You needed better shoes. This thought, and this thought only, is what gave you the push you needed to fully get yourself out the front door. Only bringing high heels to a country as dreary and rainy as England was certainly an idiot move. Fortunately, at that particular moment, the skies were a clear forget-me-not blue, with not a cloud in the sky. So, you locked up your house and set off to the various stores nearest to you. As your heels clicked purposefully down the steps to your house, you couldn't help but get an eyeful of the Victorian manor right across the street from you. It was grand, yes, and you probably couldn't ever afford something like it. But, you thought, it was very boring. A beige the colour of old sandstone, no ivy creeping up the walls, not even flowers in the front yard… It looked like it belonged to a grumpy old widow. Oh, its interior was probably gorgeous, but the premise and building itself was seriously lacking any kind of colour or any sign of happiness. That is, except from the sea-blue room you spied through an open window. If you listened carefully, you could swear that there was children's laughter coming from the room. But, a child living there? You couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the poor thing. All the other windows of the house had their curtains drawn. As you stared at the house, your eyes strayed to the wrought-iron gate that encompassed the property. That, coupled with the dreariness of the house, suddenly gave you the feeling of being trapped. Shivering, you pulled your sweater ever closer to your frame. Just as you were about to tear your eyes away from the manor, you noticed a young man walking on the street opposite you.
He looked to be around your age, with blonde hair and straight posture. You couldn't get a good look at his face, but you had the suspicious feeling you had seen him somewhere before. He pulled keys from his right pocket, and your eyes widened as he stopped at the gate to the mansion. He pulled back the gate with a loud creak! And stepped inside the premise, shutting and locking the gate behind him. As you watched him open the front door, you heard him call into the house, something along the lines of, "Sealand! I'm home! You had better bloody not have been in my study!" And, just as quickly as he had come, he was gone again, the front door shut tightly behind him. Curious, you thought. Maybe the house belonged to his parents? Or maybe he was much older than he looked and he, himself, owned the building? You had heard him call to someone, perhaps he was a father? But what kind of name was Sealand? "Ugh..." you grumble, "Too much thinking for today." You look away from the house, and begin walking again.
Eyes much too vividly green to be totally normal stared at your retreating back, blinking once, then twice. Why had you been staring at him? He shook his head and closed the curtains. It didn't matter. Anyway, you were a new neighbor, and he wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. And that meant inviting you over to tea, with handmade scones and tea biscuits. Yes, he thought, I'll invite her over tonight.