Okay, this one has taken me awhile. Sorry, kiddies, but stuff is weird.

Big thanks to Shakahnna and HelloCaptain for getting my ol' creative juices flowing (am I allowed to say that?). Make sure to check out their stories sometime if you haven't already. Mucho good reads.

I'm done now.

December 27, 1998

I recall the day that Matilda was buried. Father attempted a somber, solemn affair, which in itself was ironic and almost laughable, as it appeared that he was the only bereaved family member. Of course, I feigned tears for his sake, but it was evident that I felt no pain or loss. Alfred, on the other hand, sobbed hysterically throughout the whole unnecessary ceremony, but Matilda's murder wasn't the cause of his emotional outburst. I am his twin, and I knew his mind. I continue to, even in his death.

He was always emotionally unstable, yet predictable. Perhaps he was a genius in his own right.

-Alexia Ashford

Harman's bony, withered hand trembled as he penned the last words of his journal entry, the writing little more than illegible scribbles across the thick, crème-coloured paper. Sweat trickled down his temples like large, salty tears, and the short, graying hair at the nape of his neck stood on end as tried to explain his reasoning behind...everything. It was a pointless ritual - this diary - but in a strange way, he felt sane when the unspeakable words were transcribed onto the all too forgiving paper spread before him. It was like confessing to a sympathetic priest, knowing that you were no longer the only one carrying the burden.

The vicious scratch marks across his pale skin continued to burn like hellfire, the thin lines of deep scarlet trailing across his forearms refusing to heal. It was a constant reminder of the prior week's events. The woman had put up quite a fight, even managing a high-pitched scream when he'd removed his hand from her mouth to inject her.

Screamed with no tongue. Screamed as she bled to death.

Harman shook his head wildly at the memory, pinching his bloodshot eyes shut and drumming his fingertips atop the cold, unyielding hardwood desk. With closed lids, the scene still played out in a cinematic way; the indescribable fear in her eyes as she silently begged for mercy, the dim light of the candle reflecting in her pupils, the warm, slimy tongue squeezed tightly in his fist.

The pen moved automatically, almost impatiently.

Father, forgive me.

Harman eased open tired eyes and stared down at the simple plea, and the three words regarded him sharply, blaming -no, condemning- him. It took all of his strength not to draw purging black ink through the words, omit them from the pure, forgiving paper. Frowning in disgust, he covered the line with one quaking hand and continued, fiercely scrawling an explanation.

I know that you would have done the same if only you knew. I saw the looks that he refused to see.

It seemed easier to place the blame on his fickle master; it was Lord Alexander's weakness that had driven the butler to such atrocious actions. Damn him. Damn them all for making him feel this way.

I cannot feel remorse now. I am destined for hell, regardless of my actions.

He has told me so.

Now I can only sleep.

Harman slammed the pen to the desk, causing it to snap like a twig and release its contents onto the fresh, crisp paper. Fingers coated in the redeeming black ink, he dragged thick smudges across his haggard-looking cheeks, his eyes bulging momentarily in their purple-rimmed sockets. The demonic growls that he heard in his room late at night would rarely let him sleep anymore, and what rest he did obtain was filled with vivid dreams of blood-soaked hands and screaming women.

It was driving him mad.

Or maybe he'd already lost his mind long ago...

Alexia placed delicate fingers atop the ivory keys, her ice-blue eyes peering curiously at the sheet music placed in front of her. She ignored Alfred, who'd taken a position next to her on the large, upholstered piano bench, and she slowly began to plunk out the chords. Alfred would giggle every time she made a mistake, and it was starting to annoy her.

"Go away," she muttered, elbowing him in the chest with more force than she meant to. She allowed a sadistic laugh when he toppled backwards and landed on the hardwood floor, his eyes tearing up from the shock and pain.

"I'm telling Father!" Alfred whined, sniffling as he scrambled to his feet.

"Do so," Alexia dared, throwing her nose into the air and closing her eyes. "I'll deny it."

Alfred went silent, his lip jutting forward in a pout, and his eyes still shining with unshed tears. "He always believes you," he mumbled, hurt evident in his voice.

Alexia squared her shoulders, inwardly pleased by her brother's admission, and turned back to the piano. "Perhaps," she said cryptically. "In any case, you were being an annoying little blister."

