Fallen Rose

Allow Me To Introduce Myself, Part 1

March 2nd, 1952

It was a delightfully warm day, a time where the frigidness of winter slowly transitioned into the bountiful springtide. The flora bloomed and fauna flourished upon the day of my arrival, a unique babe with hair as white as snow and shimmering golden eyes. My name is Mok Morrissey Carsmile, a prodigy my parents could recognize from the beginning. Who might they be? There was my wonderful mother, Christine Carsmile.... She was a flourishing actress with beautiful chestnut hair and the most kindred smile, she was on a high rise to fame as one of the most beloved stage actresses in Italy. Then there was my father, Erik Carsmile, her esteemed talent agent... along with many others. Nevermind that, I will find my self going over this later, begrudging as it may be.

Childhood at first was splendid; I received pure adoration from my parents. They knew my talents and helped me into the robbed talent I am today, as well as giving me the best education they could. Why, they near spoiled me with their wealth as I constantly found myself reaping the rewards of their success. My father, as soon as I was old enough, helped me into roles fit for boys my age and my mother would teach me masterful skills. They fancied taking me to their productions, where my mother would star in for the longest time. I was absolutely enamored by the art! The skill of it all, how you must be so convincing, your voice so powerful and emotional, every movement, choreography, all the musical attributes simply perfected. The art takes multiple skills, and my mother had mastered all of them. I wish my father would have realized that more than he did.

As I grew, he tended to grow a bit more distant.... Always busy with this one woman, who I may deem as wretched... As a younger child, I would see her oft around the theatre. She was of average height, curly auburn hair she'd always held in a ponytail, coy, lidded green eyes and a tot by her side... He resembled her, though also resembling another figure... His short curls were white, his diamond-shaped eyes of a gold color. He was of the shy sort, keeping by her side. I never got to know him until later, about the age of 7 I was. This was when the woman would make herself more prominent in our lives, and how I wish I could reverse that fact constantly.

Her name was Carlotta. Her full name I can hardly recall, though it's not like she is deserving of it. It started slowly as my father picked up her 'talent' - if you could call it that- he could see whatever potential she may have had. At first, I could tell he truly believed in her, as he did most of his clients. He wanted to bring out the best in everyone, alas, this backfired on him when it came to this vixen. Every day my father would come home later and later, cumbersome and weary he was. He seemed regretful and nervous the times I caught him back home, leary of the next day. My mother held constant suspicion of him and Carlotta, especially due to an experience I'd come to learn quite soon.

"She's just a client, Christie, I swear." He would attempt to soothe her worries, I recall, "I wish I could spend my time with you and Mok more. I know I made a mistake all those years back, but I've changed. There are absolutely no feelings for her, she just keeps demanding more training. Trust in me, please."

My mother would always sigh and walk away. She had grown melancholic in the times that Carlotta showed her face more often, along with her son, whom at some point with a semi-permanent part of our household. Now, while my father was off with that wench, I was left with my mother at home, who's roles were slowly but surely being lost to the one she loathed. She'd take to me for comfort, and I must admit it was heart-wrenching to see how she was. She seemed to only find happiness in her time with me, teaching me rudimental life skills and the like. Though, days she was most tense, she'd ask for time to herself. Now typically, I'd see Carlotta's son in our living room- he kept to himself on the couch in silence, timid and meek. I would cross paths briefly to the boy lost in his own thoughts until one of the days my mother wanted her alone time. That was the day I met my brother.