It all started in June of 2163.  A small, but nonetheless brilliant, group of scientists had finally been able to lift the ethical ban on the practice of eugenics in North America.  The seven worked quickly; their facility was up and running in a matter of months.  The organization became known as The Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification after the lead scientist, Nicholas Rousseau.  In early June of 2163, they began their first experiments with DNA sequencing in a batch of human zygotes.  They started out small:  first locating the alleles for the traits they wanted to change and figuring out the most effective way of manipulating them into their desired state.  Shockingly, a handful of the first batch of zygotes made it full term, and to the scientists’ surprise, the changes they had made were successful, and the beings that came out of it were healthy.  The new species became known as the Adoni.

The re-sequencing of the Adoni’s genetic makeup swiftly became a specific betterment of the human race.  Their minds were made sharper and overall more intelligent; their aging process was all but halted, slowing down so immensely between the ages of 18-25, that it would take an individual hundreds of years to get past the physical appearance of a 45 year old human; they were made faster and stronger; their mental capacity was expanded to double to that of any human; and their physical beauty was heightened as well.  The Adoni started out as simply a stepping stone for the advancement in the evolution of the human race, but they became so much more.

With their rapid achievements in the new beginnings of their scientific careers, the seven men and women became greedy.  They wanted to expand massively with their research and they got in contact with many of their colleagues to do just that.   By 2177, similar facilities had popped up on nearly every continent.  Directors were appointed to these institutions to make sure that the elite race that was being created was kept in check and trained in a fashion that was best befitting to them.  The directors soon became more domineering than the scientists had anticipated, but as long as they were gaining back the testing results they required, they didn’t interfere.

The Adoni were trained in many different styles of fighting, advanced weaponry, and anatomical pressure points.  Their minds were sharper, able to memorize documents or architectural layouts in seconds.  They were able to focus their attention easily without distractions to complete the task at hand.  A training schedule was formed to accommodate all the aspects the Adoni were meant to achieve to hone their minds and bodies.  They became killing machines; their bodies were weapons, but their deadliest weapons were their minds.  The Adoni became restless in their facilities and began organized plans of rebellion.  The scientists and directors had made a mistake in their creations, however, they had made them too smart; they had trained them too well.  The beautiful handiwork of a new era had become dangerous beyond their wildest dreams.

On April 17th, 2210, the elite species rose against the lesser human authority led by a young Adoni, Sebastian Ross from the original Northwestern branch.  It was absurd to them that they had let this less than superior race govern and oppress them for so many years.  The decimation of The Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification was beyond words.  The buildings and grounds of every branch of the institute lay in smoking rubble and debris.  All over the world, the Adoni obliterated their oppressors, taking down the facilities that had brought them into existence.  Their disgust with these tyrants was palpable in the air around them as they tore down the autocratic organization.  To say there was death would be an understatement.  The bodies of the humans that worked within the institutions littered the crumbled empire, some with their heads crushed, others hemorrhaging violently from wounds; their deaths were neither quick nor painless.

Although the devastation was great, some of the scientists were kept alive for further research on their kind-scientists such as Dr. Shelbi Wescott, Dr. Thomas Bagins, Dr. Luis McGreevy, and Dr. Adelaide Johnston.  Wescott and McGreevy proved to be untrustworthy down the road in their further experimentation.  When word was leaked of their soon to be published manuscripts on the internal affairs and processes of the Adoni and their slaughtering of their former captors, they were added to the body count.  Bagins and Johnston continued on as invaluable members of the Adoni’s growing scientific community and aided them in their improvement of the civilized world.

    Over the course of ten years of constant bludgeoning and warfare, the Adoni took over and created a new worldwide system of government.  With the elite as the established hierarchy, tension from the humans began to die down.  They realized the astoundingly fast amelioration that the race had brought into their society.  There was no impending threat of enslavement from the Adoni (as some may think would come with an alien invasion of sorts), nor was there a mass genocide of the human race.  The elite simply wanted improvement.  Of course they looked down upon the lesser beings with cool repugnance, but that did not stop them from keeping them around in assistance with the fragile society around them.

