“Emelia?”
“Hmm?”
“Darling, you need to wake up.”
Opening her eyes drowsily, she blinked and frowned. No longer was she in the warm, white leather arm chair she had dozed off in, and it made her feel like a displaced feline. Glancing at the projected digits on the wall over the shiny metal vanity, she rubbed her eyes. It was just after nine o’clock, and she could hear Sebastian’s rowdy guests downstairs. They arrived early and many without invite. She didn’t pay much attention to any sort of guest list, but she knew who wasn’t supposed to be there. Considering their genetic betterment and training, one might think that they were all sophisticated and proper. This was unfortunately untrue. Sovereignty was a considerable determinant in corruption. The last thing she wanted was to deal with those her fiance associated with; they were drunk on power...and alcohol.
She sat up from her position atop the soft gray duvet and stretched slowly. Sebastian seemed annoyed with her leisurely awakening but also fascinated with the way that her body moved. He sighed heavily as he fiddled with the buttons on his cuffs.
“You give me the worst migraines before these things,” he grumbled more to himself than the drowsy young woman.
Emelia rolled her eyes and slid out of bed to stand in front of her betrothed. She coiled the silvery-gray tie around his neck, smoothing it down and beginning the elaborate looping process Sebastian preferred.
“Relax,” she cooed, making sure to always keep herself on his good side. “Soon you will have yet another successful evening under your belt and the north African House will be ours.”
She smoothed the freshly tied tie and took a half step back to look at him. Wow, she really did wish he wasn’t such a brute; the man cleaned up nicely. Gesturing toward the door as if to tell him to leave while she got ready, she regretfully kissed him on the cheek. He raised his eyebrow in amusement at her derisiveness but exited the room silently nonetheless.
Sitting in front of the well-lit vanity, Emelia glared at herself in the mirror. Her bright golden-green eyes were so much different from all of the dull-irised humans she usually saw around her. “Living” eyes seemed to be a signature trait the Adoni had gotten from the re-sequencing. Hers were rimmed with thick, dark lashes that contrasted extraordinarily with the brightness of the irises. Her nose was about the length of her thumb, sloping nicely into a smooth and slight upturn at the end. Sebastian had always compared it to a button, a button on the sweater of the little walrus-tailor. Then came her full, pink lips with an even, precise cupid’s bow. She had a set of dimples (when she smiled), and a smooth pair of cheekbones. It was a nice-enough face she had always thought, there was a good symmetry of the left and right features.
She ran a hand through her long, chestnut colored waves. The dress she had fitted a few hours ago was still snugly on her body and not nearly as wrinkled as she had imagined it would be after sleeping in it. Her hair was the only thing she could think of doing anything with to make it appear as if she hadn’t just rolled out of bed. Haphazardly running her fingers back through it, she pulled it back into a slightly disheveled bun. She braided back a couple of chunks that she had left out and wrapped them back and tucked the pieces in.
Sighing morosely, she stood and slipped on the annoying and more than uncomfortable pair of heels that apparently matched the silver and white, wide-shoulder strapped dress. Unfortunately for her, she was ready. Rising from the vanity seat, she walked out of the room and headed down the hall. She passed her fiance’s open study and halted.
In the middle of the large desk was a knife stuck into the wood. Looking around to make sure she wasn’t walking into an avoidable situation, she sauntered into the office and around to the business end of the desk. There were a couple of the yellowed stacks of papers she remembered from earlier off to the side, but the knife was through an old photograph. The corners were charred as if it had been lit on fire at one point. Upon closer inspection, the image appeared to be of a very young Sebastian and another young boy with mussed, dark hair. They both seemed tall for their age (which was probably about 12), and each of them had a big, brotherly grin on their handsome faces. The two stood in front of a dark, glassy building with an enormous stone wall making up a perimeter. She knew the grounds spanned for acres in every direction, and there were no other major inhabitants outside the borders of the institution. Around the blade in small lettering read: The Rousseau Institute of Genetic Modification.
