Her name is Lycloris Gastrell. She is still at the peak of her youth; always ready to make a statement yet, she can never seem to get a firm grip on reality. It's quite interesting to see her masquerade about, an elegant smile always surfacing on her face. Her beloved angel, white dress with the tea stain never ceases from her view. The only treasure she truly desires and adores is that innocent white dress. Passed down from her mother, she cares for it like she would an infant child. Still so young, she never has taken her problems in an orderly manner. Oblivious to the consequences, she will either dump it on me or her father. I'm content that she is enjoying herself, but the time has come for her to take up her womanly responsibilities as Mistress of the house. I, Wolfram Ajax, will be with her to the end to see to it that she completes her tasks and finds a greater meaning in life.

. . .

Sunlight filtered in through the enormous, sophisticated stained glass window. The picture depicted on the window was that of a holy dove; ready to greet the day with a colorful display and then whisper the last breath in the household when darkness finally draped itself across the landscape. Wolfram had just finished polishing up the eggshell blue vase that stood at the base of the window. Adjusting his glasses, he gave the vase a final look-over before dusting off his hands and positioning it back in place. A soft rap resounded from the closed door as Wolfram was altering the position of the curtains so they let in more light.

"Is that you Gunther?" Wolfram called over his shoulder, still messing with the curtains.

"Yes, it's me," Gunther's deep voice replied, muffled by the door. The doorknob was played with for a moment then, it squeaked open to reveal Gunther holding his prized cello. Wolfram finally got the curtains to cooperate and turned around to confront Gunther.

"Everything alright, chap?" Wolfram questioned, although it was quite obvious nothing was. Gunther's usually soft blue eyes were glazed over with annoyance and his dark grey hair was tied in a sloppy ponytail. His gracious smile was plastered over with a murderous sneer and he appeared like he had aged about twenty years.

"Bloody hell Wolfram, do I look alright to you?" Gunther snapped, pounding his fist against the door. "My cello was just dented by that damn cat of yours." Gunther gave the impression that he had more to gripe about. Nothing came between Gunther and his cello, especially since his cello was one of the most expensive antiques to present itself in the mansion. It would cost a fortune to get the thing repaired.

Wolfram's eyes glided down to see the damage their cat, Rin, had dealt to the cello. Wolfram gave a small grunt of surprise. The neck of the cello was bent forward so much that the strings were loose and it would be impossible to attempt to even play. Then Gunther held out the bow. Wolfram glanced up to see what hardships the bow had gone through. It was in worse condition than he thought. The bow was split in half so cleanly that it was hard to believe Rin could pull it off. Concluding that he didn't feel like dealing with the problem, Wolfram snapped his eyes up so they could meet Gunther's.

"Rin isn't my feline, its Master Balthazar's. If you want somebody to rant to about this imprudent problem, it best be him." Wolfram then swiveled around and picked up the duster to begin on the mahogany bookshelves that loomed in the far left corner of the tea room.

Gunther groaned and then turned on his heel and stomped out the door.

"You'll pay for making me see that old bastard!" Gunther shouted from down the hall, thumping up the grand staircase toward Balthazar's study.

Wolfram's days always began like this. Gunther, Fraser, Annika, Lycloris, or Lorelei would always complain about their troubles to him thinking he could solve everything. Technically, he could solve everything, but being bugged by the impudent little brats just caused him to send them on their way.

Wiping his brow, Wolfram puffed out a troubled sigh. Since the family had moved into the new mansion, it took a while to get used to the layout of the rooms. Where once the dining hall should have stood now is taken over by the mammoth sized library that holds all of Balthazar's literary elements. Everything seemed awkward and out of place to him. Then there was also the fact that they had a next door neighbor no more than 15 kilometers away from them. The old mansion was 30 kilometers away from any other structure inhabited by humans.

However, it was even more puzzling that he didn't have a clue to who the neighbors were. He had never caught sight of them nor caught wind of their last name. Pondering his thoughts, Wolfram began to dust the shelves again. He would have to do some research concerning the mysterious neighbors. He dare not step foot in that place because it had a menacing aura about it. He would have to busy himself with the townsfolk information.

Having decided what he would do for the remainder of the afternoon, he gently placed the duster behind the bookshelves. Then he strolled over to the small, decorative desk near the blue vase. Grasping the handle, he unfastened the drawer and it creaked open. Inside laid a dainty quill pen, numerous sheets of cream colored paper, and a glass ink bottle with the family emblem printed on the lid. Taking each one out, he placed them on the desk and unscrewed the ink bottle. Picking up the quill pen, he dipped it inside the black ink and began to write in swirly handwriting on the blank paper. Finishing off his letter, he capped the ink and placed everything back in the drawer. Gingerly, he clutched the paper and put it under his arm. He would place it where everyone would be able to find it. A slow smile crept across his face as he strode out of the room, his coattails drifting out behind him.

. . .

Lorelei rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. It had been a long day of cleaning and helping Annika out in the garden, and she was ready to throw in the towel. Finger combing her burnt orange hair, she tugged it up into a ponytail and tied it off with an old, silver ribbon. It had seen better days, but it was her grandmother's and she wasn't about to give it up. She bent over and seized the last box of the new porcelain tea set Lycloris had wanted. Standing on her tippy toes, she shoved it onto the very top shelf in the storage cabinet. It was finally done. Lorelei laughed dryly and closed the closet door behind her. Turning around, she clicked the huge brass padlock shut and marched down the hall. She reached the end of the corridor and clomped down the grand staircase that spiraled down to the floor. That's when a huge crash resounded from the kitchen followed by an unnecessarily loud string of curse words. Pivoting on her heel, she dashed to the kitchen only to find Fraser tapping his cigarette against the counter. His mouth was pulled down into a smug look and he stood glaring at the wall.

Studying Fraser, there seemed as though nothing was wrong except for the wretched expression. His dark blue hair fell around his face and was neat. His eyes seemed their usual color, a bright golden tone.

"What was that crash?" she asked placing her hand on her hip. She stood there waiting for a reply.

"I told him not to use my damn kitchen knives for this sort of thing," Fraser growled flicking his wrist at the wall, spewing cigarette ash in the process.

Swinging her eyes to the wall, Lorelei found herself looking at a kitchen knife embedded into it. Hanging from the knife was a cream piece of paper that appeared to have Wolfram's handwriting on it.

"I even said if he used my kitchen for target practice again, I would wring his neck dry!" Fraser practically screamed, kicking the old furnace that was against the back wall. Lorelei shook her head and walked over to the wall. She then proceeded to rip the note from the knife's grasp. Before she read it, she let out a much needed laugh. Some things never changed.