I remember the sky being grey, the air damp and cold. All alone, with nothing but grief and suitcases, I stood before my home, noticing the small cracks of paint that were scattered all over the wall. Father had been saying how we needed to refurbish the house, it was already quite old when my parents bought it, and my mother agreed. She was also desperate to replace the dying plants with new vibrant flowers to contrast the constant dreary weather of Donahue. The city may have been foggy and glum, but in our little home we exuded lights brighter than the sun's. Outside, the rain would ruthlessly slash against the windows, the wind would echo its frightening howls, but as my mother tucked me into bed and father kissed my forehead under the flickering yellow light, I could only smile from the happiness and warmth I knew I'd always have as long as they were with me.
Releasing my gaze from the wall, I looked over at the withered plants, and for the first time in a while, felt the sharp wind pinch at me, as I shivered.
Triggering a second shiver down my spine, a cold hand gripped my shoulder, causing me to turn away from my home, and meet cold violet eyes. There, tall and stoic, stood Aunt Emery with her skin pale, eyebrows furrowed and thin wine-coloured lips pursed. I'd only met her a few times before, but she'd never even looked my way - and now, I was to live with her.
"Get in the carriage. I'll give you no more than a minute." She paused and glanced at my hefty bags, full of my parents' belongings that I just couldn't leave behind.
"Though you shouldn't expect it, you should know despite my wealth I have only employed limited staff to serve me. You being brought to my manor does not change this, you must do everything yourself - including carrying those bags."
Quickly turning her head away as if not to spare a single thought more, Aunt Emery proudly pranced to the carriage, where her Butler opened the carriage door for her. I locked eyes with him before he shut the door, and made his way to his own seat as the carriage's driver, and I was once again standing alone in the cold, shivering.
Donahue was cold, but Belgravia was colder. It was tense, and unnerving, and I felt like a pest worming through a cool, pristine city where the people probably had no clue what cracked paint or dead plants looked like. Peeking out the window, I spotted a few people out with baskets of fresh fruits, the shine of them only rivalled by the women's blinding jewellery. There were also old men with top hats and canes strolling along the solid, flat land beneath them, their noses strangely high and lips pressed as if in disgust. I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes. I didn't dwell on the funny way these people looked, the unusual smells wafting through the clean streets, the silence of the carriage, the lump of unease simmering in my stomach. None of it mattered to me anymore - I had just lost my home, and everything was reminding me of that. And what is a child without a home? Lost? Unwanted? It scared me to think about, and yet I could not stop thinking about it. To lose something dear to you, is to lose a part of yourself. I had lost everything, so was I nothing now? With every whip of the carriage horse, I felt a new fear seep into me each time. Every second closer to the manor was a second closer to a building I had to fake as home, where I would return to after school everyday to an old, callous woman and her indifferent butler, and her high ceilings, her extravagant chandeliers, her white, grey and beige walls, her lack of fluffy pillows and large blankets and jars of cookies and soft teddy bears and boxes of paints and abundant hugs and warm kisses. In that mansion I was left to forget my parents' love and warmth so that I never crave it again, and I was left to freeze my young heart so that that hardened woman couldn't burn it.
She destroyed it anyway.