    As the new culture became the norm, the newly established government went to work.  For every  half of a continent was a “House”, which was individually governed by a pair of rulers and a small group of advisors.  As an acting higher council to govern the Houses, a High Assembly was established in North America atop the crumbled authority of the first branch of The Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification.  This system worked nicely for many years, but greed is akin to all species, and nothing can escape its ironclad fist.  

Sebastian Ross, the young Adoni leader of the uprisings who had taken up leadership of the northernmost House of Europe, was one incapable of escape.  Greed overtook the man at the thought of a shining golden throne perched on an empire.  His empire.  He had, by that time, been governing the House for almost 60 years.  The man was like a raven with a shiny object or a dragon sitting on its mounds of gold; he always wanted more.  And this did not only apply to territory or wealth.  When he began his pursuit of power, he quickly and easily took the eastern and western Asian Houses, making him bleed with his lust for sovereignty.  But upon his next claim for the southern European House, he found someone he was not quite expecting.  A young woman he had crossed paths with before was governing the next addition to his kingdom.  

He and Emelia Wesley had met once, when the girl was only 16, at a tournament of the best of the best of the Adoni.  She had beat him in a two-out-of-three sparring match, and she had not been too humble about it.  He remembered her as a fiery young woman with a hot arrogance and sarcastic disposition, and he loved it.  The two had not encountered each other since the end of the tournament, not even during the years of uprising and reestablishment.  And yet, there she was, staring him down with her arms folded neatly over her chest.  She held herself like a queen with her neck long, her shoulders back, her bright golden-green eyes burning the word murder into his.  He had to make her his own; and what a nice new addition she would be to his dragon’s hoard.

Over a month of talk of allegiance, and a condition of marriage from Sebastian, Emelia finally agreed to the joining of “the winning team”.  She was not a big admirer of the man, nor had she ever been, but she would always be on the side that came out on top.  Between the age of 16, when she had met him, and now, she had grown into a much wiser and less impulsive sort of person.  She was patient and focused, and she knew what she wanted.  Her years of governing the southern European House had bestowed these less genetic traits upon her.  The goals that she had set forth for herself were simple:  be better, and make sure every situation made is in your best interest.    If Sebastian Ross wanted to build her an empire, that was fine, but she was always on the winning team for a reason.  She was what made it win.

 

2: Buttons

“Emelia!”

“Hmm?”  The brunette was focused quite speculatively on a smooth, white button that had previously been laying at her feet.  She flipped it over slowly in her hand, running her finger lightly along the round edges.  It was a perfect little button that reminded her of a collection one of the scientists at the academy had had.  Dr. Wescott had been a bit of an erratic woman, and her button collection reflected that, but Emelia had always admired them nonetheless.  They weren’t a particularly interesting object, especially for collection, yet each one seemed to have an enchanting sort of character.  She extended the fastener out in front of her, meeting the flustered indigo eyes of her tailor.

“Why are you sitting down?” he huffed, matching the button to the others on his sweater and pocketing it for later.  “Your fitting is nearly finished with," the man seemed to be muttering around the pinpricked finger in his mouth.

“Oh.  I’m sorry I have other things on my mind,” Emelia replied distractedly as she stood and fidgeted in her new dress.

She didn’t understand the absurd “dress code” that  seemed to be in fashion in the northern European house she had taken up residence in.  Trousers had always been her leg wear of choice, and she was not a big fan of the inconvenience of a skirt.  Maybe it  was a way to help keep her in line, she thought, vaguely amused at the idea of fighting with the risk of flashing your panties.

The tailor rolled his eyes and tapped between her shoulder blades pointedly with his forefinger.  “Stand up straight.  Mr. Ross would have an aneurysm if he saw you shlumped over like a rag doll,” he muttered, adjusting the waist of the woman’s dress just slightly and checking the hem for fly-aways.

