Chapter 1

Red, purple, blue - every colored rose except black, but the saddest part was black would have been the most fitting. Sniffles and tears of pale bodies covered in black overwhelmed me with sadness. Bony branches of dead winter trees served as umbrellas to our snow covered heads. The winters wind blew, chilling my bones. You could see other head stones in the distance, representing other people's sniffles and tears.

The roses were lying on top of two coffins; one belonged to my beautiful mother, who never laid a finger on anyone. Her deep blue eyes were enthrallingly beautiful, and were highlighted by her blond hair she always wore big and curled. She went above and beyond to protect me; the only side of her that wasn't nice came out when someone hurt me. In my eyes, she was an angel, but that kindness went beyond my father and me. She dedicated her life to helping others by becoming a paramedic. Numerous awards hung on the wall declaring to the world how many people she saved from death's evil grip, and yet she couldn't be saved herself.

The other coffin belonged to my father. He was a well-known lawyer who provided great riches to our family, and he was equally as kind. His short brown hair and golden brown eyes fit his lawyer persona. He was always very matter-of-fact, but in a kind way that most lawyers couldn't pull off. Through hard work he founded Astrid Law, a law firm that became the largest firm in North Carolina. And now it's probably in the hands of some tyrant in a suit, like the rest of the lawyers.

I stood between the coffins as they were slowly lowered into the ground, each one of them hanging from a single chain - six feet down.

My parents were only six feet away and yet I couldn't save them. I couldn't do what my mother did for so many. I wanted to reach out and give them one last kiss, just one, but no, that would be too easy. Seeing the workers slowly bury my parents, I had to look away. I couldn't bear the thought of them covered in filth and bugs. To think that eventually insects would slowly tear away at their flesh, eating them down to the core disgusted me and tore at my heart. Every second I thought about their death, my chest ripped, until finally, my heart broke.

"No! Don't do it!" I shouted at the workers, tears pouring out of my eyes like a faucet. One stopped to look back at me, his eyebrows knitted together, and his mouth frowning showing his sympathy, but he kept stabbing his shovel into the earth beside the two deep holes in the ground, pouring clods of dirt over the roses. Seconds later, I met Grandmama's stare. Her eyes were squinted and her nose was wrinkled. She was furious.

She just became my legal guardian, and neither of us was happy about it. The funeral was the first time I had seen her in my life. The few hours I'd been with her were enough for me to know I was not going to enjoy my last year of being a teenager. Besides my first impression of her, she left my mom with several nice whipping scars on her back, and I must say it scared the hell out of me. I mean, whipping your child? I could hardly believe it. Even with how rude she'd been to me, I couldn't fathom the thought. I had hoped she became nicer with age, but my hopes fell quickly.

I was almost seven when I first noticed the scars on my mom. She had hung her work shirt on the shower curtain to dry but left it in there when she was getting dressed. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when she ran in, wearing pants and a bra. I saw the scars left by whips as she left the room. On the way to school, I asked, but she told me, "Don't worry your little head about it," but I was too curious. I asked about it quite frequently and she never told me. I eventually grew tired of asking. The week after I turned seventeen, I saw the scars again when we went swimming in our backyard, and asked. Finally, she explained everything to me. From then on, I didn't like Grandmama.

Saying what I said was a disgrace to her. Everything in her presence had to be perfect, everything aside from herself that is. In her eyes, I should have just watched, not shedding a tear like she did. She looked perfect on the outside due to her vain ways, but inside, she was far from it.

I inherited my parent's money, and I thought maybe my Grandmama wanted the money herself, but she was a billionaire. I don't know how she became a billionaire - or anything about her past for that matter. She shielded her life from my mom and me. It was like we weren't allowed to hear about her past, which made me want to know about it so much more.

As they finished packing the dirt over the roses, Grandmama came up and wrapped her cold bony fingers around my shoulder so tight it hurt. She forced me to turn my body and pulled me to her limousine, shoving me into its black depths. The blacks seats made of leather were cold, and the windows were tinted so nobody could see her vile self-looking back. It was the perfect car for her.

