Morning light slipped through the room's pale pink curtains and fell upon a large, wooden four-poster where one drooling girl and a curled-up cat dreamed of adventure and fish respectively.

The high-pitched screech of the alarm clock-a Wizard Kellog Punishing Series Four-tore through the morning silence and ripped Abby from her dream of trekking over the snow-covered peaks of Terrabund.

Eyes still closed, Abby flung an arm in the direction of the alarm's sound, but caught the tip of Lucy's tail instead. He shot to his feet and gave Abby a hiss as he batted her hand away.

Giving a stretch and a yawn, Lucy shook himself free from the last remnants of sleep, and trotted over to the clock. It continued to blare, making Lucy feel as though his head was about to burst open and splatter the wall with his brains.

It'd be a shame, he thought, to reduce such a splendid face to a mess on one of Abby's boring, white walls. So, determined to end the clock's reign of tyranny and preserve his strikingly handsome face, Lucy took a paw and knocked it off the table.

The clock clattered to the ground, gear guts and tiny metallic hands spilling from the clock's cracked face. It whined, as though it were an anmial caught in a steel trap, before- with one pained, protracted hiss-it finally grew silent.

Lucy narrowed his eyes and puffed out his tail in triumph. Head held high, he trotted across the bed and turned to face his next adversary.

Time to wake, love, he meowed, as he tapped Abby's nose with a paw.

Abby grumbled something he was sure was gibberish before turning on her side to get away from him.

Come now. Don't be such an impetuous grump. Lucy jumped over Abby's body to face her again and smacked her nose harder this time.

"Knock it off, Lucy," Abby said, as the cat navigated around a puddle of drool that'd gathered in the folds of her pillowcase. Undeterred, the cat brought his paw down on her a final time with just enough claw to catch her nose.

"Okay, okay."

Abby harrumphed and shooed Lucy away before peeling her eyelids open, the blurry wonders of Mirea staring back at her from her ceiling.

"You're relentless," she said as she looked at the small cat next to her. He sat cleaning his whiskers, basking in his success.

Abby sighed and sat up, stretching her arms overhead. The silk blanket slunk off her shoulders like a snake shedding its skin and gathered in her lap.

Lucy nipped her hand. Abby gave the cat a little half-smile and slid a hand down his back and tail. Content, Lucy nestled himself in the folds of nightgown and closed his eyes.

Abby yawned, her gaze wandering from Lucy to the roaring waterfalls of Dewlin painted across her ceiling. It had always been her dream to have an adventure-a grand one recorded for future generations-full of discovery and hard fought battles, friendships and love.

She wished she could live a life unfettered by a noble's duty, filled with free-flowing libations, dancing, and off-key singing; the same chaotic life she'd heard erupting from the streets of Laos come nightfall.

Abby felt her room grow small as she realized her world would never be as big as she hoped it would be. Inside these walls, surrounded by all the opulence-the fine linens, the finer furniture-her life would be decided by her class. She was expected to be a dutiful child, and, when she was old enough, a loving wife. Abby sighed. She would make a terrible wife.

"Besides," she muttered. "Who would I even marry?"

Lucy looked up at the girl with a quizzical gaze.

"I only know Crum and-" Abby's face twisted in disgust, a snicker passing through her lips. She couldn't finish her thought. A life tethered to Crum would be no life at all.

"I should have just kicked him in the crotch and ran," she said, remembering yesterday as she flopped back against the bed, warmth creeping across her face. "Stupid, idiot Crum-"

A woman burst into Abby's room, a whirlwind of tanned skin and navy skirts. Her bright, gem-like blue eyes drank in every nook and cranny of Abby's expensive, albeit boring, room. Once the woman had had her fill of ornate, antique furniture and plush fabrics, she turned heel at the foot of Abby's bed and flashed a nervous grin.

Her chubby fingers tugged on the frayed edges of her apron ties as she bowed. "Ma'am, Miss Naomi's sent me up here to get you ready, proper." She bowed again, turned, and headed toward Abby's closet.

Must be new, Abby thought as she eyed the maid's wrinkled frock. Mimi would lose her dung if she knew one of her maids had traipsed into Abby's bedroom, failed to give an introduction, and had born a striking resemblance to a lumpy pillow, one that needed to be taken outside and fluffed a few times for good measure.

"And you are?" Abby asked as she watched the unnamed maid going through her racks of clothes.

Ignoring her, the young maid focused on Abby's dresses, shaking her head no to most. A few managed a second glance before the maid decided these too were unacceptable and were tossed aside.

The maid finally settled on a navy dress with patchwork daisies. The dress' long sleeves, high collar, and thick wool material made it Abby's third least favorite dress. She grimaced as the dress was chucked beside her on the bed.

Abby cleared her throat, hoping to catch the maid's attention, but she just continued her work, scuttling across the floor to grab a pair of beige mules. The maid returned to Abby's bedside clutching the shoes and a pair of nude stockings she'd wrestled free from the couch cushions. Smiling, the woman laid these items beside the dress, and gave the completed ensemble an approving nod.

"Well, what do you think, ma'am?"

Abby crossed her arms, reluctant to tell the wide-eyed maid how she truly felt. Lucy sat beside her, pawing at one of the dress' daisies. His gaze lingered on the no-name intruder, teeth bared.

The maid frowned at the silence, then at Lucy, before turning her gaze toward Abby's bookshelves. Her eyes regained their sparkle as she eyed each one; books on Mirea's history and alchemic advancements, maps of the Fabled Lands, ballads and poems that told of treasure seekers and pirate hopefuls all filled the dusty shelves.

