Before I take you on this tale of whores and virtues you must first learn me. Allow yourself to imagine, no matter how silly or provocative. Okay? Do you promise? Good... let's begin
I was no taller than a bulls cock when father left me and my brothers for America. I suppose he left Ma too but I hardly believe she really fancy's him anymore. Not since he started drinking the definition off his muscles and gambling the shirts off all our backs. But father was a wealthy man none the less. Our blood is royal you see. Not next in line for the thrown but if we poisoned a couple cousins and smothered a few brothers of theirs we'd have a good run at it. Mother wasn't born as lucky or as wealthy, she was a maid for my fathers family. And eventually Was bought for him when he came of age. My mother was a harlot turned wife.
My father was Conrad Kingsley
My mother was Elouise Kingsley
They are both dead now as I speak.
But I will bring them back to life for you, just this once.
My father Conrad was as pale as the English come, I remember his strong build and his sharp jawline as he used to toss me in the air. His shoulder length blonde hair with his long bushy beard to match. I remember his crisp frost blue eyes that nearly looked gray in the sunshine. His small pointed nose fitted perfectly with his handsome cheek structure. And his smile... so genuine and perfect. would warm my heart the way alcoholism warmed his belly.
My mother Elouise was a fine, dark chocolate colored woman. Her body was "something of a goddess" as they say. Her long deep brown curly hair that nearly reached her behind would glisten like honey. Her rustic hazel eyes always looked down on me with love and compassion. Her face was that of a white woman but her lips were much too plump. She was a very playful, sometimes stern, but always loving mother.
I do not wish to speak of them any further. Perhaps you'd take interest in my brothers?
My eldest brother Eli was born out of wedlock, when he found out he could never get over the humiliation. Drank his-self to death just like father. He was a wise older brother, his traits took after dad while his features took after Ma. He had short brown hair that looked liked waves of honey kissed darkness. His eyes were not hazel like Ma's were they were just demonic black, turned even darker when he was provoked. He had her lips and her smile but his skin color was Caramel colored like the rest of us kids.
I was born a year after him
Next was Francis. He took after his father is all ways. Because he wasn't my mothers child he had no color to his skin. Just as pale as father was. Same flowing blonde hair and Piercing frost blue gray eyes too. He's attitude was far worse then us all. He was a blue blood. Conceived from my fathers cousin at her wedding. He was like a raging fire made from pure and untouchable lava. He had no disfigured physical features nor any slowness to his mind. He was actually quite pretty and well educated. But honestly his emotions were completely fucked. He hung himself after he beat a miscarriage out of his second wife.
And lastly is baby Eros. He was the most perfect blend of both mother and father god could ever create. He had the caramel color of me and Eli, but the blonde hair and eyes that were undoubtedly gray as the London clouds. He was my favorite. His personality was warm and kind like mothers but bold and confident like father and he never once touched a bottle. Never hit a woman, never gambled a coin. To be quite frank, he was a square. He was poisoned by his sons for his land.
Now that you know my family I assume it is time you know me. I am Thalia Kingsley. You will eventually feel as if we've been friends for years by the end of this book. But I believe you'd prefer to know what I look like externally before you venture internally. I am a short, caramel covered lass. The best way to describe myself is if you imagine my mother bedded a Prince Charming and gave heiress. I have both my fathers frothy eyes and my mother's honey dipped hair. High cheek bones and my father's small nose. I lack the thickness of my mother's body and lips. But I do not find that as negative as you might think. I prefer my more athletic build and my small but pouty lips.
My father left us all to fend for ourselves years ago.
And when the letter came of his death and property it made us all remember his disappearance and the heartbreak he left in the wake.
