Oblitus (Forgotten)

Prologue

                                                            Prologue.

Years ago, in an old-fashioned manor, a family was throwing a party. This certain family was rich, very rich indeed; in most cases, wealthy people are quite popular. Music was being played by violinists, cellists, pianists; people were dressed in Victorian clothes, which swished as they danced; drinks and food were set up on a long black table in their enormous backyard. There was laughter. There was love. 

And in the midst of all the celebration, there were children. Three, to be exact: two boys dressed in their waist coats and pants, and a little girl who adorned an elegant cream-colored gown. They sat by the rose garden, watching the adults as they danced and drank. One of the boys, with straight golden hair, stared at the alcoholic beverage in their hands, his hazel eyes twinkling.

"Do you reckon they'll allow me to taste the wine?" he asked his friends.

"Of course not, you fool, you're only ten," replied the other boy. He crossed his arms and jutted out his chin importantly, as though being the son of the party's host made him the host, too. He took after his father: dark, wavy auburn hair and brown eyes.

The girl, however, took after no one in her family. Her curly jet black hair and bright green eyes were what made her look striking, and high cheekbones gave her the air of a girl much older than eight.

"Don't sound so condescending, you're the same age!" she chided as she pointed a finger at her brother before nodding at their friend. "Don't mind him, Father's let me taste it before--it tastes like bitter old grapes. You're not missing out on much."

The blond boy laughed aloud while her brother reddened, bis blush betraying his feelings immediately.

"How could Father have let you taste it if not even I am allowed to?"

"It's simple. Father just likes me more," she retorted smugly.

"He's spluttering," the blond boy said while looking at him in amazement, for he was doing exactly that. "I've never seen him do that before."

The girl began to regret her hurtful words. "Oh, he knows I didn't mean them. I was only joking, brother. I'm sorry."

He eventually stopped spluttering, but still looked angry. Breaking away from the both of them, he walked away from the rose garden. The prideful boy pretended to take interest in the camellias that were growing closer to the ballroom. As he kneeled down to take a closer look, he noticed something odd. They seemed to look like they were wilting. Mother would have to send a servant-girl to water them tomorrow. He almost realized that he hadn't seen any servants in days, but his train of thought was broken. 

The girl had walked over with their friend behind her. She looked shameful, and it took her a few hesitated seconds before she touched his arm. "Brother? I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

He looked into her pleading green eyes before breaking eye-contact. Did she not know how hurtful her words had struck him? Girls tended to be babied by their fathers more, but did she really not notice how much he doted on her? 

Reluctantly, the boy pulled his eyes back up to his sibling's, and saw tears brimming in hers. He almost laughed.

Of course she didn't. She wasn't intentionally trying to hurt anyone.

It was his little sister after all. The one who would squeal in delight at seeing a butterfly, or apologize to a maid--a maid--for knocking over a glass full of water.

"Brother, please...I'm sorry...Don't be mad," she choked, tugging on the sleeve of his waistcoat as she slowly kneeled onto the floor next to him.

"Don't!" he shot at her harshly. She cringed back, as though she was about to be struck. He sighed dramatically and pulled her up. "You'll dirty your dress," he explained gently while brushing off some of the garden soil that had smudged onto the cream gown.