Emelia rolled her shoulders back, exhaling at the chorus of cracks and straightening as he had suggested.  He had always seemed to be a grumpy sort of gentleman, somewhere in his mid to late 60’s.  His white mustache was always aquiver on his sunkissed face like a disgruntled walrus.  When he stepped back to look at his work, his thumbs were always beneath the straps of his brown suspenders which he wore every day over a clean button-down shirt adorned with a knit jumper of some sort.  That day the jumper was beige with perfect, round, white buttons that lay unfastened to the other side.  The man was a human left over from the uprising years and years ago.  Most humans had been spared when Emelia and the rest of the Adoni had risen to power.  She even remembered the little shop the tailor had run on Golbury Road.  Now he worked for the House.  The man didn’t seem bitter, just perpetually perturbed.

“This is tedious,” Emelia deadpanned, “can’t you do this any faster?”  It wasn’t her intention to be rude to her tailor, but she had other matters to attend to and she was restless and bored.

“I’m already done,” the walrus-man announced, waving her away.

“Thank you,” she sighed and stepped off of the platform, flustered once again with the absurdity of a dress.

“You’re very welcome.”  He nodded, digging through an odd little floral hat box stacked upon an ancient vanity.

She watched him a moment from the door then ran a hand through her hair distractedly.  The image of the man’s shop was stuck to the backs of her eyelids.  Why?  She didn’t know, but her memories of before her rise to power had been assaulting her as of late.  They were not of the people she had killed, that didn’t bother her; it was the idea of equality amongst her and her nearly genetically perfected counterparts.  In all honesty, she was superior to them.  She was the very last Adoni to be created before “production” was put at a standstill due to some protestors.  All of the kinks had been worked out of her DNA.  She was better.  The respect she should’ve received was different, compared to how it had been.  She was wearing a dress for heaven’s sake!  Somewhere at the top of the newly established food chain was an idiot with half-baked ideas and expectations and too much power.  It bothered her that she shared a bed with him.

On her way up to her room, she trailed her fingers along the banister while humming to herself.  Small shafts of light from the liquid evening sun streamed in through the cracks between the drawn gray curtains to dance with the delicate dust motes.  The soft glow from behind the curtains was warm and she leaned against the banister with her eyes closed.  The glare refracted off of the white tile floor beneath her feet and shot in all directions like light through a jewel.  Emelia could feel the magic in the air.  Turning and folding her arms on the railing, she rested her chin on them.  She was soon lost in thought.

As much as she had tried to remove the idea of her impending wedding from her mind, it always seemed to rear its ugly head.  Sebastian Ross was the current leader of their ever growing dystopian empire.  He was gorgeous and powerful and boring beyond all earth’s compare.  Emelia remembered meeting him at the northwestern branch of RIGM.  It seemed forever ago that she had wiped the floor with him and he had seemed unable to keep his eyes off of her.  But she kept herself focused; this was in her best interest.  And if he wanted to share a bed with her it was his own fault if he mysteriously stopped breathing in the middle of the night.

Abruptly a pair of strong arms wrapped securely around her waist, her back being pressed against a muscle-clad chest and dragging her from her blissful day dream.  Gentle lips found the hollow behind her ear and rested there as the man breathed slowly through his nose.  His long fingers traced the lines of the silver-trimmed, stark-white fabric along her waist, and he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“What are you up to?” he murmured softly.

“I just needed my dress fitted properly,” Emelia replied flatly, opening her bright eyes and staring straight ahead of her.  “Apparently I wear dresses now.”

The magic had fled from the room.

“I think that you look lovely in them,” he chuckled, the tip of his finely sculpted nose nuzzling the rich tendrils of her hair.

“I think that I look weak in them,” she muttered bitterly.  Emelia just wished that there was something between the two of them; at the very least it would be better if he were actually interesting.  But he had an atrociously short temper, and she had a role to play.

