"On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adven...
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VIOLET HARGREEVES had been sitting alone at some strange, quiet diner when she first caught word of her father's death. The message, delivered from the 24 Hours News Channel, flashed bright on Agnes' television screen—the doughnut shop's owner. The news' fanfare rang throughout the diner, particularly in Violet's own ears. "We're going now live to a breaking story: Moments ago, police reported the death of the most eccentric and reclusive billionaire, Reginald Hargreeves." Violet had almost spat out her coffee at the sight. The words hovered in the air, laying breathless, being simultaneously relieving and terrifying—but only for Violet. Everyone else in that same accursed diner, which was actually very few, likely only harbored slight respect for the old man.
Just after her father's monocled and slender face was displayed—lingering just long enough to remind the audience of who Reginald Hargreeves had been—a portrait portraying the young Umbrella Academy flashed across the screen. The white and black mask that once consumed Violet's face upon each public appearance now sat dusty in her nightstand drawer.
The girl didn't cry for her father, nor did she feel very sad about the fact that it had happened at all. She would see her siblings again, that was for sure. Violet couldn't decide if that would be a good or bad thing. Her gaze lingered particularly long on the masked faces of those that she would never again see: Five and Ben. The thirteen-year old stature of Violet, that stood arms behind her back and smiling in the photo, was an ever present reminder to the girl's mistrewn life. The photo showed Mai's tenderness, having been comforting a blood-soaked and traumatized Ben; Tarrou's introversion as he was wont to stand cross-armed and further away from the rest of the group; and Lara's stoicism, stood at the front of the children and waving excitedly to the crowd.
Violet lightly, vacantly, placed a few crumbled dollars from her back pocket onto the counter, eyes constantly glued to the television screen. "Have a good night, dear! Come back soon-" Agnes called out from behind the bar, though Violet had already shut the ringing door. She tilted her head back, took in a breath of fresh air, and searched her eyes along the moonlit street. Her feet carried her towards the payphone that lay just on the other side of the road.
With shaking limbs, the girl dialed the number of her only reliable sibling. "Mai?" Violet called into the receiver. A man walked past the phone booth and the girl gave a tight smile and waved as she awaited her sister's response.
Mai lightly groaned. "Violet? What time is it-"
"Did you hear?" Violet cut her off.
She could hear Mai pause at Violet's brusk tone. She then heard Mai shake her head, jingling the necklaces at her throat. "Hear what?"
Violet breathed in and looked to the spiderweb in the upper corner of the photo booth. "Dad's dead." Mai paused on the other line and Violet jutted her head out in anticipation. "Mai-"
"I heard you." Violet could practically hear Mai's thoughts churning. She felt a phantom hand caress her cheek, a circle draw on her left shoulder. "What's gonna happen to Luther?"
