Word count: 2242

"𝐌𝐘 . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑?" Elizabeth repeated blankly, her eyebrows furrowing as she examined him. "Don't you need to sign adoption papers or something?"

Reginald only gave her an ambiguous smile as he straightened up. "No need to worry about that. Come inside."

He guided her inside the home, which looked much more extravagant than hers—or her old one, at least. 

The foyer itself was enough to make her eyes widen and her mouth drop in awe. 

The room was warmly lit by the small lights that hung on the walls, and the lighting was only aided by the sun that streamed through the tall window with stained glass at the back of the room. 

The window stood behind a staircase of rich tone, which doubled around in two directions to lead to the second floor. Two great columns stood proudly on either side of her, and the ones to the right introduced her to the open archway that led to the living room. 

Reginald didn't seem to share her wonder as he glanced around and called, "Grace!" 

Elizabeth's attention was drawn to the living room that she had just been gazing at as a woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, stepped out, a black feather duster in hand. 

Her reddened lips stretched into a smile as she took notice of Elizabeth, though she quickly returned her gaze to Reginald. "Yes?"

Elizabeth stared up at her, her eyebrows furrowing. The woman was dressed as if she had gone back in time a good fifty or sixty years; her blonde hair was curled and pinned up, she wore a soft blue dress that flared out at the waist, and her neck glimmered with pearls. 

"This is Elizabeth. She is the—ah—newest addition to the family." Reginald waited for a nod from Grace before looking down to Elizabeth and raising his eyebrows. "From now on, you shall be addressed to as Number Eight. Understood?"

Elizabeth was far from understanding, but still, she nodded. 

"Grace shall be your new mother. Approach her if you have any questions." Reginald gestured towards the woman, whose smile only grew kinder. "Grace, introduce her to the other children. She will be occupying the vacant room next to Number Five."

Grace nodded. "Of course." 

A little nervous, Elizabeth accepted the hand that Grace offered. She glanced back at Reginald, who had then turned to head towards the living room, before following Grace up the grand stairs. 

Once they reached the landing of the second floor, Grace released Elizabeth's hand and folded her hands over the white apron that covered her lap. Her voice loudening, but somehow keeping its tender tone, she called for the others to gather. 

Seven children that looked not at all related, but also to be around Elizabeth's age came out of different rooms and walked towards them. Their baffled looks soon changed into ones of curiosity as they caught sight of Elizabeth, and they exchanged quiet murmurs while peering at her.

"Children, this is Elizabeth—Number Eight. She will be joining our family," Grace introduced, offering them a smile while placing a reassuring hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. 

"If Vanya is Number Seven and doesn't have powers, doesn't that mean that Number Eight is more useless? I-is that even possible?" a boy with cropped, black hair asked as he twirled a throwing knife between his fingers. He glanced over to the girl next to him, who then looked down at her hands with a small frown.

"Vanya is not useless, Diego," Grace said sternly, a disapproving expression on her face that caused him to lower his eyes to the ground. "And she is Number Eight, not because of ranking, but simply because she came last. Now, kids, introduce yourself to her, one to seven."

Elizabeth listened attentively as the boy on the farthest left began his introduction. Luther—or Number One—was a tall, lanky, blond boy, who had super strength. He was the leader of the group, and he stated that title proudly with a puffed-up chest.

Number Two was Diego, the boy who had spoken before. His superpower was one of manipulating thrown objects, and, apparently, he had a strong liking to the knife that he was tossing from hand to hand.

Allison was Number Three. She had darker skin, tight ringlets that cascaded around her shoulders, and a kind smile that immediately made Elizabeth want to befriend her. She had the ability to compel people to do whatever she wanted them to do, activating her power by saying 'I heard a rumour . . .'

Number Four was Klaus. He had a slight curl in his hair, and a goofy smile on his face, his voice bright as he greeted her. His power was a rather solemn one, however, being the ability to communicate with the dead.

Number Five didn't have his own name, instead just being referred to as Five, which piqued Elizabeth's interest. He had neatly groomed hair and a devious smile on his face that revealed adorable dimples. He had the power to jump through space and time, which was basically teleporting.

Ben was Number Six. He was Asian—Korean, like her, by the looks of it—with flat, dark hair, and a shy grin on his face. His power terrified Elizabeth the most: he could summon tentacle monsters through his stomach (she made a mental note to never anger him).

And, finally, Number Seven: Vanya. She had long, brown hair and choppy bangs, her brown eyes a bit too bashful to meet Elizabeth as she spoke. She was an ordinary girl, despite the fact that she had been a part of the forty-three children, though she was still a part of this family. 

"Now, children," Grace continued affectionately after everyone had introduced themselves, "make sure Elizabeth settles in nicely, please. Five, darling, she's taking the room next to yours, why don't you guide her there?"

"Okay." Five shrugged.

He beckoned for Elizabeth to follow him as the others dispersed back into their previous rooms. She knew, however, the others weren't quite done with her, and she felt a slight bit of worry as she heard whispers of her name. 

Doing her best to ignore the anxious thoughts that were now coming forth, she followed Fived down the corridor until they reached another staircase. 

They began to climb the staircase. Five glanced back at her, tapping his fingers against the railing, before questioning, "So, what is it?" 

"What is what?" She furrowed her eyebrows as she readjusted her grip on the handle of her suitcase.

"Your powers," he clarified. "What are they?"