Sebastian trailed his fingers down her toned arms thoughtfully.  “Why don’t you accompany me to the drawing room, love?”

She shrugged, watching his fingers casually caress her wrists.  “I have some things to attend to.”

Sebastian chuckled to himself.  “Humor me, dear,” he coaxed, grazing his fingers along her waist absently.

“I suppose,” she sighed, looking out over the railing.

It was odd to her that he so aptly ignored her blunt resentment toward his existence.  She was so cold to the man and avoided him whenever possible.  He was completely oblivious.  Perhaps if she actually smothered him while he slept it would get her point across.  Despite her fiance’s height advantage of about half a foot, she knew that she could take him.  She had before.  If she had learned anything at the academy it was that she could hold her own.  Size was nothing when you were quick.  Oh, and was she quick…

Not relinquishing her fantasy, she let him lead her to the drawing room while his hands never left her skin.  She didn’t mind the contact; Sebastian was an attractive man.  He looked like a Roman or Grecian marble statue.  Every line of his body was a masterpiece in itself.  His eyes were of a liquid brown, molten and moving at first glance, and his hair was a dirty blonde that he constantly ran his fingers through.  But she hated him.  There was no love; he was of no interest to her.

Once in the drawing room, Emelia peeled herself away from Sebastian to look at the enormous map that stretched across the western-most wall of the office.  Small, red thumb tacks were pushed into several different locations all over the continents.  She knew from a memory of a similar map that the locations of some of the pushpins were former branches of The Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification where further experimentation had been held.  She recognized the pushpin in the area of the English facility where she had been “born” and raised.  It had been over ninety years since she had visited the northwestern branch of the academy and met Sebastian.  So long ago, it seemed, that the uprising had ended.

But considering her age of...one hundred and something? yeah that sounded right, she did not look as the grumpy walrus-tailor did.  Her skin did not appear thin and translucent but supple and smooth.  Her hair was of a rich and healthy chestnut color with copper tones, not graying or dulling in the least.  If she were to compare herself to an average human, she appeared to be about 19 years of age; it was just another attribute to her genetic modifications.

She examined the area around a pin in what should have been France.  It was right by the sea which she had heard was warm and clear.  A desire to wander or travel was not something Emelia had acquired; it was probably an advantage, though, without a sort of wanderlust one could get more done done in regards to their own accomplishments.  Sighing, she stepped away from the map, the location of every pin committed to memory.

Sebastian sat behind the desk to her right; the sound of rustling papers alerting her to his search.  She stared absently into the fire for a moment, not really paying attention to her husband-to-be.  The fire lit her already bright eyes as she tracked every stray spark.  There seemed to be a certain kinship between her and the flame-

“Emelia?”

-that thin line between trustworthy and deadly.  A promise of light and warmth masking the raging desire to kill.

“Emelia?”

She turned distractedly, her focus changing from one point to another.  “Yes?”

“Are you alright?  You’ve been staring into that fire for a good five minutes.”  Sebastian seemed oddly concerned for her, and she blinked and nodded while pulling a smile.

    “Yes, I’m alright,” she replied smoothly, sitting in an armchair across from his desk.  “What are you looking into?”  She gestured at the yellowed stack of papers he had slowly piling in front of him.

    “Oh, these?”  He pointed to the stack while pulling a new page from the mess beside him.  “Just some old things from the Italian institute.  Not many of their Adoni came out properly.”

    She watched as he trailed off distractedly, observing the new piece of information.  History seemed to be a passion of his which was interesting for two reasons:  1) Sebastian had lived through a great deal of the history he read through constantly, and 2) He was one of the least interesting people she had ever met.  Maybe he was simply vain, she thought, leaning her head back against the white headrest of the chair.  He would not be the first person she had met who was way too full of himself.

3: An Unexpected Guest

 

“Emelia?”

    “Hmm?”

    “Darling, you need to wake up.”

