somewhere only we know || grayson hawthorne x oc

prologue (izzy)

Izzy stood alone in the old man's study, staring at the boys' achievements. Now at 10 years old, she had spent plenty of time in previous years admiring this wall, as the collection grew and grew.

But as time went on, her feelings of wonderment had lessened, and instead she was filled with self-reproach. Not jealousy, not exactly. Jealousy would imply that she had not achieved greatness herself. Which she had, by the definition of the word. She was already an expert in piano, ballet, and many other things. And many more would eventually come in the following years. In fact, she was now becoming quite the chess prodigy. But this didn't help the fact that no matter how much she tried, so matter how good she was, it would never be enough.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well. And anything done well can be done better. Why would a Hawthorne settle for better when they could be the best?

The old man's words had circled through her head for as long as she could remember. She was not a Hawthorne (as she was constantly reminded), and yet these sorts of rules still applied to her. She should be grateful for her opportunities, to be taken in by such a respected family. Of course, that didn't mean much when nobody knew you existed. She was, very literally, a secret of the mansion's walls.

Sometimes, she wished that for once, she could belong somewhere. Somewhere where she wasn't discarded like a piece of nothing, left to die on the side of a highway. Somewhere where she wasn't constantly reminded that she would never be one of them, that she was an outsider. Somewhere where she wasn't an afterthought, but was someone's first choice.

But Izzy wished, more than anything, to be like the characters in the novels she often found comfort in. To fall in love, have all her misgivings disappear, and live happily ever after. Of course, that wasn't how the real world worked. But that's not the point of wishes. Wishes are pure delusion, that grant the dreamer the sort of escapism that kept one going.

At least, that was what Izzy had learnt. She supposed it might be different for other people.

She took one last look at the wall, before turning away and leaving the room. She didn't look back. She was quite good at that. At keeping on moving, at running away without ever turning back.

Because it was the only type of protection she could ever afford to have.