oh dear god
The entire Cullen clan, plus one delusion, gathered in the entre-sol, watching every car that went down the street past their driveway. "It's like an early Christmas present!" Malifer's father was effervescent with the impending arrival of another member of the extended family. "Just imagine, little Alethea coming here! It's only too bad we couldn't take in Edward too."
Yes, wonderful. Mali remembered Alethea as being a glum little girl at a family Christmas party when she was six years old. That was over a decade ago, but the mental image of the dull-eyed brunette made her furious even today. She'd just sat there, studying books! She only had gotten up to dance with her father and her brother, and then Mali's own father. She glared off to the side at nothing as a classic Impala turned into the driveway and cruised up slowly, stopping at the top turn of the blacktop.
Quell patted her shoulder, uncharacteristically comforting, as a dark-haired girl stepped out of the car, followed by a black-haired man. They walked up the driveway together, the man supporting the girl more often than not. She seemed prone to slipping on the most obvious patches of ice. Her father had already darted to the door, holding it open for the two. "Edward! Alethea!"
She was immediately stricken by a bout of jealousy. Alethea and Edward had obviously won the genetic lottery; the dark-haired girl looked like a contemporary Botticelli angel, and her pale complexion and the expertly chosen green, empire-waisted gown. Her coat was soft and black; the fallen snow made her look like a model straight from a coat commercial. Her brother, standing next to her, was more of a rock star than a model; his clothes were smooth cotton. Malifer wondered exactly what their parents had done that they'd been able to get that much plastic surgery; no one could look like that and still be human.
Her father, predictably, was shaking Edward's free hand. "And how old are you now? Sixteen? Alethea is-"
"We're both fifteen, Uncle Micheal," Edward was perfectly polite; his tone had a private-school polish to it. "Irish twins; I'm eleven months older." Of course, Micheal knew that. But it seemed he liked to hear it, and he beamed. "Be careful, Alethea," he urged his sister as he nudged her forward, as if she were extremely clumsy.
Malifer hoped she was.
Then Alethea opened her eyes, and Mali immediately felt bad. Her eyes were not natural; they were easily organic prosthetics. And she knew that they never gave sight back, at least, not without extreme pain. It looked like her cousin hadn't wanted to risk that pain.
"Uhm, hey... come upstairs with me. I'll show you our room," she said uneasily, extending her hand to Alethea. The blind girl reached out and followed her up the stairs, managing to only trip once.