Grandmama sat facing me, the chauffeur closing the door behind her. She crossed her legs and placed her hands on her knees. On the outside, she was perfect, but her soul was evil. She had perfect manners and wonderful posture. I had no clue how old she was, but her body looked fifty. She had strawberry blond hair twisted in a bun, covered by the black veil she wore to the funeral, although I had I feeling she was always dressed for a funeral. She wore a long black dress that screamed of morbidity. She looked like a reaper disguised in an innocent woman's face.

Her face was slender and bony, her cheek bones prominent. She wore full makeup no matter the occasion. Her skin as pale as snow, her lips as red as a rose, her cheeks rosy like an apple, her eye lids purple as an amethyst, and her eyelashes as black as coal. She always wore the same makeup, and I have to admit it was becoming of her. She was the most beautiful fifty year old woman there had ever been. For some reason, being in a car with Grandmama felt completely wrong, and every part of my being wanted to leave.

Grandmama's butler had been in the car accident in which my parents had died. Seeing as the butler didn't get hurt and he was out on bail, paid be Grandmama, I had a feeling deep inside, almost like an inkling that Grandmama meant to kill them. I couldn't think of why, but I just couldn't shake the hunch. I really hoped it wasn't true. She just made it so hard to disprove.

As the limo started to move, Grandmama cleared her throat, bringing my attention to her piercing green gaze.

"Leeonith, there are rules you must follow in my home. One: don't ever address me as anything but Grandmama. Two: all of my servants shall be addressed as Sir or Ma'am. Three: meals shall be served promptly at eight, one, and six. No snacks shall be permitted to you, and if you are late for any meal you shall go without food for the remainder of the day. Four: No flirting, fornicating, or showing signs of affections with any girls. Five: you shall be awoken at 6, be ready for the day by 6:45, and commence chores until breakfast. After breakfast you shall continue chores until lunch, and then you shall once again continue chores. After supper, you shall do chores until 8, when you will get ready for bed by 8:30 and be to sleep before nine. Your only free time is 8:30 to 9:30 on Saturday and you will be to sleep before ten. Do you understand?" Her speech was long and imposing, and somehow she never seemed to take a breath. I was terrified, only an hour of free time a week? I was scared to know, but I was curious about my chores. I wanted to know what I'd spend the rest of my non-adult life doing.

"Yes, Grandmama, but what are my chores?" I asked, my voice weak, all manly-ness gone. I was being as polite as I could manage. She looked appalled, as if I had spit on her, but only her face moved.

The rest of her body was like a statue of perfect posture. It was like she trained her body not to react to her own emotions. I couldn't stand it.

"Never speak unless spoken to. I see your mother failed at teaching you any discipline!" she said, her face angered with a tone so hateful, it could kill. The way she spoke of my mother enraged me.

"What did you say about my mother?" I said from behind my teeth, holding in my anger.

"I was wrong, your mother failed completely as a parent," she said calmly, looking all around me, but never directly at me.

I was completely livid. I never cared about people insulting me, but when they talk about my parents, they got another thing coming. I completely snapped, wanting to make her feel as awful as I did.

Jumping up from my seat, I leaned closer to her and shouted, "Never talk about my mother that way, you old bitch!" I wanted to insult her as best I could without being killed.

She jumped back in her seat; her posture lost, and slapped my face with more force than I had ever felt in my life. "No supper for you," she said, calming herself, getting back into her perfect posture. There was most likely a mark as red as blood on my face from her surprising strength, but I wasn't afraid of her, although my face was throbbing in pain.

"You're bluffing! Do you realize that would be child abuse? I will report you," I said sternly. I was trying to frighten her, but I wasn't bluffing. There was no way she could keep me in her hell-hole.

I'd call the cops as soon as I could if she didn't feed me, or I'd run away.

"Report me! My house is without electricity, everything is lit with candles, which in turn, means no phones, and you think that is child abuse? You have yet to see anything," she said, looking out the window, observing the scenery. She seemed perfectly calm, as if she didn't just give me a massive threat. She even had a slight smile on her wrinkled lips.

From then on, the ride was silent. I was surprised she didn't punish me for my posture. It was like she came from one of my worst nightmares. I wished I was in the car when my parents were killed and have died with them. I didn't want to live with Grandmama, but I knew I would be strong. I knew somehow I would escape, even if I had to fight off an army of her servants and her. I was brave, maybe a little reckless, but brave none the less.