C h a p t e r O n e
Rosalind, they all had a habit of claiming, was perfect.
Orange and brown leaves drifted down and floated lazily on the small river underneath the bridge that Rosalind stood on. She looked out onto the clear flowing ribbon of water, decorated with autumn leaves. Her white socks were clothed by black shoes and they shifted slightly and then lifted as she reached to the banister of the bridge to peer over one last time. She continued her walk homewards, her blonde curls bouncing behind her. A red silk ribbon clasping it all together in a pony tail.
She walked onto her road, a row of pearly houses that were all painted in pale shades of blues and pinks. The occasional pure white house emerging in the sea of false whites. The Parker's lived in one of these purely inked houses that sported a crystalline white. Rosalind turned into the drive of this house and let herself in. She stood in the doorway, patting down her school kilt and pulling at the cuffs on her white sleeves. The silver button on her shirt gleaming and catching the light from the lamps that hung in the hallway. It was only glimpsed for a fraction of a moment before her blazer sleeve concealed it once more.
"Oh Miss!" A voice broke the serene silence. "You have returned from school, how lovely."
"Victoria, how are you?" Rosalind smiled, "Am I late home?"
Victoria laughed at the absurdity of her question, "Of course not. I cannot call to mind a single day that you have been late. Punctual as always, my dear."
Rosalind answered with a musical laugh as she slipped off her immaculate shoes and placed them in the shoe rack. "How very sweet of you, Victoria. Would you mind if I retired to my room? Homework must be completed. I trust that the menu for tonight's meal is present on my desk along with the time my father will be returning home."
Victoria nodded curtly and curtsied and moved from the steps up to Rosalind's bedroom. Rosalind began climbing the stairs when Victoria answered. "Of course it is, my dear. Why would it not be?"
Rosalind made her way to her room, her hand only just resting on the modern banister. The house mixed modernism and hints of Victorian and Georgian architecture. Her room was a pale pink hue and every item she owned complimented her walls. The floor was polished mahogany wood, the dark shine was kept in prime condition. Three pieces of crisp paper had been placed on her desk, which was in actual fact an old dressing table.
The menu of tonights meal and the time her father would return home. The last was a cream coloured envelope with a blood red seal with her family insignia. Her father had left her a note. She placed it to one side and busied herself with organising her books on her desk in an acceptable manner. Although, acceptable would not quite describe the way that Rosalind functioned. Acceptable could be used in regards to the every day person. Rosalind was not ordinary. She sat down and did her homework in spirally handwriting, occasionally glancing to the clock on her wall.
Finally, the clock struck eight o'clock in the evening and she listened to the latch on the front door which would indicate her father had returned home.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. She counted in her head.
The latch clicked and she rushed down stairs to greet her father, not forgetting to bring the mysterious letter.
Rosalind, as often described by the parents of her peers, was the utter essence of perfection.