It has been a... month since updating? But I have practiced my writing. So I hope to have improved over the long course of time. I dare not ask for fanart. I hardly utter a word of desire for reviews. Alas, I have a fervent yearning for approval, so any comments would be appreciated. See? I have improved.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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"That's silly, Peter," a squeaky voice scoffed. "Water is the most basic of all of everything!"

"That's not even a proper sentence!" said a young man. He meant to correct her harshly; his father had left both his younger brother and sister in his care during his absence. But he could not scold his little sister without laughing to lighten the mood. Her deep blue eyes always shivered and threatened to overflow with tears. And it was not his wish to make her cry. "It can be broken down."

"No it can't! I've tried breaking it and it won't!" she growled defiantly, her brow furrowing.

"I assure you it does, Adelina. Water is composed of two molecules of hydrogen and one of oxygen. But it can only be broken down chemically."

"Liar, liar pants on fire!" Suddenly Adelina stood, knocking her stool over. She quickly snatched the book that was resting on the coffee table and raced away, giggling. Knowing her brother would give chase, she ran through numerous long corridors, narrow passages, and eventually came to her best hiding spot: the creepy, icky basement. There were cobwebs coating the entrance where she had just brushed them away the day past. The single bulb illuminating a green sludge that was caked on the wall beside her. It released a sigh and a cloud of green spores drifted towards her.

Adelina screamed and dropped the heavy book. She listened to it clunk down the stairs, landing with a sickening splash. Evidently, there was a leak in the basement.

Taking a nervous step down, she stretched her foot as far as it would go so that the rest of her body didn't have to move. The stair was too far. It had been built for grown-ups. And that had always deterred Adelina from venturing into the decaying depths of the cellar. But the lost book provoked her to release the railing, and take a full step. Accompanying the horrendous groan were the quick thud of footsteps outside the door.

Not wanting to lose the game, Adelina took a hurried succession of steps, finally sliding down the last few steps. At the base of the steps was a giant puddle that looked perfect for splashing in. Except that the large tome was sitting, open, pages in the mud. Elementary Elements had explained its last compound.

Adelina ventured into the mud, practically doing the splits to reach the book. Her dress was stained, and Peter was no good at laundry. She had permanently ruined her dress. Not for the first time, she wished her mother were still alive. Her smell had almost completely left the house.

Finally, the volume was in her clutches, victory in sight. Trying to pull her foot out of the muck, she realized to her horror that her shoe was stuck in the mud. A grotesque sucking noise, and then... sploosh! Adelina went tumbling into the mire.

She cried out piteously, not caring about the game, or the book, or her dress. She wanted her mother. "Mommy! Mommy! Peter!"

When the elder brother at last located his baby sister, he hurriedly pulled her out, rocking her in his arms, patting her back, and repeatedly telling her it was okay. "Why don't I take you upstairs and run and get some water? I'll put some more coals under the tub so that it's extra warm. Then you can clean up."

She nodded meekly, her thumb somehow finding its way through her browned face and straight into her mouth. Adelina had outgrown the habit several years ago, but had picked it up again, along with her little brother, Callum, when her father left.

As Peter turned to go back up the stairs, he realized her had never been in here before. Why was that? It was his father's study, that was not for nosy children, as the old man himself had put it. But the young, finely-clad scholar could find no reason as to why the man had wanted to work in this horrid place. It was moldy. It was musty. It was dreadfully damp and dusty. The bricks oozed slime and fungus, and the walls had graffiti all over. Not a desk to be found!

But then, a leather-bound journal, so well-kept and nice that it didn't seem to belong. Taking a few careful steps (especially to avoid afore said puddle), Peter bent and picked it up, Adelina silently clinging to him like a monkey.

There was no title on the cover. Just a number: 5. Peter peeled the cover back and glared at the title page, not expecting what he found:

Happy Birthday Daddy. I love you. From Peter.

Suddenly, Peter recognized the journal: he had given it to his father on his birthday, before Adelina Rose, or Callum, or the death of their mother. Or anything bad. His mother had helped him with the spelling. Before she became ill, she used to do all sorts of fun stuff with him. She had helped him hand-make every single page in the book. Then, they had taken the paper to a book binder and selected a very handsome leather for the cover. After Peter had given it to his father, he had never seen it again. Until now. And the 5 hadn't previously been there. It was scratched into the leather, ruining the entire image of the book.

Now, curiosity wracked Peter and he set Adelina down, almost roughly. Tearing past the title page, he came to the crinkling table of contents. How like his father to even organize a journal. The first topic: Chimera. Second: Human-Chimera. Third: Control. Fourth: Red Water. Fifth: Purification. Sixth: Combination. Seventh: Utilization. Eighth: The Gate. Ninth: Human Transmutation.