    Opening her eyes drowsily, she blinked and frowned.  No longer was she in the warm, white leather arm chair she had dozed off in, and it made her feel like a displaced feline.  Glancing at the projected digits on the wall over the shiny metal vanity, she rubbed her eyes.  It was just after nine o’clock, and she could hear Sebastian’s rowdy guests downstairs.  They arrived early and many without invite.  She didn’t pay much attention to any sort of guest list, but she knew who wasn’t supposed to be there.  Considering their genetic betterment and training, one might think that they were all sophisticated and proper.  This was unfortunately untrue.  Sovereignty was a considerable determinant in corruption.   The last thing she wanted was to deal with those her fiance associated with; they were drunk on power...and alcohol.

    She sat up from her position atop the soft gray duvet and stretched slowly.  Sebastian seemed annoyed with her leisurely awakening but also fascinated with the way that her body moved.  He sighed heavily as he fiddled with the buttons on his cuffs.

    “You give me the worst migraines before these things,” he grumbled more to himself than the drowsy young woman.

    Emelia rolled her eyes and slid out of bed to stand in front of her betrothed.  She coiled the silvery-gray tie around his neck, smoothing it down and beginning the elaborate looping process Sebastian preferred.  

    “Relax,” she cooed, making sure to always keep herself on his good side.  “Soon you will have yet another successful evening under your belt and the north African House will be ours.”

    She smoothed the freshly tied tie and took a half step back to look at him.  Wow, she really did wish he wasn’t such a brute; the man cleaned up nicely.  Gesturing toward the door as if to tell him to leave while she got ready, she regretfully kissed him on the cheek.  He raised his eyebrow in amusement at her derisiveness but exited the room silently nonetheless.

    Sitting in front of the well-lit vanity, Emelia glared at herself in the mirror.  Her bright golden-green eyes were so much different from all of the dull-irised humans she usually saw around her.  “Living” eyes seemed to be a signature trait the Adoni had gotten from the re-sequencing.  Hers were rimmed with thick, dark lashes that contrasted extraordinarily with the brightness of the irises.  Her nose was about the length of her thumb, sloping nicely into a smooth and slight upturn at the end.  Sebastian had always compared it to a button, a button on the sweater of the little walrus-tailor.  Then came her full, pink lips with an even, precise cupid’s bow.  She had a set of dimples (when she smiled), and a smooth pair of cheekbones.  It was a nice-enough face she had always thought, there was a good symmetry of the left and right features.  

    She ran a hand through her long, chestnut colored waves.  The dress she had fitted a few hours ago was still snugly on her body and not nearly as wrinkled as she had imagined it would be after sleeping in it.  Her hair was the only thing she could think of doing anything with to make it appear as if she hadn’t just rolled out of bed.  Haphazardly running her fingers back through it, she pulled it back into a slightly disheveled bun.  She braided back a couple of chunks that she had left out and wrapped them back and tucked the pieces in.

    Sighing morosely, she stood and slipped on the annoying and more than uncomfortable pair of heels that apparently matched the silver and white, wide-shoulder strapped dress.  Unfortunately for her, she was ready.  Rising from the vanity seat, she walked out of the room and headed down the hall.  She passed her fiance’s open study and halted.

    In the middle of the large desk was a knife stuck into the wood.  Looking around to make sure she wasn’t walking into an avoidable situation, she sauntered into the office and around to the business end of the desk.  There were a couple of the yellowed stacks of papers she remembered from earlier off to the side, but the knife was through an old photograph.  The corners were charred as if it had been lit on fire at one point.  Upon closer inspection, the image appeared to be of a very young Sebastian and another young boy with mussed, dark hair.  They both seemed tall for their age (which was probably about 12), and each of them had a big, brotherly grin on their handsome faces.  The two stood in front of a dark, glassy building with an enormous stone wall making up a perimeter.  She knew the grounds spanned for acres in every direction, and there were no other major inhabitants outside the borders of the institution.  Around the blade in small lettering read:  The Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification.

