• Like Langer, this is loooong. heart

    Prologue

    It was snowing heavily outside, white sheets of snow against a black background. The boy leaned against the glass of the window and sank into thought. The frost curled against his fingers, and he shivered, placing them back into his pockets. His hair was a messy, thick black, and his eyes… Such wondrous eyes, wise beyond their years, intelligent and piercing. These eyes could see the inner soul with only a glance. In a way, these eyes had been a blessing to him, and, then again, they had pushed others away. No person wishes to stare into eyes that seem to know exactly what he or she is thinking.

    And so, that is the reason that the boy seemed isolated from others. With his extremely high intelligence, and his mysterious background, not one person wished to draw near to him. He was an orphan, with no family in the world, and not one connection.

    Yet, somehow, that changed.

    Her name was Serenity Reed. Somehow, she found herself captivated by his eyes. Her own eyes were not so exceptional, just gray-green, sometimes blue, and a little wistful. And dark. Her eyes were shadows: deep pools of sorrow and pain that bubbled up with a strange, almost abnormal joy when she was with others.

    The boy, with his hair as black as coals and eyes like bright sapphires, opened to her and let her in. And the girl with the name of Serenity, who was not serene at all, listened and held his hand, encouraging him.

    They both thought his adoption had brought them together. Yet both of them were wrong.

    It was destiny, clean and simple.

    Yet would destiny keep them together?




    They met because of the adoption, true. The Sunders had adopted him, and they had not changed his name. He did not want his name to be changed, and so they let him have it.

    Lucian.

    Most people pronounced it ‘Lu-shin’, yet he pronounced it ‘Lu-see-in’. It was abnormal, though not really. If a person did not know how to say it normally, he or she would say it right. Yet it was wrong to say it the right way… if that made any sense at all.

    His new mother was Pamela, and his new father was Sean. Sean was a brown-haired balding man, and Pam had gingery hair, sandy with a few gray hairs. She was small and plump, while her husband, though he was growing a bit of a belly, was in better shape and very tall.

    Lucian felt out of place. In each of the foster places he had been in, he had felt that way, yet here he felt, for some reason, even more so. It was a week before Christmas, and perhaps the approaching holiday was to blame for his agitation. Whatever the reason, he did feel so, and he kept to his room much of the time, unless it was to come down to eat or do his chores.

    The day before Christmas, as Pam was in the kitchen preparing the ham for the festivities, Lucian came down for a drink. He had been reading a huge, thick book that was mostly frivolous aristocratic occurrences of the seventeenth century, speaking of such things as books and dancing and boring things that a twelve year old had to be absolutely mad to find even remotely entertaining. As he walked into the kitchen, he noticed Pam staring at the stove, her brows knit together with frustration.

    “What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice was a quiet, mature one, almost without inflection, yet enough to convey his curiosity and sympathy toward what was happening.

    “I just destroyed this ham,” she sighed, smiling wide. “Well, it’s a good thing we’ve got a spare… I was afraid this would happen.” She glanced at the open cookbook and then at her adopted son. “Well, it’s good to see you down for once, Lucian! It’s not very often we get to see your face.”

    There was a sudden beeping and Sean rushed out from the bathroom in the hall, launching toward the sound, grabbing up what looked to be a walkie-talkie from the dining table. Lucian winced. He had always stayed away from loud noises, like rock music or cars. Those sounds hurt his ears. He was quite sensitive to them.

    Sean listened to the broadcast over the radio and looked back at his wife. “It’s a call. There’s a fire over on Maple Street.”

    “Do you want me to come?” Pam asked. Her husband was part of the volunteer fire department, so of course he would be pulled to the scene, like all the rest.

    “Can you?” He looked toward the now smoking ham, which was casting a horrible smell throughout the house.

    Pam let out a shriek and ran back to her ham, and another broadcast went over the radio, detailing out the address of the fire. Pam paled as she heard it, and she turned to Sean with a look of horror on her face.

