Until The Clock Stikes (NACS Remake)

Chapter 1

This is a rewrite from a book a wrote when I was like 15. You don't have to read that one to be able to read this one. I promise you that this one will be way more informative than that one. Though this is a rewrite, I am changing a lot so even if you've read NACS I still strongly encourage you to read this. I would love feedback and criticism and tell me what you like about this version, tell me what you like about that version etc. Thank you as always for taking the time to read my work.
~ Sabrina

My name is Demia Marie Alenora My father is- was Grigori Damon Johnson. I was six when he remarried, before that I had never known a mothers love. I still don't, but she gave me a sister.

'Demia.' my father calls to me. I am six again it is only days after the wedding, and he looks happier than ever. Lucy is four and she bounces happily on his knee. 'Dem-Demia Mia Demia!' she coos excitedly at me, grabbing and leaning off our Dad. We sit leaning against each other as he reads, his warm voice is soothing and the story is entrancing.
' There was once a Countryman who possessed the most wonderful Goose you can imagine, for every day when he visited the nest, the Goose had laid a beautiful, glittering, golden egg.'
Lucy falls asleep on my shoulder. 'I love you, Mia.' she whispers.
"MIA!" my stepmother's voice rings through the speakers installed specifically in my room.
I jolt up, twisting my legs around the the side of the bed, sheets and all. They twist like a vice around my ankles and I go down in a thud. My hair is in my face and I'm still tugging the sheets from my feet when I hear a familiar giggle. On all fours, I crawl around the bed helplessly.
Lucy stands by my dresser is a blush pink dress. Under the smile, her eyes look worried.
"Mothers wants you in the music room." She says, assisting me with the sheets. We both stand and launch ourselves toward the music room like bullets. She laughs as she passes her hair, flapping behind her.

