Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, except for my OC's. I also do not own any of the places mentioned in this fan fiction

Chapter 1- Growing Up

My sister, Mary, and I had never been what you would call 'close' prior to our parents' death. I was seven years older than her, and although I did not consider myself superior to her in any way, and treated her as an equal, she was probably intimidated by me.

My name is Elizabeth Lennox. My story begins when I was five years old. It was then that my parents and I left England to go to India, where my father had been posted. I've always generally dislike India, a fact that my parents, although they were aware of it, generally ignored, much like myself. I had an Ayah, clothes, books, toys and several tutors, everything they thought a small girl like me could ever want or need, but it was not some materialistic thing I craved for in those early years In India, but my own parents affection, something I never gained. I was under the impression that I was unwanted by my parents, a mistake that was never meant to happen, so I was shocked to my core when I was told by my Ayah that I would soon have a baby brother or sister to play with. When Mary was born, I had months ago concluded and accepted that the baby would either be treated vastly superior than I was, or it was another mistake on my parents' behalf. I soon discovered it was the latter.

I now often ponder what if Mary had been born earlier on in our life in India, or if one or both of us had been male, would things be different? If Mary had been born before I grew sour over parents' rejection of me, would I have behaved better towards her than I wan in reality?

As Mary grew older, it seemed she would take more after our father. We were both sickly, as he was, but she had his hair coloring his looks from a early age. I took more after our mother, with long, thick, wavy dark hair, and blue eyes that seemed to sparkle, and laugh. My Ayah often said you could tell when I was happy, by looking in my eyes, as they seemed to smile. This occurred rarely, however.

Both Mary and I had very yellow, sallow complexions, something I have always blamed India for. We were vastly different in other ways, however. I was very independent, compared to her. I made a point of dressing myself, while she never learnt how to. Mary enjoyed being outside more than I, although she despised the sand. I often used to watch her build little gardens with rocks from my room's window. I was happy to sit through my tutoring, while Mary protested strongly against it. I think that stemmed from our greatest difference, born from our greatest similarity, the method of which we chose to attract our parent's attention. While she protested and rebelled against everything they taught her, while I meekly agreed with everything I was ordered to do, turning my back on my own little sister in a vain attempt to gain the favor of my parents.

At about the time of my 16th birthday, which was the last I celebrated in India, I was allowed to attend a party my parents were hosting. When I was told, I near busted with excitement. To think that I was permitted to attend one of the parties that my parents were so fond of. As the date of the party neared, however, I felt my excitement wane, as I was paid no more attention that was usual in the lead up to the party, so I spent the majority of my time with Mary, while everywhere around us, everyone was caught up in the preparations for the party, my parents especially, ordering themselves new clothes and other ornaments.

I failed to see what my parents saw in parties. I found the one I attended incredibly dull, and I felt uncomfortable amongst my parent's friends, who saw me as a strange dirty little child. I forced myself to smile graciously when I was introduced to the many dignitaries present, as I had been taught during the numerous etiquette lessons' I had sat, and mostly day dreamed, through. Every time I greeted a dignitary correctly, I would glance hopefully in my parent's direction, hoping for some sign of approval, some sign of acknowledgement, a nod or a smile, or even a subtle little wink cast in my direction was all I needed, but I received nothing of the sort.

For once, my Parents' seemed to take what I wanted into account, and I was never invited to a party again. Most of me was glad about this, but there was a part of me that felt like I had somehow disappointed my parents, that I had gone against there wishes. I sought confidence in my Ayah, and I was told that everything would return to normal soon, but I had a gut feeling that it would never be normal ever again.

It turned out that I was right.