    Emelia frowned down at the charred photograph.  She recognized the facility immediately; it was where Sebastian had spent his life before the uprising.  It was no surprise to her that there was a knife through the photo, but why was it there that day?  Why after all of that time?  Was that what her fiance had been looking for earlier?  And who was the other boy in the picture?  As far as she could recall, this man (or boy) had never been brought up in conversation.  She had neither heard nor seen any information connecting back to him.  Sebastian would have brought him up at some point; the man liked to talk.  Maybe she had been focused on something else...she usually was.

    Committing the image to memory, she walked out of the study leaving everything untouched.  She took the long way around the halls to get to the event waiting for her so she could sneak in the back door as per usual.  Her heeled feet made an obnoxious clicking that made it difficult for her to think.  The facility she had been “born” and raised in had been similar to the one in the image.  It had been a nearly duplicate building with the same angularly slanted structure and a matching stone perimeter wall.  She could still see around the back portion of the building where the obstacle courses and intricate mazes had been set up.  They were like lab rats-violent, genetically altered, lab rats.  Just thinking about the dozens of tests and training exercises made her blood boil.

    She snuck through the door at the back of the room, casually smiling at those who greeted her.  Grabbing the first glass of something-or-other she came across she looked around at the decorations of the room.  The enormous white chamber was adorned with glowing blue orbs that hung from the ceiling and were fixed into the walls.  The low lighting contrasted the whiteness of the hexagon plated walls and brought the mood to an easy socialization.  Sebastian had spared no expense with the acrobats that stretched languidly through fabric streamers and accompanied the glowing lights hanging from above.  A slow, writhing tone whispered through the hidden speakers throughout the space and filtered around the Adoni and human company.  The bubbly voices of guests echoed just slightly over the music and oddly warmed the coldly colored room.  The acrobats silently continued their display as she wandered into the crowd.

    An outstretched hand grabbed her shoulder and gave her an alarmed jump out of her thoughts.  As she turned to jab her fingers into her assailant’s throat, she sighed at who had grabbed her wrist.

    “Don’t be so paranoid, darling.  Come, there is someone I would like you to meet,” Sebastian murmured, taking the hand he had grabbed in his own and turning her to face a different man.  

    “Hmm?” she offered in reply, her eyes roving over the dark-haired gentleman before her.

    “This is Nicholas Lockwood, originally from one of the east coast facilities in North America.”

    Nicholas smiled charmingly; his set of brilliant white teeth flashing.  His left hand ran through his head-full of dark, slightly longer hair.  It was the kind of hair that was always perfectly in place no matter how tousled it became.  His eyes were ethereal, not simply blue but like ice with the cun refracting through it.  They glowed in his handsome face, lighting up further as the grin reached them.  He extended his hand warmly to her and inclined his head slightly.

    “Call me Nick,” he murmured in an inviting tone.  “You must be the beautiful Emelia Wesley I’ve heard so much about.

Emelia smiled politely and nodded as the man bent at the waist and kissed the back of her hand.  It was an old fashioned gesture, and she nearly blushed at the intended intimacy.  Sebastian stepped in closely to Emelia’s side, wrapping his arm around her waist.  Clearly he didn’t like the predatory sort of grin that had breached his friend’s lips.  He took up his fiance’s hand as it was lowered and held it outwards.

“Did I mention Emelia and I are engaged, Nick?”  The blonde showed off the impressive ring on Emelia’s extended left hand.

Nicholas chuckled along with him, a new grin on his handsome face expressing challenge.  “Oh, how funny.”

He turned slightly and plucked a dainty strawberry blonde from a waiter’s assortment of wine.  Her hair bounced along with her bubbly giggle.  Emelia only needed a glance at her to realize what she was.  It was apparent in her bouncy sort of countenance and dusty-pink dress.  From her lively hair and shorter stature it was obvious of her difference; she was just slightly out of place.  But above all else she saw it in her still, blue-gray eyes.  Yes, they were beautiful and vivacious and lively, but they weren’t alive.  This young woman was human.

