Young Writers Society

Prelude

Sonatina in G Major.

Adela bent forward to look at the tidy sheet of music. Black notes raced across the cream-colored page, spelling out some charmingly trivial tune. She placed her hand on the piano, and her fingertips half-pressed the correct keys.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said a nervously docile voice. Adela saw its owner in the edge of her vision. It was Olivia, the housemaid, peeking into the parlor.

"He's through with his meeting, ma'am--he'll see you now."

Adela wordlessly strode across the room. The deep, soft carpet muted the sound of her steps. Olivia's watery eyes were fixed on her--unwillingly, by the look of it. Adela knew how unusual her appearance was; she wore a bejeweled, gauzy evening gown that clung to her under a brown plaid suit jacket.

When she was a step away from Olivia, the servant regained her ability to move, and scampered down the hall. Adela followed.

The office was only a few rooms away. Olivia pushed the cherrywood door open and darted off again.

The inside was luxurious and disorderly. There were three immense desks, each ornately decorated with vine motifs and covered by mounds of papers. From behind one of these mounds peered a pair of bloodshot, bespectacled eyes.

"Come out, come out, little brother," said Adela in a sing-song voice. Her mouth slinked into a smirk.

"I don't know why you've come back," barked the person behind the papers. He stood up. He was a corpulent young man with a thick wad of blonde hair.

Adela blinked. "Why, Ralph, I want to help you!"

"That's not something you've wanted before."

"It's what I've wanted all along. You've been nearsighted."

Ralph raised his eyebrows.

"I know how you spend your spare time, Ralph," said Adela. "And even some time that isn't spare."

"It's none of your business!"

"As your sister, it certainly is."

She saw that Ralph was shaking. She extended a hand towards him, but he jerked away.

"Ralph! I'm only trying to give you more money."

"More money?"

"Yes. I'm sure you'll be able to handle the rest of the issue on your own."

Ralph grunted. He lifted his head a little higher. "What do you want in return?"

"Oh," said Adela, as if she had just remembered something. "Nothing you'd mind going without."

Chapter 1

Claire took a step back from the little white dresser. Her meager collection of books was snug between two rabbit-shaped bookends. Lucilla, her toy tiger, lounged beside them.

All that was left in her suitcase were a few tangled headbands. She stuffed them into a drawer, pushed the piece of luggage into the closet, and beamed at hew new room. It was small, but to her it was cozy. The wallpaper was a gentle shade of pinkish-orange, and her bed looked tidy and soft.

"Clairey!" came a shout from the next room. "Dinner!"

Claire hurried out and went to the kitchen. There were boxes across most of the linoleum floor, but a small space near the window was occupied by a table. Marcy, her mother, was dishing out something chunky. Ian, Marcy's boyfriend, hunched busily over his plate.

"Liking it here?" said Ian, his voice indistinct through a mouthful of food.

"It's nice." Claire put her chin on the table and eyed the contents of Marcy's frying pan.

"Don't look at it like that," said Marcy. With a vengeance, she slapped some sticky chunks onto a plate and pushed it towards Claire.

Ian swallowed hard. "It's better than it looks, you know."

Claire smiled as she picked up a fork. She liked Ian better than most of the other boyfriends Marcy had had. But she wasn't sure that Marcy did.

After she had chewed through her dinner--the leatheriness made her think it was beef--she pushed the plate away.

"Can I go look around, mom?" she said.

"Where?" Her mother was occupied with scrubbing the dishes.

"Around," Claire said. "There are lots of things downstairs."

"Well go quietly and hurry back," said Marcy over the clatter of ceramics. She shoved back her red curls with a soapy hand. "It's late, and tomorrow you're going to school."

Claire waved at Ian (who was reading a newspaper and looking sickly), and stepped out of their apartment. The hallway outside was brightly lit but deserted. She pattered across the burgundy rug to the staircase. The steps were wide and sweeping; she felt a little like a princess as she descended them. There was no one else to be seen below.

After reaching the bottom, she slowly meandered through the armchairs and houseplants that littered the lobby. Near one wall was a large fishtank, which she stopped to stare at for several minutes. As she followed the movement of one plump goldfish, she spotted an open doorway to her right. She took a step towards it, and saw something that pulled her further.

A piano.

Claire had begun to learn piano at her previous school, under the music teacher's absentminded tutelage. She had loved the smooth texture of the keys, and the satisfying ping that came when she pushed them. Her steps quickened as she neared the room. She failed to notice the person already inside.

Note: I know there haven't been any fantasy elements in this so far, but there will be some before long. ^_^