25 December, 1916
London, England
Alice sat at the dining room of her household. She looked a figure of grace and beauty-the exemplification of high class English society. Her long, ivory fingers where entwined around a champagne glass; hand-blown in Venice. Her elegant, silky blonde hair was tied up in a red velvet band; hand-woven in Arabia. Her lovely burgundy dress, of course, was crafted by twelve penny-paid industrialists. The lace embroidery, however, was Venetian as well. Her face, as fresh as the day she came from her mother's womb, was unblemished by any signs of age or work. Her mouth just laid in a perpetual smile, why shouldn't she be eternally happy? This was all hers! Or, rather, it was her father's. All she need to do was sit back and reap the rewards of her forefathers from ages before and remain the strong, picturesque perfect statue she always was.
Ah, yes.
Alice was truly more beautiful then a portrait, with all the riches in the world to show off and to protect her beauty. Her facade was perfect, her life, as we see here, was absolutely one of the elegance and grace she so proudly showed off. She was engaged to yet another prominent man, Edward, so she was naturally the focus of much envy of any of the other ladies of her social circle.
Enter Augustina.
There was something in her waif-like wandering about the silent property that was far more beautiful then all of the riches Alice could possibly adorn herself with. Her jet black hair was loosely held at her sides, and her blue frock was something much simpler. Yet, for all the mystery she held, one would might even say Augustina was far more beautiful then Alice.
Who was to say, though? It couldn't possibly be judged in this moment.
It didn't matter how different the two sisters choose to make themselves appear on any other day, because today was Christmas Day. Today the two girls would gather around a unsettlingly large pine tree, and open more presents then a maid servant could fancy seeing in a lifetime. It was a gluttony only one of the two sisters could possibly notice.
They tore through their loot, making out with several new dresses, lace, parasols, and various exotic presents from the foreign lands their relations were stationed in. Truly presents fitting of their high class luxuries.
The lady of the house, Mrs. Biltmore, the mother of Augustina and Alice, handed Augustina a final present, "I think you will really enjoy this, my dear. It's something both your father and I have always figured you'd adore."
Augustina tore open the paper of her final present, tossing it away, and then cupped her hand over her mouth as she saw what it was. "Oh, mother! Father! It couldn't be-,"
Mr. Biltmore smiled as he stood up beside his wife. "Yes, my sweet. It's your great-grandfather's field journal. It's all yours to finish where he left off."
Augustina smiled as her delicate fingers graced the pages of her new treasure.
Alice scoffed at the present. "Silly old tome. Look! The moths have already eaten into every page of it!"
Her mother merely laughed at her daughter's comment. "Oh, my poor, poor Alice. How humbling for you to not receive anything while your sister gets to savor. It isn't like we have something much more wonderful planned for you."
Alice perked up at this vague notion, "Wait... wha-what is it?"
Her mother smiled again. "Your betrothed, Edward, is coming home for Christmas! He's been permanently discharged from the front lines, my dear! No more having him sent away for Christmas. He'll be here-at your side-forever. You'll likely be married far sooner now."