“Aurora, dear, say hello to Mr. Ross.  This is my beautiful Aurora.”

“Hello!” the little strawberry blonde giggled drunkenly as she held her glass of red wine to her chest almost protectively.

“Hello,” Sebastian greeted, his politeness coming much more easily, it seemed, to his handsome smile as he gently squeezed Aurora’s small hand and bowed slightly.

It was beyond Emelia how her immensely short-tempered fiance could pull of such a warm false greeting compared to hers.  The smile she pulled to politely fend off altercations had always felt stiff and obvious on her face.  Maybe it was simply over thinking on her part, but she wanted to be convincing at least.  Her hand gingerly felt the for the pulse in Sebastian’s wrist to see if he was as relaxed as he loosed.  An easy rhythm met her gently fingertips in response.  The man was a metronome.  

Vaguely in the back of her mind she could hear the conversation continue on with the customary “when’s the wedding”s and “oh, that sounds lovely”s.  She watched Aurora almost anxiously clasp at Nicholas’ hand, which seemed odd considering her alcohol consumption at that point.  But perhaps that was the whole reason behind the alcohol that evening, to put away troubles that clouded the mind and simply float on a cloud for the night.  That was exactly what Emelia wanted to do, but she also wanted to keep her head clear as she always did.  It would be quite the embarrassing dethroning if she was easily taken down simply because she was foggy and did not hear her assailant behind her.  It had happened to the governess of the eastern Asian House just before Sebastian had come for her own.  If she was going to go out, she was going to take the bastard down with her at the very least.

“Don’t you think, Emelia?” Sebastian asked, turning towards her with a smile on his face.

“Oh absolutely, darling,” she replied, returning the smile with a vague sense that they had been talking about the guest list.

She honestly could not care less.  If at all possible, she kept thoughts of her impending wedding far, far away and did not dare touch them with a ten foot pole.  What would she do if the day actually came that she had to dawn her white gown and walk down the aisle?  To be frank, she had really only planned up until the day that she pulled the bright, shiny new empire out from beneath Sebastian’s feet.  And what a gorgeous day that would be….  She could see the priceless look of surprise on his face.

“Well, Emelia and I should have a walk around.  Enjoy yourselves,” Sebastian encouraged, that perfectly executed grin gracing his lips again as he escorted his fiance away from his competitive friend.

Emelia smiled at them as her shoulders finally relaxed from her forced appearance of attention.  She took a small sip of her wine and let Sebastian lead her around the high-ceilinged room.  All she wanted was to go upstairs and be alone; she hated these stupid events.  Her mind entertained the idea of feigning ill or drunk to escape but neither was likely to happen (the latter mostly because Sebastian knew her and her high metabolism too well).  The thought of cool night air on her face and throat was so very tempting, and inside this hexagonal prison was just exactly the opposite.  

“I don’t think that your attentiveness is quite as convincing as you seem to think it is,” Sebastian remarked casually, nodding at a group of smiling folks who passed.

“I beg your pardon?”  Emelia glanced at him and raised her eyebrow innocently.

“Your breathing slows down far too much, and I can practically see your tunnel vision as you  learn to ease back into your own little world.  It’s quite rude, Emelia.  You need to engage in conversations.”  His voice was smooth and almost dismissive like he wanted to just put the silly idea behind them.

Her nose wiggled slightly as she realized his findings.  “I suppose,” she offered hesitantly, glancing around to find a good break in the crowd to disappear through.

All she wanted was to get out, even for only a few moments.  Some night air would help get her through the aching boredom that came with her fiance’s events.  If she could just stand outside in the back garden or a balcony at the very least, she could collect herself and relax a little.  Perhaps she could even get through the evening without preparing to strangle Sebastian as he casually chuckled along with the extraordinarily dull guests.

Taking in a deep breath she gently removed herself from her fiance’s grip, fighting the innate urge to shove away.  “I’ll be right back,” she assured his questioning brown eyes, slipping into the crowd.

