was wonderful.

We were a small, rich family. My mother and father, although odd and slightly eccentric, were very loving and kind. Even though they were often busy with work and other extremities, I always rejected the comfort of my nannies in favor of watching them work. My father's face would close in on itself and his lips would downturn while his brow furrowed. From my perch in his lap, I would reach one pudgy hand out and try to erase his discomfort. It always worked. His smile was breathtaking and his emerald eyes, much like mine, would sparkle as they looked down at me curiously.

"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez, Aimee?" (What is it you wish, Aimee?) He would ask me, smiling with softness and ease.

"Pour que vous souriez, papa!" (For you to smile papa!) I would answer giggling. His grin widened.

"Vos désirs sont des ordres." (Your wish is my command.)

For a while, everything was great. It was just me, Maman, and Papa. And then I met her, and I fell in love. *Tante Anne-Sophie. Maman told me that after 8 years, her little sister was finally coming home. Anne-Sophie was beautiful. Anne-Sophie was an angel. She taught me things. Like how to sing. And dance. And play the piano. I wasn't very good, but she told me that if I practiced, I would get better.

"Elle est vraiment jolie!" (She's really pretty!) I told Papa.

"Ne dis pas à maman!" (Don't tell maman!) He warned me. For maman and Anne-Sophie were opposing forces, each repelling the other. I didn't get it. I didn't want to get it. I also didn't get why maman was so upset about René.

René was my cousin. A year younger than me, just a baby. He'd follow me everywhere. He didn't know how to walk yet so he'd just crawl after me. Sometimes, when we were alone, I'd hide from him and he would cry and cry and cry. He would cry so much and mushrooms would mysteriously sprout up from under him. That was when I revealed myself. Maman would be upset if I ruined the floor with fungus. Once I would show myself, his mood would do a 180 and he would be happy again. Needless to say I did this often. It was too fun to not. Having René around was fun. I was sad when he had to go.

Maman said that it was for the best. She said that the Suohs were too mad and powerful a family to directly involve oneself with. I asked her what she meant. She assured me that my tante and René would be just fine. That they would have a home and remain apart of the de Grantaine family as long as they kept their distance and stayed away. I told her I did not want René to stay away. She then leaned down and took my hands in hers, her violet eyes full of fire I would come to understand as I progressed in life.

"La vie n'est pas à propos de vouloir! La vie est à propos du besoin. Votre tante et votre cousin veulent rester, mais ils doivent partir." (Life isn't about want! Life is about need. Your aunt and cousin want to stay, but they need to go.) She said to me. From that day on, I would not question her decisions, for I knew that they were for the best.

And so, time went on, and with it life.

When I was 11 years old, I became the older sister of two demonic twins. There is no way that Ansel and Alair were human. No way! But I loved them anyway. At first it was hard to tell them apart, but when it came time to change diapers, it helped that one was a boy and one was a girl. Life was great. We were happy.

When I was 15 years old, Maman and Papa's company went into a state of economic downturn, and we were forced to give a lot of our previous lifestyle up, including our home and prestige. It wasn't so bad. We moved into a smaller house and learned about different things. Like instant coffee! And bikes. And budgets. And coupons! It was a fun new experience, but the twins missed home. I missed home.

That was around the time when I heard her name again. Anne-Sophie. And the memories returned. Fuzzy and clouded, hidden by the barrier of my young, child-like eyes. Anne-Sophie the angel.

Maman was talking on the phone. She sounded upset. "Le De Grantaine n'accepte pas la charité!" (The de Grantaine do not accept charity!) She spat! "Nous n'avons pas besoin de vous, ou la sympathie de votre amoureux!" (We do not need you, or your lover's sympathy!) Her voice softened. "Je vous en prie, Anne, reprenez-le. Nous allons faire! Reprenez-le!" (I beg of you, Anne, take him back. We'll make do! Take him back!) I didn't understand. Take who back?

After this, our riches returned, but Maman refused to touch it. And so, we stayed like that. Poor and happy. Happy and poor. When Anne-Sophie fell ill, Maman made frequent visits to her, but she refused to let me come or tell me where she was. I lived like that. We lived like that.

Until, September 27, 2016, I turned 17 years old. Maman and Papa were on their way home from a trip to Anne-Sophie's. They had a present for me. She had a present for me. Anne-Sophie. I was dancing, jumping, flying across the yard outside of our tiny house with anticipation. The twins were out with me, catching snowflakes as they fell.

A loud bang. A huge explosion. A huge wave of heat. Ringing in my ears. Ash falling. Ash? I peeled myself off of the ground. Tendrils of pain licked up my right leg. I looked down and gasped at the red, raw exposed flesh that opened out of my knee.

Alair's crying snapped me out of my shock.

She stood a few feet ahead of me, trembling and looking in the direction of our house. My eyes automatically followed her gaze. There. Protruding haphazardly out of the side of our house, was Maman and Papa's car. It was on fire. The house was on fire.

Pain forgotten, I grabbed Alair and thrust her into my arms. I leaned down to face her, my voice so calm that it startled me. "Alair," I asked. "Where is Ansel?" She just trembled and blubbered. I shook her and asked again. She wriggled out of my arms then turned and pointed towards the house. My head snapped up. There. Running so fast he was almost flying, was Ansel. In his arms were the torn and tattered remains of his teddy bear, Armand. I took Alair in my arms and ran to him.

"Ansel…" I said. He looked up at me, tears leaking out of his deep, violet eyes.

"Il a brûlé," he said. "Ils ont brûlé." (It burned. They burned.)

Sorry for the long chapter. They won't all be this long.

*Tante: Aunt