Protecting the Princess

1. A Little Consideration Would Be Greatly Appreciated

Why can't some people - say crazy stalkers who plan to kill me - have a little respect for those in need?

I was in the middle of a very important speech to those taking current residence at Great Ormond's hospital for children. Just breaking news on my most recent donation for all the help they need with the young children, when I was shot at. Literally shot at.

Of course, as one can imagine being a high ranking socialite, I was pushed to the ground by heavily armoured security guards as others screamed and/or cowered, running out the double doors. I screamed obviously, as most do when they're shot at. Remember that old saying, when you about to die your life flashes before your eyes? That didn't happen for me. Weird, huh?

Now that the ball had been interrupted, the children wouldn't receive the benefits of the donation. Not if I had a say at least.

I stared into the reflection of myself in my hospital room at, unsurprisingly, Great Ormond's. They were able to find a spare spot for me, despite it being a children's hospital and I'm obviously not a minor, but still I appreciated the gesture. Even if there was nothing wrong me. Except for the scratch on my left shoulder, which was heavily bandaged, which also wasn't that bad really, but still my parents wanted to overdo things once more. No infection, now that's a bonus.

In my reflections eyes, I saw a small girl begging for her parents to rescue her from this nightmare but I knew better then to succumb to such girlish fantasies. My parents couldn't take reality away. I turned away from the small girl with a sniffle as I sat back on the edge of the bed.

Someone, during the all the rush and panic, had found the time to make sure I had food and water but I had no appetite for either. My shoes were long lost during my journey upstairs but I couldn't seem to care. Not even about the fact I was still in my ballgown.

I sighed as soft droplets began to hit the window before turning to a steady beat.

"Serena?" I turned to face the doorway where my mother and grandfather stood, my mother still in her sky blue wrap dress and grandfather in his suit. I hung my head, allowing my long hair to obscure my view of them as it had fallen from its bun. "Are you alright?"

It was a funny question to ask. Physically, yes I was, just a graze, but if I hadn't shifted my stance at the time I had, according to the forensics, I'd most likely be six feet under by now. But emotionally, mentally? It did feel like I'd been shot at millions of times. Killed and resurrected each time.

"Yeah." I looked back out the window, this time concentrating on the rain instead of little me. "Well, as fine as I can be at least."

"Sera," I smiled at the familiar nickname as I felt grandfathers warm hand upon my wrist. Mother and I had a close relationship, as did my father and I, but with grandfather we were as thick as thieves. "Close call, eh? The snipers lucky I wasn't next to him."

"George." My mother warned her father as she took a imposing step forward.

"Sniper? What do you mean?" I darted my eyes back and forth between them. All traces of a smile gone. "Before we just talking about a man with firearms experience, now we're talking 'sniper'?" My eyebrows rose to my hairline.

"It's only a theory, dear," mother patted my leg in attempt to soothe me. It didn't work.

"Yeah, more like evidence, Mary." Grandfather scoffed as he sat on the bed next me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, "there's no point lying to the girl, with all the media that was at the gala she'll find out by morning. It's better to hear it from family rather then untrustworthy gits running those rumours."

"Basil was talking to the head investigator," Mother sighed after a moment as she too sat in the bed, next to my feet.  "And he said that there's a high chance-"