Sebastian’s laugh echoed behind her as she maneuvered her way towards the angular staircase.  She climbed to the first landing and tiptoed through the clear french doors onto the glass-ringed balcony.  Slowly she exhaled through her nose and leaned back against the cool panes of glass.  Freedom.  With another long breath, she slowly stepped out to the railing and gazed out at the back garden.  A thin layer of frost sparkled like a reflexion of the stars over the lush back lawn.  The sky was clear, and the way that the stars were spattered across the blackness you could really fathom that the Earth was round.  Each glistening bead of brightness overhead was like a tiny pin prick in the ebony blanket that stretched out over the daytime brightness.  It was like a child’s story ripped from the bindings of its book and thrown without care into the organized chaos that surrounded her.  

Never had she ever wanted to scream more than in that moment.  Her hands balled into fists with her nails digging into the palms with such pressure she was sure the skin would give.  Every nerve ending just beneath the flesh zinged sharply with even the gentlest caress of the air around her.  In that moment where she had sought peace, she wondered what dying felt like.  Perhaps it mirrored the sensation of being put under an anesthetic:  the slow pull of some unseen force down a tunnel as everything becomes farther away and oddly oblong.  Or maybe everything just slowly blurs around the edges and you fight to stay alert but instead it all turns black.  What if what she felt in that moment, thinking about what death felt like, was indeed what death felt like?  Every nerve in the body like a live electrical wire cut from its pole and writhing around like a wounded serpent.  But that was exactly what she had become-an electrical wire.  And she was exposed.

She shook herself in an attempt to bring herself back to the present.  But like some twisted domino effect, she found thoughts of a wedding rising up in the back of her throat like bile.  Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on the present; she would get out of this choke-hold.  It just may take some time.  Opening her eyes again, she concentrated her golden gaze on the gurgling crystalline fountain near the center of the garden.  It was an enormous rose quartz slab, jagged around the edges as if freshly uncovered.  It stood tall at over two and a half meters in the center of a smooth marble basin where the clear, sparkling water collected.  Something was different about the contents; instead of its usual translucence, the liquid that burbled out of the hole in the top of the stone seemed to be a watery red color.  

A stumbling sound caught her attention near the outside rim of neatly trimmed foliage, and she whipped her head to the right to find the source.  She saw the shadow of a figure slouch around the corner of the base of the building and heading towards the front of the mansion.  This was what she had missed, she thought as she hurried through the french doors and down the staircase again.  She needed this excitement and wariness of the unknown.  She needed something to openly fight against as it threatened her or what she stood for.  What she didn’t need was for the front doors to open to reveal a half-dead Adoni she had never seen before.

Wait...had she?

 

4: Vis Vires

In any normal society, killing one’s teacher is sort of a big no-no.  Even if it’s an accident and the intention was solely based on the premise of a sparring session, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men should drag the murderer away to a dank and lonely cell somewhere.  But at the Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification, things were run a little differently.

So when Emelia Wesley stood over the limp body of her training instructor, she felt nothing.  She was called to the director’s office and explained in great detail what had happened and how it had felt to snap her teacher’s fragile neck.  The girl was 12 at the time and had more than bested the efforts of a 35 year old man who had been in the best shape of his life.  Obviously the scientists were doing something right, and the director’s training programs were successful as well.

Some of the scientists at the academy, however, were a little more skeptical about the lack of punishment for this young girl.  She had killed a man for heaven’s sake!  There should be justice!  But they were no longer the ones pulling the strings when it came to their creations, and they were more than well aware.  They had created a being that, at no taller than 158 centimeters and 45 kilos, killed a full grown man like it was nothing.  The worst part that seemed to come to these erratically moralled humans’ brains was the fact that the girl showed no remorse whatsoever.  What had they done?

Emelia was not scolded.  Her long, wavy ponytail was not tugged in punishment, nor was she haunted by her act of extreme violence.  In fact quite the opposite was true.  

She was rewarded for her ruthlessness.