Before Peter could read on, he felt tiny hands tugging at his hair. He snapped his head up, realizing that he was huddled over with the book in his hands, completely ignoring his sister.

"Peter... did you forget me?" Adelina sounded hurt.

Peter hoisted the little girl onto his hip. "Never. I was just practice-reading a bed-time story for you."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up.

"Yes. Have you ever heard the story of the three little pigs?" Peter asked, teasingly.

The girl hissed in his ear, tickling it and making him laugh. "Of course I've heard of the three little pigs!"

"Well, in my story, there was one named Callum, one named Peter, and one named..."

"Adelina!"

"That's right! How could I forget that name!" He started his ascent up the stairs, pocketing the journal and letting it slip from his mind. The prospect of bath time and story time would excite the children enough so that he would be busy for at least the next three hours.

Once the twosome were out of the icky, creepy, basement, Adelina demanded that she be released so that she could go spread the good news to Callum. Peter assented, unhanding the little girl, shouting after her flying pigtails that she was not to track mud on the ancient Drachman rug. But, he knew that no matter what he said, that ancient rug was no more valuable than the old carpet out in the play house. Thus, the colorful designs would be joined by some not so colorful ones.

Peter deterred from his course up the double stone archway that led to the bathroom, instead setting course for the front door. He was going to get water for the tub.

His mother, even his father, would have been horrified with the fact that Peter left the water bucket right by the front door. They would also be horrified that their mansion was in such ruin and disrepair. What would guests, solicitors, and vagabonds have thought as they entered? Why, this house is so unkempt! I think I shall never come here again! What was on sixteen year old boy to do with two young kids on his hands, bills to pay, and no help from any neighbors. However, the estate was so large that the next door neighbors were at least a good ten minute walk from the house, so blame was not necessarily heaped onto their shoulders.

Grabbing the cool metal handle, Peter took a long stride and grasped the handle to the front door, just as the dull echo of the knocker announced a visitor. Immediately, Peter set the bucket down and opened the front door, aware that the event of two young children streaking across the foyer was a distinct possibility. The fact that hardly anyone swung by for a conversation was reason enough for them to be ecstatic for company. But this was an especially anxious time, because the old post master himself had promised that any word of their father would be delivered the moment it reached the office.

And to Peter's elation, the post master, in all his blue-uniformed glory, was standing there, a yellow envelope in his pudgy hand.

Right on cue, two soggy children dashed across the room, skidding to a halt by the door, breathless and, to Peter's own embarrassment, unabashed. Luckily, each had a towel hanging around their shoulders. Callum grabbed Peter's hand and said, "Is Daddy coming home? He is, isn't he?"

Peter looked up at the old postmaster, his eyes shining with hope. But from the man's expression, stance, and (Peter just noticed) the color of the envelope, his father wasn't coming home. His father was dead.

"Why don't I come in," the man said gently, pushing Peter back. Peter had stiffened, his face contorted from the restraint of his tears.

Looking at the children, he said, "Go to bed."

"But Peter, we want to hear about Daddy too!"

"And the story! What about the three little pigs?"

"I said go to bed!" The boy's face was hidden by his blond hair, a hand pointing the way the children had just come.

"I hate you! I hate you! I just want Daddy home and you're keeping him to yourself!" Adelina Rose screamed, tearing down the hall. Callum quickly followed suit.

"You can have him," muttered Peter. "All he did was abandon us."

"It's okay son," the postmaster responded. "You know it's not his fault. He would abandon such good kids as you. He loved you very much."

Peter burst into tears, accepting the old postmaster's shoulder to cry on. "I know he loved me! I just wish he didn't! It hurts too much!"

"Come on, let's sit down. Let's talk."

"No! Please, leave." Peter pulled away from the embrace, now his eyes blazing with anger. He took a menacing step towards the old postmaster.

The old man stumbled back. "Peter, please. Let's talk."

"No! I don't want to talk to anyone! I just want to be left alone!"

With one more step, Peter had forced the old man out the door, which had been promptly slammed behind him, two bolts clicking into place.

Peter stepped backwards and fell onto his butt, sobbing into his knees. He had nothing of is father left. Nothing. Except the mansion. But it was just an empty void. Nothing without his mother and father.

Then something clicked. Reaching a tear-stained hand uncertainly into his deep wool-jacket pocket, he relinquished a handsome leather-bound book. The journal that he had just found in the basement.

Peter leafed through it again, pausing over Human Transmutation. His father had chosen to abandon him in one lifetime. Perhaps, given another, his choices would be better founded. Peter's neck hair rose on end, goose bumps coating his arms. Certainly, everyone deserves a second chance.

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Please review!!! I stayed up late on this one! -