There were few times in my life where Fear was not present in my life. At least, in my conscious memory anyway.

Not that memory serves all that well; I knew very little about the world outside my family and a select few others. Maturity turned out to be a lot more than just growing in age and stature, but it's difficult to acertain this at such a young age. Fear itself was a foreign emotion then, an unnerving one; I hated its spider-leg chills, the unbearable pounding, the sound of blood in the ears. You don't get used to something like that for no reason. The first I recall ever having a true taste of Fear were the days after my little brother joined me at the Academy, before all this started.

Of course, Marcus was only three years younger at the time, and took after Father's appearance. He had a soft face, like angels, a dusting of freckles and a cutely dimpled smile, but his hair was strange. I could never tell if it were honey-brown like Father's or if it was a dark chestnut, not because of poor eyesight but because it seemed to shift and waver at the slightest touch of the light. Another bonus of having Marcus around was the fact that I no longer needed to actually pay attention during heir training; I could just pass the title off to him and scamper off with Adrianne. Most days back then were spent between the three - Father, Marcus and Adrianne - especially in the sprawling gardens outside or in my room. Father treated us both well, but I'd like to think I was his favourite. He treated me better anyway.

Now, I was always the responsible one and told to watch over the boy. Nothing changed after he joined the Academy either, since the boy needed to learn how to socialise and interact in public. As much as I'd like to think I was sufficient, Marcus was far more proactive on the public scene, and he talked enough for the both of us. Perhaps Mother's blood was stronger in my case than in his. No matter.

The Academy itself was a boring place, with desks as lifelessly dull as the walls and the teachers more lifeless still. The only joy I found was the inner courtyard that the building surrounded, with its beautiful magnolia trees that filled the classrooms with a sweet scent and petals that got kicked in by the wind every so often. At least we had sunlight then, it made the lessons a touch more bearable. I must admit, I do not recall much of the teachers' lessons as they droned on for endless, miserable hours. It was a joke, a waste of time, for they repeated such basic material that I grew tired of waiting and ended up learning more at home from our tutors than in the actual school. Moreover, the fools did not care for bullying that occurred behind their backs, and if they did catch it they always let them off with a slap on the wrist. Not that I cared much for bullying - my only job there was to look after Marcus.

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Still, I somehow managed to fail that job the day I accepted a strange gift from my brother. He ran up to me as I sat under the magnolia, enjoying the sunlight and the cloying perfume of the flowers, and handed me a cold object.

"Liza, for you!" He giggled, before running off just as fast when the bell rang.

At first I was confused as I wondered what he was up to. The first gift he ever gave me was a daisy picked in the garden on my twelfth birthday, and he didn't give anything again until that day. In the end, I looked down to see a small silver pocket watch in my hand, and like the fool I was I thought it was a sweet gesture.

In the late evening, the Headmaster himself walked into our lesson with an entourage of four other teachers and a very teary-eyed Marcus trailing behind. Seeing my brother, my precious baby brother, in such a state drove me to madness and I forgot everyone as I ran up to him.

"Marcus, what is it? What's wrong?" I asked.

He cried worse, and I worried all the more. It was a wretched little scheme, thinking back on it, and I did not notice the Headmaster until he wrenched me off my brother with a slap to my face. I was sent sprawling on the floor, lip bloodied and a silver pocket watch skidding out to where Marcus was. I'll never forget the way his eyes gleamed as he picked it up and handed it to the Headmaster.

"I apologise, Sir; please forgive my sister. I was aware of her slick hand, but I did not even consider that she would try something like this in school."

Of all the stupid little mistakes he could've done, I was shocked to hear such blasphemy against his own sister fall from his lips. I had not seen the Headmaster since the monthly assembly a few weeks prior, much less spoken to him or weaseled his pockets. Such a wretched anger consumed my body that it would've come as no surprise if I tore him limb from limb right there in the classroom, never mind the lecturer and the students watching with hawkish eyes. That seed of bitterness was already sown, and I did not know what to do save sit there like a fish out of water. For all my quiet resentment, I swallowed my pride and went back to my desk in silence, waiting for Mother and Father to arrive. Once they arrived, the Headmaster and the teachers dragged them into the meeting room, and I was fairly sure it'd be hell the next time I set foot in that place. Oddly enough, I would not return there again.

We got home in silence and the entire time I was seething inside. As soon as we got back, I was locked in my wardrobe for hours. Fear, ever-watchful, consumed me as I banged and screamed and pleaded against the door, the suffocating air clotting my lungs. I felt it run its fingers down my spine, and the muffled sound of cloth was to me what the sound of mewing is to a mouse.

It isn't fair. It wasn't me.

I wanted out, I was desperate. The heavy darkness felt stifling, the walls caving in, and I felt I could not breathe at all there. No one came to my rescue - no prince, no knight, no one at all. I passed out in that darkness, seething and burning in my own anger as I cried for vengeance.

For all my suffering, Marcus would pay. He would pay dearly for this slight. I was going to make sure of it.