    “That’s right next to Diane’s house!” She cast a look back at the food. “Lucian! Can you keep an eye on all this…? Until I get back. I’ve just got to go now!”

    He nodded once, and then watched as his parents quickly assembled their things and left the house. He glanced back at the burning ham with a sigh, and pulled on an oven mitt, taking it out and promptly opening a window, to air out the kitchen.

    “How ridiculous,” he sighed. Was his new mother really this terrible of a cook? It seemed she had been so rapt in making her food for Christmas dinner, she had forgotten tonight’s meal, as well.

    He searched though the refrigerator and the cabinets, and went to work.

    “You can cook too?” Pam gasped when she saw the meal that the twelve-year-old had constructed in her absence. It looked surprisingly delicious.

    Lucian nodded as if it was something completely normal.

    The little makeshift family, not really a family at all, ate quietly and, just as quietly, dispersed to go their separate ways.

    Here, Lucian went to the window in the hall and touched his fingertips lightly to the frigid pane. It was snowing heavily outside, and he became lost in thought. He was tormented at being here. Yes, the Sunders were kind, yet he knew that he had parents somewhere… just not here.

    As the frost curled against his fingers, he pulled them away with a shiver, and placed his hands in his pockets. Suddenly, Pam called from the living room.

    “Lucian!” She said it right this time, for once. She was beginning to break the habit of saying it the old way. “Come in here!”

    He obeyed silently, his face blank as he entered the main room and faced the cheerily wrapped presents, the quaint fireplace, complete with stockings and holly, and the tall Christmas tree with an angel sitting on top.

    Sean was standing in front of the roaring fire, a camera in his hands. He grinned when he saw his new son, who noticed that Pam had donned a pair of antlers upon her head. She smiled broadly when he entered.

    “Come on! Sean’s going to take the picture!”

    Sean set up the tripod and they stood before the tree. Lucian wasn’t sure if he smiled when it was taken. This picture was depressing… almost as if he was abandoning his old family, to be with another.

    As Sean dismantled the tripod and went to put it up, the doorbell rang. Pam bustled out into the hall, leaving Lucian alone in the front room. There was a happy exclamation, and destiny showed its face.

    She seemed almost demure, standing behind her mother with her shadowed yet bright eyes, her shyly smiling lips. Her hair was down, something not often worn by a girl like her. She wore no makeup, not even a lip-gloss or eyeliner, as most girls wore at her age, which looked to be maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her hands were clasped behind her back.

    “This is Lucian,” Pam said happily, leading a woman as plump and petite as her own self. “Lucian, this is our next door neighbor Lucy McCulloch and her daughter, Serenity Reed.”

    For a second, Lucian thought that Serenity was, like him, adopted, yet he noticed that Serenity looked too much like her mother not to be her daughter. He wondered why their last names were different.

    “I’ve got cookies in the oven,” Pam said. “Let’s leave these two to get to know each other, Lucy. We can talk in there.”

    At first, there was a silence between them, and then Serenity smiled, a mixture of shyness and the elation that comes with meeting a new person.

    “Hello Lucian,” she said, smiling. “It seems we are neighbors now.”

    She held out her hand and he shook it, noticing that her grip was firm, and he assumed that it was because she was a few years older than he was. She had to be older—she was almost a head taller.

    “I hear we have the same birthday,” she said, her voice taking on an eager tone.

    Lucian blinked, a little surprised. “We do?”

    “February fifth.”

    He frowned. “Lots of people have the same birthdays.”

    She giggled happily. “But how many neighbors do you know that have the same birthday? That’s a bit rarer!”

    He averted his eyes. “I guess that’s true. However, the Sunders aren’t my real parents. I’m adopted. That makes it a less of a coincidence.”

    She pouted her lips a little, looking somewhat crestfallen. “I’ll give you that.” She walked past him, to look at the Christmas tree and the decorations. She smiled when she saw the multitude of presents underneath the evergreen boughs.

