December 4th, 1873.

 "Mrs. and Mr. Wellington have the finest maids of France, I even think they speak Russian." Nicolette chirped, rustling her pastel pink dress around a group of admiring girls listening to her boast about her new family. Nicolette, with her piggy plump cheeks, turned her attention to Alec, one of the twenty one girls that wasn't flocking around Nicolette. "Oh, Alexandra, I bet my own silk you didn't have a maid before you came here." She said stoutly.

  Alec looked at the girl tiredly, and answered in a flat tone. "I was raised here, Nicolette. And of course, why would you care if your 'finest' maids would speak Russian? All you know is French and English." Alec turned her attention to her wrist, which held up her chin. Her eyes averted to the hem of the sleeve, which was coated in a fine layer of ash. She was glancing around quietly, before smudging away the ash on her sleeve with the trace of her thumb.

  "What if I wanted to speak Russian? It's a brilliant language, probably one of the utmost in my very own opinion." Nicolette snapped grudgingly, before turning her skirt and back to Alec. Why would you need to speak Russian? Ace thought. Shaking her head to herself, silvery hair swirled around and lacing around her neck. She stood up, the meal of leftover pie and bread didn't appeal to her. Rustling her gray skirt that was the color of clouds that circled the factories in the city, she slipped past the french doors to the balcony.

  Standing on the balcony, that could need a bit of cleaning, she stared off the sky that blanket above her, like a fireplace's leftover was poured over the sky. If one was to examine Alec and the sky as one, they would see only the luminous blue eyes of her, her pale complexion, and her silver hair and gray dress blending in the sky. It wasn't unusual for the sky to be so dark and gloomy for so early in the morning. With factories, trains, and all new mechanism on the rise, it was changing mood of each city and country, and it was dimming her.



 "Do explain, why are we here, again?" Isaac gazed at the tavern as one might stare at their dinner plate only to find a fat slug resting on their salad. His younger brother had his arm draped over his shoulder, the weight of his arm was pressuring down on Isaac's shoulders. 

 "Eh, come on big brother, don't start acting like you're already thirty. You're young, you're nineteen. You aren't that old yet to be such a slack." Jules shoved Isaac lightly up to the tavern, ushering him towards the entry way. Despite their two year age difference, Jules and Isaac were quite tall, and the same height. "Young gentlemen as ourselves aught to treat themselves to some entertainment."

 "Young gentlemen do not dawdle upon prostitutes and drunkards." Isaac deadpanned dryly, staring at the sign of the tavern- The Dally. Other people pushed past them and into the pandemonium of gathering people, majority were drunk and others were on the verge of getting drunk.

 "Who said anything about prostitutes? I'm just proposing a drink here and there. How about it eh? Good shot?" Jules had already pulled away him arm from Isaac's shoulder, nudging at his arm. Isaac sighed inwardly. His younger brother was a wild one, not much like Isaac. He nodded grudgingly, allowing Jules to pull Isaac's arm into the stench of beer and sweat. Good God, Isaac thought. Is this what Jules does every week? If this was so, then Isaac would have never agreed to coming along with him.

 Jules let go of Isaac's arm, making a beeline to two empty stools at the bar. Jules shook his midnight hair out of the corner of his striking bright green eyes, which now had an unusual glint to them. Dear God, Isaac groan mentally. Being his older brother, he knew that mischievous glint in Jules' eyes. Isaac averted his eyes away from the un-corseted girls who were staring at the two men. One of them was staring at Jules, their gaze lingering on him for a moment. Isaac muttered under his breath. "Jules, what in good God's name do you do around here?" 

 He grinned, flashing a pearl smile at his older brother. Isaac differs in looks and personalities when compared to Jules. Instead of bright green eyes the color of spring grass and the ashy midnight hair, he had a complexion of sandy golden hair and gray eyes. It was an odd pair - golden hair with gray eyes. When Isaac greeted people, their gaze on him would linger a second more then usual, taking in the peculiar eyes and golden hair. He was nothing like Jules. "Loosen up, Isaac, we're hear to have some entertainment, not for you to be my chaperone." 

