Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
PROLOGUE a precious commodity
⋆*✧･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:
ON THE FIRST of October, 1989, in Surrey, England, Penelope Xu gave birth to a precious commodity. Or, in other words, a baby, rosy-cheeked and with the soft down of newly growing black hair on her head. Sweet and innocent, swathed in a blue dish towel, waving her chubby fists into the air as her first cries filled the world. An angel, some may have called her. A miracle.
And they were right. Much like a package stamped FRAGILE in red, capital letters, the birth of Kadence Hargreeves was something that represented great importance. More than that, really. It was an event that would change the world as it was known.
Penelope had always planned to be alone. She'd never been interested in having a husband to nag her, or a child to snot all over her nicest shirts. Both seemed like too much work, and a waste of time, too—after all, their existences would mean having to give up precious minutes that could be spent painting in favour of cooking dinner or... ugh, talking out feelings. No, thank you.
Six years after moving out of her parents' home and into a cozy (really, really cozy) one-bedroom apartment in Surrey, Penelope could honestly say that she was having a great time. Sure, she was still sleeping on an air mattress instead of an actual bed, her bathroom tiles were often rotten and mouldy, and one too many cockroaches skittered across her floor, but all of those discomforts were a price to pay for what she'd always wanted—freedom. A life where she could be blissfully and utterly alone.
All she wanted was to keep going like this.
Then along came the precious commodity.
Today, Penelope had finally decided to venture from her apartment and back into the world. Not because she was searching for fresh air or relaxation or company—all of those were bullshit concepts, anyway. No, it was because she'd finally run out of groceries, and didn't really feel like eating another half-jar of peanut butter for dinner again.
She kept her headphones safely over her ears as she walked the busy Surrey streets, trying to avoid eye contact. Last week, she'd accidentally gotten into the same elevator as her neighbour, and had to endure a whole two minutes of infuriatingly upbeat chatter. In fact, by the end, she'd been invited to a goddamn baby shower on the apartment's third floor. It was repulsive.
A repeat of that incident certainly wasn't what Penelope was looking for. So, she kept her headphones on, her Walkman at her hip, and let The Mamas & The Papas blur the rest of the world out. The last thing she wanted was attention. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to stop and talk to her. She just wanted to be alone.
Unfortunately, that desire was about to turn out like the set-up of some cosmic joke. As Penelope walked, a great discomfort formed in her abdomen, aching like a particularly bad stomach bug. She stopped, clutching at her belly, trying to think of what she might have eaten that would make her feel so shitty—was it the year-old ramen she'd dug out of the back of her cupboards, or the smoothie she'd ground up from whatever fruit had been semi-decent in her refrigerator?