    “Pam and Sean are already so fond of you,” she said slowly. “They’ve really taken to you, you know? And they always have the most beautiful decorations. I wish our house was this clean!”

    Lucian’s heart was beating a little too fast for normalcy.

    “Lucian!”

    Suddenly she ran back into the hallway, and, startled, he started after her. She catapulted back into the room, crashing right into his chest and nearly bowling the smaller boy over.

    “Oh my goodness!” she gasped. “Are you all right!”

    He shook his head, catching himself and regaining his balance. “I’m fine,” he said, holding up his hand when she stepped forward with concern.

    She was blushing, and her eyebrows were twisted upwards. “I’m so sorry. “I’ve always been so clumsy…”

    “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m fine.”

    She stood nervously, the little present she was now holding pressed to her chest. That must have been what she went to get…

    Lucian smiled weakly. Now, this was awkward.

    “Mom and I got this for you,” she said, still fretful, anxious at how she appeared before him. “Pam said that reading was one of your interests….”

    He took it and opened it. It was a thin volume, its white cover engraved with silver snowflakes; the title was A Treasury of the Writings of Winter. He looked up at her, and noticed that she was smiling weakly.

    “I like reading, myself,” she murmured, averting her eyes shyly.

    “Kids, come in here,” Pam called. “The cookies are done!”

    The two came in, and, Lucian noticed, Serenity’s disposition seemed to change. She smiled, trying to appear as if nothing was bothering her, and she took a cookie from the cooling rack almost happily. She almost looked… strong. Lucian’s heart wrenched, and he suddenly could not look at her.

    Pam looked us over and smiled. “Isn’t it amazing, Lucy? Serenity’s grown so much! She’s the same age as Lucian, and already she looks so much older!”

    “Girls mature faster than boys,” Lucy laughed.

    Lucian’s heart froze, and his face turned a deep shade of red. She was his age? She was only twelve? He wanted to run back upstairs, to his boring, extremely large novel, and hit himself in the forehead with it. Serenity looked at him curiously, and happily took another bite of her cookie.

    When they left, Lucian again found himself at the window. He could see the McCulloch porch light glowing dimly through the cold, snowy night. Leaning against the pane once again, her name escaped his lips.

    “Serenity Reed…”




    That night, Lucian stayed up, unable to sleep. Something was keeping him awake; it would not let him go long enough for the release offered by that sweet interruption that is called sleep—the renewal of the body, the time when the soul can rest and have nothing to dwell upon. He got up and looked around his room. It had already been decorated, decorated with the toys and games that a normal twelve year old might like.

    However, Lucian was anything but normal.

    His shelves were piled with all kinds of books—the literature he had accumulated over the years—of every kind: fantasy, textbooks, classics, poems, song lyrics, sheet music. Anything that a person could read… that was what lined his many shelves. He had absolutely no interest in little cars and dinosaurs, or action figures or cards. He knew he could not afford such a childish, time-wasting thing as play.

    Yet why such things were imprinted in his mind, he had no idea.

    Two years ago, he was found wandering on the edge of a highway, in the middle of nowhere, with only the clothes on his back and knowledge of his name and birthday. There was not much else besides that in his head. His body, though, seemed to have knowledge of things, things beyond his years. He could ride a horse, and was a brilliant fighter with any weapon, even his own body. He could beat anyone in his karate classes. He was especially talented with a sword; it sometimes seemed as if he had been around them all his life. Though swords were almost unheard of now, he still had a knowledge of them that seemed like a master had given it to him. On the other hand, he had been unable to identify a gun, a television, or a computer. He had even seemed scared of airplanes, and loud noises had made his ears hurt.

    He wondered every night what it was like back then. He knew he had had parents, though he knew not their faces or names, or if he had any siblings.

    The knowledge escaped him, for one reason or another.

