Cursed

Chapters 1-3

Satine Tierney despised being called "Satin".  So much so, she'd actually considered having the "-ine" changed to "-een" just to save herself the trouble of constantly correcting people. Her pride and common sense, however didn't allow it.  After all, it wasn't her fault people couldn't read. Of course those who knew who she really was wouldn't dare mispronounce her name.  Most would never even dare address her by anything less formal than "Miss Tierney".

It was precisely this reason that Satine had, on her 18th birthday, pleaded with her father to let her attend a normal college, miles away from her infamous heritage.  He'd been more than a little reluctant to agree, but with a little (alright a lot) help from her mother, Satine had finally convinced her father to let go.

For four glorious years she'd been a nobody.  At school there was no 'Miss Tierney, heir to Tierney Tech', but simply Satine—student, hard worker, and occasional ivory tickler.  At school she'd strived to get as far away from business as possible, studying everything from painting and archeology, to psychology and chemistry.  She was a naturally quick learner, excelling in almost everything she tried. By the second semester of her sophomore year, she'd already settled on a double-major of history and classical mythology.  Business it was not.

After graduating, and unwilling to return to "Miss Tierney's" life just yet, Satine went to grad school.  Now with her own job and only a few weeks before her 25th birthday, she was standing in the mailroom of her apartment complex facing a polite smile on the face of the little old lady handing over the thick letter that had accidentally been placed in her box instead of "Satin's."

Oh well, you couldn't win 'em all.

"Thank you," Satine said, taking the letter and knowing from the familiar touch of expensive parchment who it was from.

"Of course dear, of course!" The nice woman pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her thin, bird-like nose. "They always seem to be in too much of a hurry to check the names before shoving mail into the boxes anyway."

Satine smiled again, thanking her neighbor and complimenting her rather intriguing necklace.

"Why thank you!" The little old lady beamed and held out the small silver charm for Satine to touch. "It was given to me by my husband 63 years ago."

"It's..." she searched for the right word for the shimmering pendant and finally decided on, "Unique."

The woman's intelligent gray eyes twinkled with a mischievous light as she leaned forward.  Sensing some great secret was about to be imparted upon her, Satine leaned forward.

"I—"

"Woof!  Woof!"

Both women jumped as the bark broke the conversation and Satine's neighbor suddenly seemed to remember where she was.  "Oh my, it seems Mr. Gatsby is at it again."

"You're husband?"

"Oh no," the woman whose name Satine still did not know, said with a laugh. "My cat."

"Cat?"

"He loves tormenting the neighbor's dog."  Another bell-like laugh tinkled around the small mailroom. "Struts about the balcony whenever he sees poor Talula coming back from her walk."

"Oh dear."  Satine bent to catch a letter that had slipped from the woman's hand.

"Yes, yes, I should be going," she said distractedly, not even noticing as Satine tucked the letter back into her pile.  "Don't want Talula to pull poor Jamie into the pool again like last time."

Satine vaguely remembered seeing a black lab and a fully clothed, thoroughly soaked, young woman walking across the courtyard last week and smiled, assuring Mr. Gatsby's owner that she did not take offense at her hasty retreat.