Alfred resisted the urge to pull Alexia's hair, his fingers twitching at his sides. She'd been very ill-tempered since Matilda's death, but the boy couldn't quite figure out what had caused the drastic change. She'd also begun to neglect her ant hill, and Alfred found that he was the one having to take care of the upkeep. He didn't mind the feeding part, of course; however, it wasn't his job to look after the creepy buggers.

But Alexia was his sister. She was him, but different. They were the same.

The argument ended abruptly when Harman entered, his beady eyes shifting from one twin to the other. "Master and Mistress Ashford. Your father wants you to join him. Sir Spencer has arrived."

Alexia and Alfred shared a look of annoyance, and a discontent sigh escaped Alexia's lips. The piano bench creaked as she stood elegantly, her head bowed, fine wisps of blond hair framing her face. "I don't understand why we must meet this old kook," Alexia breathed out. "Father's never had a positive thing to say about him."

Harman didn't answer but stepped aside, leaving the exit clear for the children. Alexia stomped out first, somewhat huffily, and Alfred followed after her, staring glumly at his feet. Harman watched as the children disappeared, and his heart quickened nervously. Spencer was here. Despite being nearly senile, the man was much more intelligent than he appeared. Perhaps Lord Edward was responsible for the creation of the mother virus, but even the butler had to grudgingly admit that Ozwell had a hand in Umbrella's greatness.

A bead of perspiration trickled down Harman's balding head, and he hurriedly wiped it away with the sleeve of his uniform. What if the children said something that caused Spencer to become suspicious? Or perhaps even Lord Alexander? Harman squeezed his eyes together and nibbled on his lip. It was a volatile situation, and one slip up could very well be the end of the glorious Ashford name.

Ozwell Spencer sat at Alexander's left, his large, meaty fingers folded above his chin. He would occasionally survey the large dining room, an arrogant smile on his thin lips as he viewed the blatant rip-off of his very own mansion; however, he allowed an uncomfortable silence to hang between Alexander and himself. He could see the apprehension etched on the young Ashford's face, and it gave him a feeling of glee that he had not experienced in quite some time. The boy was nervous, and although Spencer couldn't be sure what exactly was causing this, he sadistically enjoyed every minute of it.

Alexander noticeably jumped when Alexia sulked through the dining room door, Alfred sprinting at her heels. The female twin took her customary spot to the right of her father, her lips jutted out in a pout and her brilliant blue eyes hidden halfway behind her heavy lids. Alfred sat next to Alexia, landing somewhat awkwardly into the plush chair and squeaking it forward.

Spencer scrutinized the children, noting the heavy resemblance they'd inherited from their father: the same shockingly blond hair, ice-colored eyes. He gazed from one twin to the other as he reached into the breast pocket of his suit and withdrew a solid gold cigarette tin. Not once taking his eyes from their cherub-like faces, he flipped open the sparkling box and removed an expensive looking cigarette, bringing it to his lips and lighting it with a matching gold lighter. He exhaled the smoke, avoiding Alexander's gaze as he continued to study the children. The girl kept her eyes glued to the table top, while the boy's eyes flitted around the room apprehensively.

"Good day, children," Spencer cooed, smoke snaking past his lips as he spoke. "My name is Ozwell Spencer. I was a family friend of your grandfather's, God rest his soul."

Alexia peered up then, keeping her irises somewhat concealed behind her golden lashes. "You assisted our grandfather in the founding of Umbrella Incorporated," she spoke deeply. Her eyebrows rose just slightly, and silky strands of hair fell into her face, partially curtaining her eyes.

Spencer snorted under his breath. "'Assisted' isn't the most appropriate word," he scoffed, his sinister eyes narrowing. He placed the cigarette into his mouth and took a deliberate drag, breathing out a thick cloud before continuing. "It was an equal partnership, you see, and since your dear grandfather is no longer here to contribute to Umbrella, your father now owns one-fourth of the company."

Alexander cleared his throat irritably, his fists clenching in his lap. "Sir Spencer, allow me to introduce my children: my daughter, Alexia, and my son, Alfred."

