The Undoing of Regent House

Part 1: Chapter 1

There was a big, red door with big, red eyes.

Bella used to say the door could see you and, when it did, it prepared whatever it was you feared most. When you opened it, it gave you a vicious welcome.

Medea, who was the crowned storyteller amongst them, disagreed and tried to explain that the opposite was true. Instead of your fears, it was your dreams that waited.

Celia was delighted. She dreamt of castles and princesses and long, fluttering gowns. She dreamt of music and princes and magic.

Dylan, on the hand, was more trepid. What if your dreams were nightmares?

Before Bella could cackle, Medea could weave and Celia could comfort, Ryan gave a barking laugh, shoved his younger brother and called him an idiot for even believing it all. A load of nonsense, said Ryan, and he was bored of stories anyway.

*

So convinced of her own importance, Bella was more than ready to suffocate her newborn cousin.

She was the eldest daughter, the treasured idol, the beloved firstborn. She was to be unrivaled, unequaled and unchallenged- the reigning queen over a superseding, steadfast expanse of time and land. She was a dictator over what her heart craved most and what her soul starved for in the face of attention.

When her younger sister, Medea, came along, Bella welcomed the companion. When Celia came, three years later, Bella didn't mind the distraction. But when Ryan- ugly, pink, crying, beloved, awaited, anticipated, heir-to-the-family-fortune Ryan- decided to breathe into existence, it was too much for her eight year old heart to bear.

So, ever so quietly (she wore a white dress that day) and every so carefully (she made sure to smile at her parents and kiss her auntie on the cheek) she snuck into the nursery (she broke a vase in the corridor to distract the maids) leaned over the baby (her hands smelt of soap, her skin clean of the deed) and pressed her little fingers over his little mouth and nose.

"Bella!"

Medea stood by the door, her eyes as big and as brown as an accusing stain. Bella retracted her hands.

"I was just looking," she said, but there was little use in lying; Medea understood her.

Ryan started to cry. It made Bella want to strangle him. Medea looked reproachful and, for once, afraid.

"Let's call Auntie Volumnia," said Medea, extending her hand. "Let's go together."

Bella stood stiffly by the crib, the writhing child grating against her nerves, and sucked in a tight and angry breath. Could it not disappear? Could it not whither and die?

"Come on, Bella," said Medea again. "Please."

"I hate him," she whispered into her clenched fists. "I hate him."

Medea flinched back. She came forward and wrapped her arms around Bella's shoulders.

"I love you more than him," said Medea, but her eyes caressed her cousin's plump face. Her hands tried to carry the burden off her sister's heart. "I always will."

Bella pushed her away. "But you're not enough." She looked at the crying child and tilted her head in a way Aunt Volumnia always did before giving a searing comment. "I'm going to get rid of him." Her eyes were slits. Her heart was poison. "It's a promise."

*

Medea truly loved Bella. They were the eldest sisters. They were the double act. They both had dark hair and such dark eyes. They pinched each other's cheeks to imitate their mother's blush and shared the dresses they had sewn for their joint collections of dolls. They slept in the same bed. They did each other's hair. They played and talked, trying to be so grown up, so mature, so important.