AN//: Hey guys! So I've discovered Mer!Lock and I am officially trash. Can't seem to find many fanfics so here I am writing one!
So uh...enjoy?
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The story doesn't start as you expect it would. No dramatic beginning. No superfluous back story or unecessary clichés...
While it may be viewed as your everyday fairy tale, don't think for one second that it is that enduring. Really, it's just domestic bliss among a strange occurance. Our story may not be attention grabbing or worthy of your knowledge, but it's important to me. Probably the most interesting thing that has happened in my life, honestly.
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I don't know why my mother decided to take custody of the house. I suppose she wanted at least a small piece of my grandfather that actually meant something, even if it was a century old dead-beat shack on the top of a reclusive mountain.
Being the youngest of his three daughters, she was left only his dingy summer home and his old bulldog, Henry, upon his death. Her sisters received his weight in gold and showered in whatever riches he managed to obtain in his cigar-filled lifetime. My mother was content though, and when we moved in her face had the same emotion as one would look at a pure diamond mansion.
I was only five when we moved, my sister, Harriet, hardly two. Young enough for my parents to simply pack up and leave our old life behind without anything holding anyone back...well there was my father's job but that proved to be very flexible. Was a bit suspicious if you ask me.
Twelve years later, the only life I remember is on Baker Hill.
Waking up to creaking floorboards each sunrise, the morning wind bringing in the salty air from the ocean, checking our rusted mailbox with the faded numbers 221, the twenty minute walk to the small town. My life wasn't particially exciting, the only exhilarating moments I got in my life was trying to battle spiders out of my shoes.
Well...that changed.
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I was running late.
First day of my senior year in Bartholomew High and I was going to be 10-I glanced at the offending clock-shit, 30 minutes late!
Struggling with the buttons of my trousers, I crashed through the thin-walled house, my sock covered feet not providing much traction on the polished wood floors.
"Harriet wake up! We're going to be late!" I yelled as I scrambled to reach the jar of strawberry jam. I banged on the wall for emphasis.
"Correction. You are." Glancing over, I noticed my sister leaning against the doorframe, her pack slung across her shoulder.
With a sloppy salute she walked out the front door, the audible chomp on an apple heard as the door creaked shut.
Oh you are dead. Thanks for waking me up!
