Belladonna

Prologue

Juliette Grace Devereux pirouettes clumsily around her bedroom, singing without falling short of breath in the slightest at all. Maybe it's not particularly good singing. But she's got more energy than a battery and a life in her that seems to brighten with every moment, as if her heart will go on perpetually. "Twinkle twinkle little star," she sings loudly, her delicate six-year-old voice mispronouncing the L's as W's. Claude Devereux's fingers interlace as he lets out a barely audible sigh. His finger only leave their crossed state to push a lock of curly jet black hair away from his forehead. Watching Juliette is like watching a spinning top, except it doesn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. It's a most dizzying sight, really.

"How I wonder what you are!" she continues, not a single care in that head of hers.

Perhaps a spinning top does not quite match her liveliness. Maybe a tornado is more fitting. Juliette stops twirling abruptly, stopping to stare at her brother, Claude, pressing her lips together. Claude was reading Juliette The Adventures of Binkle and Flip before she decided to carry out her impromptu performance. By now, he's set the book aside, simply waiting for Juliette to finish with an incredibly thin patience. Claude narrows his hazel eyes at Juliette, scowling.

Juliette tries to imitate her brothers contemptuous glare, but instead blinks accidentally, earning a sneer from Claude. "I told you, Claude," Juliette says, pressing her lips together. "You're to clap for me when I'm finished." Claude lets out a derisive snort. He's the oldest. He really shouldn't have to give any importance to a six-year-old who's seven years his junior. Juliette's tiny lips twist into a pout when Claude does nothing.

"Mother!" Juliette shrieks. That's when Claude's face becomes practically ghostlike. "Shut up, you brat!" he hisses. "I'll clap for you, alright? Just don't tell Mother." Juliette doesn't smirk at her brother—she didn't do what she's done to be mean—it's simply all she knows in this house. All she knows is how to act like royalty. And it's to be expected when everyone tiptoes around her like she's a princess, cooing words of admiration whenever she's around.

"Yay," Juliette says gleefully, grinning at her brother, her tiny, perfectly white teeth showing.

But Claude only glowers back.

After all, Juliette's birth might just be the very worst thing that's ever happened to him. The world revolves around his sister, the exact same way the entire universe seems to revolve around women. And Claude is the only boy in his house, and that is how it has been since his father died when Claude was nine. Ever since then, he has felt so completely and utterly alone in the world. It's as if the woman Claude called mother doesn't even want to look at him anymore. She was blind to everything else in the world other than Juliette. The two have the exact same features—dark hair and hazel eyes with little flecks of green in them. Juliette's hair has always been more brown than black, which is another one of the nonsensical reasons why Mother seems to prefer her. It's not merely an opinion—it's a fact. Claude will always be considered inadequate. After all, when their mother passes away, everything—the Devereux mansion, all of it—can only belong to a girl, and that is Juliette.

And when she comes of age, she won't be easy to manipulate. So for Claude to benefit at all from his mother's death, she'd have to die quite soon.

Quite suddenly.

At ten, Claude tried to argue that he was older.

Mother locked him in the cellar.

It really is out of the question for society to believe anything different. Women are superior, and that is supposed to be that. Women do all the work—even the small jobs, like acting as a housemaid. People simply won't have men employed at all whatsoever. They say that they'll fail at even something as simple as cleaning if given the chance. So instead, men are expected to simply sit at home and help their wives in producing heirs.