A gritty tale set in the mid-1870's, focusing on upper-class twins Pride and Envy; two beautiful, gifted seventeen-year-olds living an underground life of dark secrets.
Closed; for myself and Rudi only.
Prologue - Mrs. Olive Waters' Diary
It is the 30th of June, dear diary, and I turned thirty-six yesterday. It was a splendid party, but I have two troubles from the night.
Firstly, my Benjamin told me that Pride had made Beauty cry; he named her a silly airhead and reduced her to tears in front of the two photographers we had hired for the occasion. They seemed quite embarrassed by the whole affair and Benjamin remarked that Mister Hornbeam, the older photographer, pulled Envy aside after she laughed at her poor little sister's tears. It hardly suprises me that both of those wretched children hadn't a care to whatever he said to them; they disppeared almost instantly afterwards.
Now, this brings me to my second worry. My birthday, seventeen years ago, was the day that (around a month with child) I called on the Gypsy woman that told me I carried Satan's twins: a boy blind with arroagance and a girl fraught with jealousy. I was young, foolish, and I believed her, thus naming my twins Pride and Envy, who were born eight months later into the drizzle of a despondent March (incidentally, March is the month of madness, according to a certain Mr. Carrol's tale). A little over three years later, again with child, I couldn't help myself to think that the Gypsy had been truthful to me. My children were hansome, intelligent, musical, artistic, polite and wonderful friends with eachother, but they refused to play with any other children and were frighteningly independent for children that were a few months short of four.
Fearing that I would again have an infant like the two I was already cursed with, I once again (secretly) visited the Gypsy. This time, God had blessed me, she told. The child was female; an anglelic beauty like no other ever seen: "Half the beauty Lord has saved for his future children is given to your daughter, Olive Waters," she croaked to me. I left happy, and months later, Beauty was brought into the world. She was, and on the cusp of womanhood now, is the polar opposite of her older siblings. My darling as all gold ringlets and blue eyes; roses in her cheeks and coral in her lips; as intelligent as Pride and Envy but with the charming qualities of a well-turned-out social butterfly. She looks and behaves just like me, but with her father's golden halo and sapphire eyes.
I hate that the others have my dark hair and gray almond eyes. I hate them.
That is my worry, dear diary. When they were children, I could cope, but as soon as they both grew into adolescence, they became bullying towards Beauty and exhibited so much darkness that I simply could not bring myself to love them anymore. What kind of mother raises children like this in the first instance?
But what kind of mother abandons her firstborn out of hate?