Lucy's hair whips behind her as we run. I am nine years old, the sun is warm on my hair, grass tickles my toes as I run along side her.
"Demia! Let's go visit Father!" She calls to me.
The meadow behind our house slopes down and the umbrage of forest engulfs us. The stone isn't him, but there are things that resemble him here. The grass is as green as his eyes, I lean against cool stone, the imprint of his name is rubbed down by my hand. He is gone, but if I close my eyes and listen, his laugh is in the rustling trees. His scent in the wind. Lucy is curled up under the willow tree, she rolls her head toward me.
"Do you think father loved me?" She asks.
I am shocked at the question and tell her of coarse.
She's quiet for awhile, looking at her grubby toes.
"Lucy. Why would you ask such a thing?"
She doesn't answer. Instead she stands. "Catch me!" She calls running away from me and I pause to catch another piece of father before running after her.
We both pause in front of the music room door, gripping each other. And then she lets go and backs up to watch me go inside. It's not hard to guess that she'll be listening on the other side, her ear flush with the door. Our music room is hauntingly untouched since father was last sitting at the baby grand. My step mother sits on the bench, all the way to the right leaving room for a man who'll never occupy this air again. She is beautiful in a way that hurts your heart, and today of all days she looks even more haunted.
Her voice is harsh in contrast to her appearance, like glass hitting satin. "You wanted to go with us today. Is that right Mia?" She pauses, but only to take a breath. "You will not speak to anyone. You will not dance with anyone. You do not mean anything." In an instant she is face to face with me, her eyes are cold but I am used it. "Do not hold my daughter back because your father died. You can writhe in loneliness alone."
Despite her words I feel elation bubbling up inside me. She said yes. She said yes.
I do not let her see my face as I curtsy and dash out of the room. Lucy is leaning against the wall, she grins at me and grabs my hand.
I stand in front of my mirror, and I am not sure where to look. The dress is gold and it shines against my skin, cream designs swirl around my corsetted top, gold fabric flares to my ankle. My blonde hair is twirled elegantly with a rose colored pin. A lump catches in my throat.
'Daddy?' I am standing in front of my mirror, staring at myself. I am four years old. He stands behind me, his face is questioning. 'Am I a pwincess?' I have a gold tiara in my hair and I am clad in my prettiest dress. He chuckles to himself and lifts me up onto his shoulder. 'of course my beautiful girl.' I'm giggling and I am screeching as he spins me in a circle around my room. But I am serious once more. 'Do you think I am going to be a wady?' I ask him, he looks at me for a long time.
'Honey, why are you asking me this?'
I chew my lip. 'Ms. Twacey said I can't become a pwoper wady without a mommy.' His eyes are sad, and my own eyes begin to water. 'I pwomise Daddy I will be the best wady, pwease don't turn into a mommy.' His booming laugh sounds around my bedroom.
Lucy and my stepmother wait for me in our common room. The air is buzzing around me, Lucy is pacing when I enter the room. Her hair is spilling over her tan shoulders in waves that tremor with her excitement. Dusty rose fabric scrunches at her shoulders, flaring at her hip.
Stepmother is in deep blue, her face is covered with a large hat. She doesn't speak, but when she lifts her head her eyes are hard.
'Your father would be ashamed of you for taking our wedding anniversary away from us.' she remarks. Lucy's head snaps toward her mother in silent horror but I stay still and do not convey to her that she struck a cord. It makes no sense to me, she is needlessly cruel.
Instead I raise my chin. "I loved him too." I respond, it is the first thing close to a retort I've ever delivered and my boldness has stunned her. In a flash her walking cane connects mercilessly with my knee. Lucy is there, her hand is white gripping the cane.
"Now, Mother." She chastises in a strained voice. My knee is stinging but when Lucy releases the cane I see that her hand is bright red. She took most of the blow.
The temperature in the room drops immensely, and as the bomb is about to go off, there a crass tapping at the door. The carriage is velvet and bronze, and in silence we ride.
'I will be back in three days time.' My father kisses my forehead and fluffs my hair.
I am eight years old. 'I want to go with you.' I tell him again. He smiles at me, his green eyes crinkling. 'Katherine was so looking forward to the time alone with you.' he insists, kneeling at my side and leaning in to me like he's telling me a secret. But I am not amused today, no, today I am difficult and I don't care about my stepmothers feelings. He senses my impatience and sighs. 'I'll tell you what, my love. I'll get you a present, and I'll bring it back with me.'
Now I'm listening and my eyes are bright. 'What kind of present?'
The castle comes into view and I unclasp my hand from around my worn locket. Lucy is still messaging her hand when we are escorted inside. The Princes ball is a prestigious event, the whole idea of the three day event is for Prince William to find a bride. The age pool is a limited number and it seems that anyone over the age of twenty five is being stopped at the door. Lucy clasps my arm with her uninjured hand as we pass the threshold. I am pulled back by my stepmother, she holds me in a death grip. Her eyes are desperate and urgent.
"You do not matter." The crowd around us is pushing toward the door, swarming past us. Even in a crowded place, she has rendered me feeling so alone. And with an accomplished smile she lets go and I am pulled across the threshold once more. Her face is the last thing I see before the doors are closed and I turn to see a costume room ran ramped, feathers coat the floor.
"What is this?" I whisper to myself.
The entire front hall is darkly lit and gossamer panels hang in rows, candles are lit, wax covering the floor. The twinkling lights cast moving shadows everywhere.
"It's a costume room."
I jump and spin toward the voice, the gossamer panel ripples slightly but there is no one there.
"Why would there be a costume room at the Princes' ball?" I call.
The voice doesn't answer right away, I spin in a slow circle.
"Because if everyone is disguised, then we are all on equal ground." His voice is a deep timber, my curiosity burns my skin. I want to see his face.
"Come out. I want to see your face." I call, spinning again in a circle. "Where are you?"
His voice is closer when he answers this time.
"Maybe you aren't looking hard enough."
This time he doesn't move when I turn toward his voice. He is wearing a mask that covers his cheekbones to his hairline, candlelight casts harsh shadows across his angular jaw and shoulders. Music floats around the hall, leaking in from the ballroom.
"We're missing the party. Don't you want to meet the Prince?" He asks me, his voice is a mixture of teasing and bitterness.
"Don't assume that I am here to win the Princes' heart." I don't skip a beat, brushing past him to look at the large array of masks, suddenly I am disinterested in the boy with the warm smile.

"You're a real charmer." Mystery boy states.

"I am not in the business of charming people who assume I will throw myself at a boy I dont know." I retort choosing a mask that is cream colored and detailed with a rose design.
He chuckles, but I keep my back to him.

"I guess that was the point of this all." He pauses, and I turn, watching him speak now. "Love is more than social standing."

He licks his lips and in a flash of candlelight his eyes are unveiled from shadow. They are teal and deep, like the Caribbean Sea.
He turns and walks toward the music, leaving me to put on mask and stare dumbly after him.