'"Oh, uh . . ." Her lips pursed as they reached the landing of the third floor. What was her power? How could she even describe it? She shrugged. "I don't really know."

"What are the gloves for?" he then asked, glancing down at her hands. "Are you that cold? It's like . . . seventy degrees in here."

This Five guy sure had a lot of questions.

"No, I . . ." She looked down at the black gloves that hid her hands before giving another shrug. "I don't know."

"Hm. Don't know much, eh?" he teased.

Elizabeth shrugged once more before raising her eyebrows and curiously asking, "Your power is teleportation, right?"

He gave her a wicked smile. "Watch this."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as a flash of white appeared, and Five was suddenly on the other side of the corridor. He reappeared back to his original spot, a grin on his face. "So yeah, I can spatial-jump."

Elizabeth, still wide-eyed, let out a small breath. "That's so cool!" 

Five beamed. "I know. The others' won't admit it, but my power's the best one. Anyway, that's your room." He pointed towards the wall opposite to him, where a white door stood. He gestured to the door that rested on the right of it. "That one's mine."

"Okay." Elizabeth nodded. She gave him a small smile before heading into her room, and she heard his door shut just after hers had. 

Elizabeth let her suitcase rest next to her as she sighed and put her hands on her hips. Her gaze roamed around the room that seemed to have gone untouched for a long time.

Pushed against the corner of the room was a single bed with white comforters. In the corner opposite, in front of the foot of the bed, was a wooden desk, without a single scratch, and carrying basic stationery. A tall dresser sat against the wall next to her, and, judging by the emptiness of the room, she knew that it held no clothes inside.

Elizabeth gently placed her suitcase on the ground and unzipped it, leaving everything inside except for one of her books: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. 

She sat down on the ground, tucking her knees in as she leaned back on the bed while flipping through the pages, the sight of the words giving her familiarity in a room of uncertainty.

She sighed. Whatever this was . . . it was her life now

—☾—

Only an hour later did they eat dinner, which was a meal quite healthily made by Grace.

Before they were called down, Elizabeth had been warned to stay quiet by Ben, as, according to him, they weren't allowed to speak until the food was finished.

Elizabeth was now wearing the uniform of the Umbrella Academy, which she learned was what the institution was named. Her uniform consisted of a white button-up, a black tie, a red-and-brown plaid dress, and a dark blue blazer that was lined in red. On the left of the blazer proudly rested the crest of the Umbrella Academy.

Once dinner had been finished, Reginald sent everyone back to their rooms for study but stopped Elizabeth before she could follow Five and Ben to the third floor.

"Follow me, Number Eight."

Glancing back at the other children that were all beginning to head back upstairs, she followed Reginald. He guided her down the stairs and into the basement, though she didn't have too much time to get a good look as he led her to another room. 

This room was empty, save for a table that carried an assortment of items. 

"Now, Number Eight, I would like to confirm my suspicions as to what powers you so extravagantly hold." Reginald strode beside the table, his voice stringent as his sharp gaze settled on her. He picked up a black journal, clutching it tightly before picking up one of the other objects on the table. "So, when I throw one of this into the air, channel the energy inside of you, and aim it towards the object. Understand?"

"What do you mean 'energy'?" Elizabeth's eyebrows knit tightly together as she stared at him in confusion.

Reginald sighed as he looked down to the ground before looking back up at her, already seeming exasperated. "See, Number Eight, the power I believe you have is known as . . . psychic energy manipulation."

She tilted her head slightly as she questioned, "Like those fortune tellers?"

"No, no, not like that." He gave her an irritated smile that made her insides twist in fear and embarrassment. "Psychic as in mental. You can create, shape and manipulate mental energy in various ways, you just must channel it from inside."

"But . . . how do you know this?" Elizabeth asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I never told you . . . what happened."

Reginald adjusted his monocle. "I have my ways, Number Eight. No more questions, we will commence your training as of now. Understand?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He stepped towards her, an eyebrow raised as he directed, "Hold out your hands towards me."

She followed, then realizing that she had never taken the gloves off. She had become so used to following her parents' orders that whatever she did for them always sat at the very back of her mind.

"I suspect that was their way of concealing your powers," Reginald chuckled viciously as he shook his head. "It would not have worked. Take them off."

She heeded his order, a slight chill washing over her hands from the temperature change as she neatly put the gloves together and placed them onto the corner of the table.

"All right, Number Eight. Just feel your energy and bring it forth as I throw this object into the air." Reginald picked up a notebook and threw it upwards.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and instinctively pushed out her hands in front of her. Her eyes glowed gold as a jet of golden light burst from her hands and hit the notebook, effectively blasting it into small shreds of paper.

"Very good, Number Eight." Reginald gave a nod, seeming to be fascinated by the result as he looked towards the remains. He opened his journal, grasping a sleek pen out of his blazer's pocket and quickly jotting something down. "Again."

With each object Reginald threw, Elizabeth was able to blast it with her energy, immediately disintegrating it, or at least, getting close to doing so. 

He then taught her how to control the intensity of her blasts, which, according to him, could range from a slight tingling to destructive. 

From then, they practiced with that, him telling her the intensity he wanted, and then her performing it on the object thrown.

A couple of hours later, they were finally finished. Reginald marched around the table, his eyes watching her carefully as he snapped his journal, which now had a few pages' worth of cursive writing from the session, close. 

"It seems that you pick up on things quite quickly, Number Eight. We will resume tomorrow."