A case of Stockholm.

Chapter One.

The day started like any other. I woke up to the sound of the butler knocking on the door to remind me that breakfast would be served in half an hour. So I got out of bed (rather unwillingly I might add) and headed for the shower. Another day of eating and reading lay ahead of me. I was coming to the end of my current book series and the mere idea of choosing another book to read out of the hundreds contained within the library excited me. The time taken to shower allowed me to make decisions about the day ahead. What T-shirt to wear? What to buy at the shop later? These were the normal questions for me to ask myself. My days were centered around books and food. Not so bad except I never really spoke to anyone other than the butler and the maid. When I tell people that we have a butler and maid they automatically assume that I'm snobbish, which, as it happens, I am the complete opposite of. I try to clean up after myself or just make as little mess as possible. The idea of having someone wait on my every need doesn't appeal to me. People should focus on their own lives; not have to look after people they don't even care for. This point I have brought up with my parents multiple times but to no avail. We still have poor Hector and Marie. 

From the shower I went to breakfast where my parents were discussing some political issue or whatever. Politics have never been my area of expertise and hopefully never will be. That will be the day that I become dreadfully boring like my parents and then I'll have no chance of getting out and being part of some great adventure. I want that more than anything else. I want a hero to sweep me off my feet and take me away from the boredom of everyday life. I snap to attention. My mother is looking at me expectantly. 

"What?" I look at her and she looks at me astonished.

"It's pardon Gwendolyn. Not what. I was simply asking what was planned for the day." Her brown eyes stared into my soul. 

Like you care I thought. Instead I replied "Just reading. Maybe visit the corner shop later. "

"Honestly Gwendolyn, if you continue on like this then you'll get little exercise and become fat. Do you think I'll be proud to have a fat daughter?"

This was too far for me. I stood up, outraged and just left the room. I didn't think it worth a response. I didn't even slam the door. I don't believe in dramatising anything that doesn't require it. This was just another day, just another argument. I entered my room and flung myself on my bed. My dull mousy hair falling into my face. I tug at it impatiently and tie it back away from my face. I leave my bed and look in the mirror. I'm not one of those girls that draw a guy's attention in the street. My height is below average. My weight a little above average. I'm short and stocky is the way I see it. My reflection betrays no beauty in what I see. I'm nothing special but I've grown use to it. 

I finally decide what to do with the day. I didn't want to stay in the house with my parents. I would stop by the library, pick up my book and go out into the grounds to read. The day was slightly overcast. Perfect day for me. Not too hot and not too cold. On the way to the library I passed Marie who simply smiled at me. I smiled back and entered the library. The smell of books enveloped me as I walked in. After reading the Harry Potter series I decided that to me Amortentia would smell like books and fresh baked bread to me. ( To anyone who doesn't know what Amortentia is, it's a love potion that smells differently to different individuals. The smell is most appealing to that person). 

I picked up my book and headed outside. 

"Gwendolyn wait!" My father was running towards me. "Gwendolyn please? Your mother didn't mean what she said. She only has your best interests at heart. She loves you really; as do I. Don't forget that Gwenny."

I knew he was trying to make me feel bad for walking out at breakfast that morning. I could tell from the condescending tone of his voice and the fact he'd used Gwenny when addressing me. He hadn't used that as an actual name for me since I was six. I could tell he was trying his best to diffuse the tension between my mother but he was years too late for that. I wasn't the daughter that my mother had dreamed of and to be honest I'm surprised I was an only child. I would have thought that because I hadn't turned out the way she wanted me to that she'd try a second time. 

I turn to my father and say "I know you both mean well but I know what I'm doing with my life. Mother doesn't understand my goals for life. If she'd just listen then she'd understand but she doesn't want to listen to me. I love you both too but she has a funny way of showing it." 

My father looked at me, astounded. I rarely speak back to my parents. In fact I barely speak to my parents. I try to stay polite but sometimes my temper gets the better of me. I looked at my father one last time, turned and went out into the grounds to read.