Azalea folded her arms, looking at the inside of the huge manor that was supposedly her home. A gnome led her to her room.
It was really big, with lots of pink and white, plus draperies and other really princessy-girlish stuff.
She hated it. She decided to make her room a bit more bearable, so she started ripping, taking, and disposing of anything that wasn't her style. After she took everything away she didn't like, she asked a gnome if she could have some paint, a different bed, things like that.
Azalea planned that she would get everything else secretly, because they were from the human world. Or, she thought, she could just go back. Sure, the streets of one of the most crowded cities in the world weren't exactly luxury, but it was better than being locked up in a glittery house by some freakish pointy-eared millionaires.
She did have a house- well, kind of a house. She was in the foster care system since- well, almost her whole life. Azalea was left on the streets when she was only five, and she had to fend for herself for two days before the authorities found her. She had been through thirty-seven different homes, ending in her ditching the family or the struggle of keeping her in line.
She sighed and fiddled with the window alarm until it was deactivated. Lifting the window, she slipped out.
Azalea's head shot up as the front door dinged open. She had paint on her face, her hands, and the frilly dress she had worn (she purposely got it dirty). She was about a third done painting her room a deep purple. (She didn't want to paint it black because people might think she's emo.) Azalea had refused to let the gnomes help, because it was kinda like slave labor. Did anyone even pay them anyway?
She heard the gnomes' voices as the stairs creaked. Someone was here.
"The fourth door on the left. If you need anything, we'll be more than happy to help."
The voice of the new person finally spoke.
"Of course. Thank you so much." It was definitely masculine. Probably still a teenager, but at least a year older than her. She wiped her hands on her dress and opened her door, wanting to meet him. Well, not meet him, but see him. He had to be one of the councilor's kids, of course.
Azalea peeked her head out and looked at the boy. He was tall, had dark skin and deep aquamarine eyes. The boy's head turned at the sound of her door creaking open, and only a moment of surprise was scribbled on his face before he smiled warmly.
"Hi. I'm Xavier. Pleased to meet you." He held out his hand.
"Azalea." She said, shaking it awkwardly before letting her arm fall back to her side.
He cleared his throat. "I hope to not bother you too much. We are staying in the same house, after all."
Azalea raised her eyebrows. "You know we don't have to be this formal, right?"
Xavier let out a long breath of relief.
"Thank goodness. I can't keep up this '1900s gentleman' charade forever."
"Neither could I. It probably would be
funnier if I didn't say that, though. It wouldn't hurt to always have a proper man around." She said the last few words in a British accent, making him smile.
"Um.. I should probably finish what I'm working on.." She gestured to her dirty clothes, and he nodded and waved goodbye.
Azalea closed her door behind her and sighed. She had gotten past one introduction. Just three more.