Spencer's mouth turned upwards faintly, and he shot Alexander a condescending look from the corner of his eye. "Splendid. And which of you have the extraordinary intelligence?" The question was unnecessary, yet the man laughed inwardly at the self-conscious boy who suddenly lowered his eyes glumly.

"That would be my dear Alexia. At her current rate, I expect her to have fully completed the standard doctorate requirements by age ten," Alexander said proudly. "I do expect that she will have a worthy position as one of Umbrella's top researchers when the time comes."

Spencer nodded, finishing the cigarette and extinguishing the remainder in a gold-rimmed goblet. The smoldering tobacco made an angry hiss as it contacted the water, and Alexander gritted his teeth. "Absolutely. Umbrella is always in need of the brightest minds."

Alexia smiled serenely, raising her head to meet Spencer's eyes. "And what is it that Umbrella researches?" she asked, a note of accusation in her voice.

Spencer shook his head and waved her away. "Now, now. You still have much time before you qualify to become a researcher. Until then, you are not privy to Umbrella's confidential information. However, I have faith that your father will guide your studies in the right direction in order to best serve Umbrella. Am I right, Alexander?"

It took all of Alexander's strength to hold back the resentment he was feeling. "Of course, Sir Spencer. She will be fully prepared," he said curtly.

"Excellent," Spencer responded. His beady eyes moved from Alexia to Alfred, his straight, white teeth peeking through as he smiled. "And what of you, boy? What are your interests?"

Alfred gave Spencer a terrified look, and his high-pitched voice quivered as he responded. "I enjoy military...uhm..." he finished dumbly.

"Ahh, very good," Spencer finished. "Perhaps if you show promise, Umbrella could use you in our defense department."

Alfred looked up, his face a bright pink and an eager smile on his face. "Umbrella has a defense department?"

"Of course, dear boy! Umbrella specially trains its security and other needed personnel, but of course, I cannot speak much more on the subject," Spencer replied.

"Indeed," Alexander rushed out, speaking before Spencer could say another word. "If that is all, I'm famished."

As if on cue, Harman entered pushing a silver dining tray loaded with sparkling covered dishes that rattled boisterously in the large dining room. The butler gave Alexander a deliberate look and immediately placed the metal bowls and platters onto the dark mahogany tabletop, removing the lids with a subtle clang. Steam rose from the lemon-broiled fish, and Spencer made an over-the-top noise of appeasement.

"My, my, that smells wonderful," he said, his sharp teeth looking particularly carnivorous at the site of the feast. "May I?" He didn't wait for a response but took the tray in both hands and dished himself out a generous portion of the fish.

Alexia rolled her eyes and breathed out a sigh of annoyance. She was very grateful that the rest of dinner was a silent affair.

Alfred sat in his room, listening to the delicate tinkles of the music box in his bedroom. The harmonious melody always reassured him, and he was very glad that his father had made that addition to his room. It was an instance in his life where he felt as loved as Alexia, because the glistening box was just as stunning as hers. His father had told him that a friend of the family had given him the set as a gift for his future children, but Alfred thought that was somewhat peculiar.

He stood from his lavish mattress and approached the gold, glittering box as it chirped out a set of high tings. He hummed along with the song, laughing to himself as he remembered the way Alexia had butchered the song on the piano, and leisurely, he ran his tiny hands over the engraved gold, knowing that the song as about to reach its conclusion and feeling a flicker of sadness.

I don't want to hear it end.

Hurriedly, he slammed the lid closed on the box as it was reaching the final measure, a piercing thud drowning out the remaining few notes. He swiveled his head left and right, relieved that no one had seen him, and continued to study the detail of the music box. Eyes narrowed, he removed the ant-shaped object that served as the "key" for the expensive piece, the recognizable clicking of the lock loud in the still room. He wrinkled his nose faintly as he studied the azure insect, turning it over and over in his petite fingers and inspecting the deep sapphire placed inside it. He questioned why anyone would want a jeweled ant on top of such a exquisite object; it just didn't seem to fit. He's asked Alexia the same question as he'd studied her ruby-encrusted ant, but she'd only shrugged and said that she thought the ant made the music box even more beautiful.

Hesitantly, he placed the ant into the groove atop the gold plate, hearing it unfasten as he did so.