    Some thought that he had amnesia, from some trauma or accident, though they could not find anyone who was missing a son called Lucian. It changed then, to a matter of abuse. Perhaps his parents had beat him and left him for dead… he had been bleeding heavily from his temple when he had been found… yet maybe that wound was in connection with the loss of his memories. He could have just hit his head…

    He glanced at the clock on his wall, noticing it was almost midnight. The legend of Santa Claus had been told to him before, and he did not believe it for one second, so staying up on Christmas Eve was no problem for him. It was not as if he would not get his presents if he couldn’t sleep.

    Something was fluttering at the edge of his consciousness suddenly… a familiar feeling that made his heart pang. He went to the window, wrenching up the glass and leaning out. The Sunders house had two floors, and Serenity’s little ranch style house was lying peacefully down below. Lucian looked out and noticed that a light was shining out from one of the windows.

    Everything in the night was hushed, so his heartbeat was loud and huge against the silence. Even though it was freezing, and all he had on was his pajamas, he ran downstairs and outside, into the frigid darkness.

    Of all the people who were rash enough to be as foolish as that, it was only because of his panging heart and strange feelings that he was counted among them that night. The front door was locked, of course, and he stood outside Serenity’s house frustrated, trying to think of a way to get in. His feet sinking deep in the snow, he ran around the house, looking maybe for a window…

    He found one, at the back of the house—the window to Serenity’s brother’s room. A conveniently placed chair happened to be there (indeed, this was the way to get in the house if a key was lost, and had been set up by Serenity’s brothers), beneath the window, and Lucian brushed off the coating of snow and climbed up onto it, pulling aside the blanket that had been draped over the cracked open window. This was a dangerous arrangement, to have an easily accessed opening to the household like this.

    Lucian climbed in and found himself in a room that smelled like teenage boys, and, for anyone who does not know, teenage boys can create a smell that assaults all senses, not just the nose, so, needless to say, he was not in there for long. Lucian’s feelings seemed to accumulate as he went through the room, bypassing a sleeping form, and he emerged into the hall.

    At the other end of the hall was Serenity’s open door, and, from it, a flickering light was being emitted. Lucian stood for a few seconds, wondering what it was… It almost looked like the flickering light of a fire…

    “Uh…”

    A small sound escaped from the doorway, a sound of pain and fear.

    Lucian stood petrified, as a fearful and dreadful feeling washed over him. It was not the sound so much as the smell… It was a smell he recognized.

    Blood.

    Somehow, he could smell it, the coppery smell of blood carried on the air. He could smell it whenever it was being spilt….

    Indeed, inside this room, blood was being spilt.

    Lucian stepped forward, and took in a sharp breath as he saw the scene.

    Serenity was flinching, her body in a sleep much too deep to be natural. A small form bent over her, the scalpel in his hand glinting with the flickering light at his hands. He looked up as Lucian got to the doorway, and there was a blinding flash of light, forcing Lucian back and away.

    For a second, Lucian thought, as he looked up with blurry vision (the result of having cracked his head against the wall), that he had just been seeing things. There was just a dark room now; Serenity’s still form lay on her bed as though she was asleep.

    The boy with the eyes of sapphire stepped into the room and looked down at the older-looking girl. She looked almost like an angel as she slept…

    Blood was nowhere to be found, yet it lingered in the air.

    He reached down and touched her cheek. She was pale… maybe from blood loss… She did not move, barely breathed at all….

    Lucian closed his eyes. Maybe he had just been imagining things. Yes, that was it… It was just a crazy thought, not reality. He ran back across to his house, and huddled in his bed, his apprehensive and fearful feeling completely gone now. His feet were blocks of ice now, bright red and pale white. He shivered, as if the cold was only just now getting to him.

    As Christmas day dawned, he felt a little ill, yet he managed to get through the opening of presents without appearing so.

    And he did not speak of that night for a long, long time.