Her eyes lingered on a series of books in the Wizard Kellog: Figurative and Literal magickal line. Abby smiled. Her trove of Wizard Kellog books-collected through the years on birthdays and at booksales-had been her treasure.

"Well, ma'am?" the maid asked again, her attention returned to Abby, her fingers playing with a few strands of greasy, brown hair that framed her toad-like face. Abby turned toward her, saw the woman's hopeful smile, and eyed the outfit again.

She sighed. "It's dreadful."

Abby picked the dress off her bed, holding it at arm's length as if it had been coated in a quick-acting poison. She gave the maid a comforting pat on the shoulder before scurrying over to the closet and feeding the nightmarish dress to the dark corners of the floor, hoping it would take the hint and disappear forever.

"By the way," Abby said as she grabbed a simple cream dress off a hanger. "You've been in my room for a good ten minutes and have yet to tell me your name." She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "If you don't tell me, I'll just start calling you," Abby stroked her chin, "Violenna Basmarria-"

The maid shuddered. "I'm Margoliesse, ma'am. Margoliesse Fennick. I started two days ago." She frowned, her hands twisting the hem of her apron. "I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself..."

"It's alright, Violenna." The maid's head snapped to attention, her cheeks aflame. Abby giggled as she threw off her nightgown and put on the cream dress."I'm kidding," she said, smiling. "It's nice to finally meet you, Margo." After adding a thin knit over her dress, to help fend off the harsh, autumn sea winds, Abby turned. "You're not much older than me, are you?"

Margo nodded. "That's right, ma'am. I just turned twenty."

Dressed in something that felt like actual fabric and didn't attack her skin, Abby moved away from her closet, returned to the bed and snatched up the nude tights.

"Please don't call me ma'am," she said, rolling the stockings over her knees. "It makes me sound like I'm one of the Brimmed Brigade."

Margo knitted her thick chocolate brows in confusion. "Excuse me, ma- Miss, the Brimmed Brigade?"

Abby smiled and patted a spot on the bed beside her. Hesitantly, Margo sat down and the bed moaned, her ample butt causing the bed to rock forward. From the end of her bulbous nose to the slightly pointed tips of ears, Margo blushed.

Abby stifled a laugh. "They're a bunch of old women," she said. "Rich and snotty. They wear these nightmarish wide-brimmed hats and sit on the pier, feeding gulls and swaying like shadows. Dad calls them worse names, but I think Brimmed Brigade is the only one I'm allowed to repeat."

Margo chuckled. "I see, Miss. They sound vile."

"Oh, they are! Rumors say they feast on the marrow of children to keep them alive. It's best to stay away from them."

Margo nodded, her fingers sliding her thick rimmed glasses back up her nose. "May I ask one thing though, Miss?"

"Sure, what is it?"

Abby moved toward her vanity, grabbed a brush, and ran it once through her hair, before opening a lacquered box. Inside were dozens of tiny ribbons, each one part of a pair. Lucy hopped onto the vanity and ran his tail along the box to give it a thorough cat-dusting.

"What did you mean when you said, 'swaying like shadows?'"

Abby plucked a red bow from the box and tied it around Lucy's neck.

He meowed his approval. Red, a devilish color for a devilishly handsome cat. A fine choice.

Abby grabbed the matching one and placed it in her hair just above her ear.

"It means being shady. Talking gossip, spreading rumors. Stuff like that. You've never heard the saying?"

Margo shook her head.

"It's from a popular roping rhyme. Lots of kids sing it."

"I see." For some reason, Abby thought the maid looked troubled. Her brow was furrowed, her fingers tapped against her tree-trunk thick thigh.

"Why do you ask?"

At Abby's voice, Margo perked up and any worry that may have shown on her face, disappeared. "Oh, its just oddly familiar. Reminded me of something I'd heard back home."

"Really?"

Margo nodded as she looked out onto Abby's balcony, peering at the horizon. There was something sad in the way she held her gaze, staring beyond the sun.

"How is it you're not dressed?" A voice crackled through the air like a bolt of lightning. "What are you? Half-slug?"

Abby's insides froze. Oh, dung!

An older maid, one dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform and starched bonnet, huffed into the room, deep lines of annoyance trekking across her leathery forehead.

"Finish up, girl. You've got guests."

Naomi, the Tells' oldest maid, glared a glare that would freeze the sun. It made Abby shudder. Mimi tossed the beige shoes into her lap and goaded he to put them on fast.

"What guests?" Abby asked.

Mimi sighed. "Do you have the memory of a slug, too?" She placed a weathered hand on Abby's head and started patting down the flyway strands of blond hair. "The Mayweathers, child. Your father invited the whole lot for your party. They've arrived early and are waiting for Your Majesty to grace them with her presence."

Abby frowned. She'd completely forgotten about her thirteen birthday party. It would be her debut into high society and wealthy families from across Mirea would be in attendance. It would be awful.

With her shoes on, Abby was thrown lovingly from the room, Mimi making last minute adjustments to Abby's clothes and dress. Margo waddled behind them, and Lucy behind her.

Lucy kept his distance from Margoliesse, ready, if the need arose, to strike her down. He didn't like this new maid. Something, besides her fat face and lumpy middle, was off.

As if feeling the cat's eyes boring through her back, Margo whipped around and glared at Lucy.

Quit it, furball, she mouthed. Your suspicion will blow my cover.

*Don't forget to press that star if you liked reading thus far. ^-^*