"I don't want to listen to the song again. I don't want to have to hear it end," she spoke beneath his breath.

Alexander scribbled wildly onto a scratch sheet of paper, his brain racking itself to no avail. He was becoming discouraged by his lack of progress with his T-Virus studies, and Spencer's previous visit had added to his already tetchy mood. The Ashford master could feel knots in the back of his neck, results from the stressful afternoon and evening that he'd been obligated to share with the senile, old coot.

'Secrets are better kept out in the open,' Veronica suddenly spoke.

Alexander nearly fell out of his chair at the smooth, velvety voice in his head. She had returned to him. His dear ancestor had forgiven him after all, and now she would speak to him once again. Overjoyed and on the verge of tears, his eyes searched upwards for a sign that Veronica was actually visiting him, that he wasn't inventing it.

"Dear Veronica, is that you?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips parting in a grateful smile.

'Of course. Did you doubt that I would return?' the voice accused.

"No, never!" Alexander lied. "I knew that you would come to me again! I have missed hearing your voice, my lady. I have missed it so much."

Veronica chuckled softly, the laugh carrying a menacing undertone. 'Yes. Secrets are better kept out in the open,' she reiterated. 'Spencer was becoming wary. You were right to invite him here to...quell his anxiety.'

Alexander felt proud, and he bowed his head. "Thank you, Veronica. I am glad that you approve."

The voice was silent for a moment, and Alexander felt an impulsive panic at the thought of her leaving him once again. He looked around worriedly, the smile gradually fading from his lips. "Veronica?" he asked nervously.

'I am here,' she said. 'You need to hide your research in a better location. Alexia is at the door.'

Alexander barely had time to process the information before a dainty knock on his door caused him to flinch. Mindlessly, he hurled stacks of papers into his safe and slammed it shut, metal clanging furiously against metal.

"Father?" Alexia inquired as she pressed open the door. "Can I speak with you?"

Alexander felt his heart begin to return to normal as his daughter entered his study, a grin plastered on his face. "What is it, Alexia?"

Alexia gazed at her father, curious as to why his face was so flushed. Shrugging it off, she approached him, her small arms locked behind her at the base of her spine. "Father, why do you dislike Sir Spencer?"

Alexander chuckled melodiously and patted his knee, inviting his daughter to take a seat. Alexia crawled up in his lap and casually threw an arm over her father's neck, studying him with keen eyes. Something about the coolness in her pale blue orbs caused Alexander to shudder momentarily, and he swiftly hid the troubled expression that he wore.

"Well, dear, Spencer has been a thorn in our family's side for as long as I can remember. Your grandfather, Lord Edward, had a great aversion for the man as well," Alexander stated unhurriedly, avoiding his child's eyes. "Spencer tried to take full credit for founding Umbrella, but your grandfather, being the noble man that he was, would have none of that. Thus, Spencer is a resentful old man determined to ruin our family. Do you understand?"

Alexia nodded thoughtfully and idly tugged at the hairs hovering above her father's collar. "Yes, I understand. So Sir Spencer had nothing to do with the considerable project that they undertook?"

Alexander felt his blood suddenly run cold. "What considerable project dear? The founding of Umbrella?"

Alexia shook her head, one corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "No, Father. There was something else, I think."

"Alexia, your imagination is getting the best of you once again, I assure you," Alexander spoke softly, plastering a gentle smile to his face. "There has never been a clear definition of who had rights to the company. That is all."

Alexia gave him an unsure glance but dropped the subject. "I see. Well, I should be off to bed. It's late." She didn't give her father time to react, jumping off of his lap and landing primly on her tiptoes. "Goodnight, Father."

"Goodnight, Alexia," Alexander said. "Pleasant dreams."

Alexia said nothing as she exited Alexander's study, her mind puzzled as to why Veronica continued to adamantly insist that she be suspicious of her father.

October 28, 1974

Veronica. Veronica. Veronica.

I will build a new place to house my work.

You are right. Children are too inquisitive.

I will have the jeweled pieces created this week.

Work will begin tomorrow.

All builders will die.

No one can know.

The children will have their revenge.

They are the Ashfords' last hope.

They are my last hope.

-Alexander Ashford