"It's Team Free Will 2.0. With two salty hunters, one half-angel kid, a dude that just came back from the dead again and the special addition; a tinker-"
"What? No buzzer this time?"
"Uhu, buzzer sounds unmelodious. You don't."
"So you've finally...
"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end."
– Gilda Radner
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A/N:Hey guys, sorry for the lack of update lately but I hope it's worth the wait and you all would enjoy this chapter. Actually I wanted to give the backstory of how Fayre's mother, Tara/Isla and Dean met when they were young. So from now I will put the chapters in bits with Fayre's mother and her background story. Hope you'll enjoy, Happy Reading!
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Taking a deep breath, the young mistress of the Everhart mansion tried to get the swirl of emotions under control, her eyes lingered on the massive clock hanging on the wall– both its golden hands stopped exactly at midnight.
It was the twenty-five of November, Isla's birthday yet again this day didn't mean anything to her family now, did it?
Every year they forgot about her birthday or rather chose to ignore it, after-all birthdays didn't mean anything to her the Everharts when the remaining members of the family already crossed the threshold of being hundred years old. Still, it did hurt thinking about how they ignored her on this special day of her, it wasn't like a girl would turn eighteen every year.
Yes, it was Isla's eighteenth birthday, and before realizing it a fat drop of moisture rolled down her eye. She aggressively smoothed it down only to make the space of another droplet. Getting out of the bed, she crossed the small distance between her and the windows of her bedroom. Isla wasn't allowed to leave the mansion ever, all her life she either spent her time in her father's massive library or her lavish room. She was homeschooled, didn't have any friends, even the servants wouldn't speak with her out of fear of her father. All she was left with was a bunch of books to entertain herself. But there was a little thrill if one liked to call it in her life– the time she spent with Ms. Betty Young. Everyday middle-aged woman, her once governesses slash take career would come for to give her two hours lesson of knitting which she hated by the way and talked about various things the woman experienced in her forty-two years old life. In those two hours, the pair would laugh, talk, play cards, averting every curious eye of her parents' minions, so those two hours was the only time the girl would feel like a human, alive and awake. Otherwise, with guards in every corner, along the unyielding magical shield that her father put himself would feel like she was trapped like a prisoner in her own home.
Her legs shook as she reached the window, hands trembling as she parted the heavy white curtains. Lurching forward, she unlocked the tiny latch and lifted the window up. As the big screen slid up, next she leaned out into the freezing December air. Taking a deep breath she focused on the midnight beauty of the place.
Staring at the grounds, she saw they were still illuminated by the soft porch lights, but the woods surrounding them? They were an entire different case. In front of her, they stretched out on either side seeming dark and ominous from the shadows, and in the midnight hours, the trees seem like angry clawed hands sprouting out from the ground.
