The Daughter Of Illéa

Part One: The Selection

Perfect family.

That's what was consisted of for a small portion of my life.

My mother, she was young and beautiful even in her rags. She had a heart that could warm the world; I try to believe that's why my dad wrung her in, especially since she was from caste four. She must've loved him a lot, because she left her own caste to go to an even lower caste, which was my fathers: Six.

When I was around 4, mom began to catch some kind of cold, like many others, but we weren't the richest in Atlin. In fact, we were around the bottom of the food chain.

Anyways, the cold turned into a flu, that flu turned into pneumonia, and that pneumonia turned into a tragic accident.

My mom died on January 25 when I was 4 years old.

Her funeral was brief, but memorable. We spent every last dime on her casket and flowers, but it was well spent. You would think everyone in our province showed up.

Then a few months after my mom passed, my dad began to blame hisself, "If only I just walked away. If only I could've given her more. If only I never fell in love- she'd still be living." The way his love for her was extra-ordinary, but when she died he was never the same.

He became stressed and had less work ethic. Then I knew when the time came, we had to get Aunt Francine.

This woman could make a day ten times more positive.

She was just so nice and enthusiastic! She was the one who boosted dads spirits. If I was him, I'd have been truly blessed to have a sister like her. We spent years, fending off the world together, but when I reached 13, dad found love again.

Maria Khroker, a two.

She was a major modeling agent, and she even had a 14 year old daughter who was treated like the queen itself.

Dad wanted to be with her, and she wanted to be with him, but she wouldn't take the whole package. Usually if you married someone from another caste, you'd have to go live in the males home, but she wasn't fond with the idea. Instead she tipped the government so instead we had to go stay with her in two, with her snobby daughter.

Leaving my Aunt Francine was hard enough, but going into a two story home where I'm treated like a maid all over again was 10x worse.

Three years. That's how much time I've spent so far in this wealthy hell hole. I just don't know how much more I can stand.