 "Yes, but I also came here to make sure you're not running off as a drunkard in the middle of night with flowers in your air, singing about children's nursery rhymes and prancing upon Cannon street this time." Isaac noted, his eyes still averted from the chaos of the surrounding tavern. 

 Jules just looked at his brother bemused. "What on earth are you gambling about Isaac? That has never happened." Jules said defiantly.

 Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Must I refresh such memory-" Jules cut him off by sending a razor glare. Isaac trailed off, a smudged triumph grin took over his face. 

 "Enough of your own nonsense Isaac, allow me to introduce you to mine." Jules made a gester towards the display of cheap ale and some expensive, fine ones in the back of the group of alcohol. "It's a beauty, eh Isaac?" Isaac gazed at the beers with disdain taste. He was never much of a drinker himself. He prefered the tea that Jennie made. He never understood why men drank such beverages. It was bitter and it only did you bad. Jules grabbed onto a bottle of ale and tossed the cap behind him lazily. 

 "Shouldn't you get a small cup-" Apparently, it was a habit of Jules to cut off Isaac mid-sentence.

"Stop being so old, big brother. You're nineteen, fairly good looking, although you can't beat Yours Truly." Jules grinned, gesturing at himself.

"Yours Truly apparently has a big ego that comes along." Isaac deadpanned. Jules took a big swig of the bottle, a grin forming as his Adam's Apple bobbled up and down. Isaac's eyes averted to the un-corseted girl who was still staring at him.

 "Why, isn't it Mr. Isaac Carter himself. Quite the gentleman yourself. Unlike," Her eyes glanced at Jules, who was chatting to a red headed girl who of course, was un-corseted. "Julian. He's a wild, troublesome one, isn't he, Mr. Isaac Carter." The girl wasn't phasing the last few words as a question. As more of a statement.

 He cleared his throat. "I suppose so."

 "Now, what is the young head of the Carter Manor himself doing here? I'd expect Julian but you? Mr. Isaac Carter." The girl said matter-of-factly. "I don't suppose you're here to be a drunkard yourself."

 "No, of course not. I'm just making sure he's not-"

 "Running off with flowers in his black hair? You must agree, those lilies make his striking green eyes and chiseled features look much pretty." 



 Whipping her silver hair behind her, she untied the ribbon from her hair, dropping it to the ground. It was expected, that all of the girls of the Manor must greet the Wellington's. They were of upper class and wished to meet Nicolette's 'friends'. The maid had made the corset too tight for her, making Alec light headed. It was a deep blue, the color of her eyes. It rustled around her, falling lightly over her. The hem of her collar respectfully covered her bosom. 

 "I hope you all know what a big honour this is to meet my new parents. They are such of upper class that it's like meeting the Queen. Be grateful, girls." Nicolette said begrudgingly. Alec resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Alec turned back to the thin mirror, pinching her cheeks to bring a bit of colour. She was too pale for her own good.

 Picking up her skirt, she pulled herself from the velvet chair, trying not to fall down the wooden steps that lead the the foyer. "Spoiled little Nicolette." Alec muttered under her breathe, but it wasn't like no one could hear her. They were either upstairs, or already in the foyer. Her gaze still on the wooden steps, cautious not to slip and fall, her powder curls fell over her neck, tickling softly at her skin. 

 Not realizing she was already off the stairs, and not even realizing she was still walking, she slammed- hard, into someone, knocking that someone back with a gasp. Her attention snapped from the ground to the person she had just slammed and knocked over.

Mrs. Wellington, there in her complete golden hair, narrowed caramel eyes, and a stain of tea splattered across her skirt. Her entire face was turning red with rage, and she would have been beautiful, if not for that disapproving and angry expression.