"MOTHER FAXING ELF", Max breathed, "Goat-dram, mother-faxing elf."

"Which's basically Liu for motherfucking hell and god damn, motherfucking hell." I grinned as I got a pillow thrown at me by Ave. "What?" I smiled innocently.

Maxine Liu was Avery's best friend. She had some very strict parents, that's why she used to get creative with her curses. It was past midnight for us, and two hours earlier for her. I half expected Mrs. Liu to sweep in and snatch the phone away, but judging by the fact that the two were still talking, nothing had happened.

As Max conspired theories of our inheritance—most of which were based on TV shows, I chose to pay attention to the paper in my hands. The rich paper. The clean calligraphy. My name in the luxuriously smooth ink. I had yet to open the letter given to me from Tobias Hawthorne.

Max had to go, I yelled, "Love you, Queen!" to which I got giggles from Libby, an eye-roll from Ave, and a, "Love you too, you bad ash beach." from Max.

I was about to open the letter finally. To see if the crazy rich guy even left me some answers or not. But then I heard a knock on the door. I walked up to the door to find Oren standing dutifully in front. I frowned, "Why are you standing like this all alone?"

"My job." He replied.

"Does your job prohibit you from ever sitting down, or something?" I sighed. I didn't like having people work for me. I didn't like the feeling of being better or more powerful than someone... usually. "Sit down and then keep guard." You're not my servant, I wanted to say but kept it in me.

Oren chose to steer the topic to the door, "Grayson Hawthorne." I stared at the door, and Oren elaborated. "If my men considered him a threat, he never would have made it to our floor. I trust Grayson. But if you don't want to see him..."

"No, it's okay," I didn't know why. But I had a slight idea that there must be some clues, something in that Hawthorne. 

"Open the door," I told Oren. He did, and then he stepped back.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Grayson wasn't the heir anymore, but you wouldn't have known it from his tone.

 I looked at him with a blank face for two seconds before, "Close the door."

Unfortunately, Avery had other plans, "You shouldn't be here," she stepped before me, purposely oblivious to my annoyance,

"I've spent the past hour telling myself much the same thing, and yet, here I am." His eyes were pools of gray, his hair unkempt, like we weren't the only ones who hadn't been able to sleep. He'd lost everything today.

"Grayson—" Ave said.

"I don't know how you did this." He cut her off, his voice dangerous and soft. "I don't know what hold you had over my grandfather, or what kind of con you're running here."

"I'm not—"

"I'm talking right now, Ms. Grambs." He placed his hand flat on the door. I'd been wrong about his eyes. They weren't pools. They were ice. Good thing I was in a fiery mood.

"Yeah well so is she, Mr. Hawthorne," I growled back. Our gazes met. A clash of dancing flames and daggers of frost. "And I know damn well you did not just try to call my sister a con artist."

"Well, maybe you should know better, then, Arlene." His piercing gray eyes narrowed. Remember when I said I didn't like being better and more powerful than people...usually? Well, here's an exception in all its glory.

"Or maybe you should know better, Grayson," My eye bore into his, I could feel my pupils shrinking, zeroing in on the black void in the ring of silver, "My sister and I were kept very much in the dark, just as much as you all were." I could feel his breath on mine, his nose tip feathered against mine. Lips curled down. We were dangerously close.

Yet the only thing I could think of was to try and keep myself from denting that pretty face with a nice hard punch. 

"Leena." Libby's voice brought me back. I turned my head to meet her eyes (and to maybe softly slap a certain douche-bag with my hair), and I was met with Avery's instead. Kind, curious, confused, and scared. Yet in no doubt strong and determined. My sister could handle herself. 

Yet a part of me didn't want that.

The reason I chose to be cursed.

"I haven't a clue how you pulled this off," Grayson's voice brought me back. And my glare. I whipped my head to face him once more, his sharp features set as he glared right back at me, then at Ave. "But I will find out. I see you now. I know what you are and what you're capable of, and there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect my family. Whatever game you're playing here, no matter how long this con—I will find the truth, and God help you when I do."

"Don't you dare even think about laying a finger on my family, Hawthorne," my voice went dangerously low. Too dangerous for a normal girl who once worked in a low-paid diner. Too dangerous for a clueless nobody. Too dangerous for me. I could barely even recognize my own voice, "Or I swear, I've done nothing now, but God help you when I do."

Suddenly, my legs were carrying the weight of the world. My eyes were dark and my fingers curled into tight fists.

At this moment, for now alone. There was not a person in the world besides me and Grayson Davenport Hawthorne.

Until there was. 

Oren put a hand on my shoulders and immediately I relaxed the tension I didn't know I put. I know it probably was against some rules for him to make physical contact with me, but it helped me get to my senses. That doesn't mean I listened to them.

Before Oren could say something or my sisters could call me, my hand went up against Pretty Boy's pristinely messed up suit, I challenge in my eyes, a scowl on my lips, "Good fucking talk, Pretty Boy," and with a shoved and slam. Grayson Hawthorne was out of my sight. A nice overly expensive wooden door in.

I turned to face Oren, "I am going to call you Johnny. You are going to sit down and keep guard and take rests. And if you don't wanna be friends, I'm totally fine but do not treat me anything but an equal. Good night, Johnny."

I didn't meet my sisters' eyes and went up to my bed. I tore open the letter.

My Most Prized Arlene,
       Running away is easy. It is the leaving that is hard.
        —To bi as Hawthorne.

·······•✦•········

I was running through a garden. Wonderland. 

Beautiful flowers, red, blue, yellow and white. I was chasing a boy. I was laughing a laugh. I was running free. My ears strained to hear his little, "Arina can't catch me!"

I was happy.

Until I ran too far. 

Until I was older. The red flowers burning, the blue; decayed, and the yellow; dying.  I heard a chorus of footsteps behind me. I kept running. 

My ears now straining to hear a different voice. The white beauties were drenched in a red too dark and thick.

"Arina can't catch me."

·······•✦•········