Fire And Ice

Chapter 1 - Burning Bright

Natalia's P.O.V

The constant, monotonous ringing of the old analogue alarm clock permeated my light sleep. I groaned as I slapped at it to turn it off. I groggily got off my thin mattress and walked the short distance to my bathroom, if you could call it that anyway.

All the tiles were loose and stained. The metal tub and shower were completely brown with rust. The mirror was cracked and hung loose. The sink had mould growing in the drain and was grey.

I would clean the rancid bathroom if I could but my pack denied my request for the cleaning supplies I so desperately needed. They also refused to give me a new towel, bar of soap, sponge, toothbrush and tube of toothpaste when I'd requested so I had to borrow from their huge stock. Unfortunately, I couldn't use that method to solve the problem of my bathroom since they check my living area every month.

I brushed my teeth and took an ice cold shower, all the while careful not to touch anything longer than absolutely necessary. After I was done, I rushed back into my attic room, wrapped in my towel. I dried my waist length brown hair and got my clothes - a grey, baggy, long sleeved shirt and loose trousers that hid my body well - out of my crimson duffel bag that was constantly packed.

I turned to stare at my reflection in the cracked full length mirror.

For as long as I could remember, no one other than my mother had ever seen the true colour of my eyes. When I was almost four, she bought me green coloured contacts and taught me how to put them on then told me never to remove them. I changed them periodically but nobody had ever seen me without them.

It was the same thing with my hair. She dyed my hair brown and bought loads of brown dye then told me never to let it fade.

Snapping out of my funk, I hung my towel on the door of my ever empty wardrobe, tied my hair in a high ponytail, put my sneakers on and jogged down the stairs with trepidation. I walked to the kitchen, doing my best to avoid the unlikely people that might be up at 4:30am.

The kitchen, unlike my bathroom, was pristine. It had all the most up to date kitchen appliances necessary and the storage room had dozens of every ingredient needed.

I cracked my knuckles and got to work. By 7:46, I'd made bacon, omelettes, ham sandwiches, turkey sandwiches, custard, oatmeal, orange juice, fruit salad, protein shakes, you name it, I probably made it and enough to feed an army of 284. By 7:54, I'd set the table. By 7:58, I'd finished my breakfast of fruits and water that I was forbidden to have and by 8:00, I was standing in the shadows of the corner farthest from the double doors to the enormous dining room. At 8:01, my rowdy pack burst through the doors.

I watched in bemusement as my pack fought over mundane things and the Slut Squad picked at their veggie salads.

All heads, except mine, bowed as the alpha walked into the room. Daddy dearest, Clark Lightwood, was 5' 11'' and had puke green eyes (they were truly puke green - no exaggerations) and thinning brown hair that was already mostly grey even though he was only 37. Behind him was his successor. Harry Theodore Lightwood was all muscle and no brains. He was 17 years old, 6' tall, shared his mother's blonde hair and our father's puke green eyes and had a rarely used brain that could produce a C minus at best - I was talking very good situations.
A trait he and his twin sister got from their mother.

Mrs Tiffany Helena Lightwood was the mother of the leader of the Slut Squad, Brittany Penelope Lightwood. Both Brittany and her mother were blonde, shared the same icy blue eyes, skinny as sticks and dumber than them.

The Lightwood family took their seats. Clark at the head, Tiffany to his left, Harry to his right and Brittany on Harry's left.

I despised them with every fibre of my being.