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CHAPTER THREE. Pray you see me Buried ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI am ashes where I once was fire.ㅤㅤTHE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTONㅤ/ㅤlord byron
ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ
THE CITY, NOVEMBER 2003 / 2019
ㅤㅤIN SOME WAY OR ANOTHER, his siblings didn't like him, some more than others— Five Hargreeves knows that much. He knows why they don't but doesn't really understand why they've put their feelings forward like so. Number One hates him because he's managed to crawl onto the same stage as their father, where they can regard each other with a shred of mutual respect; Number Three hates him because he hogs all the attention during their studies and attention is something that she's always looking for. Number Two hates Five for something that he's not quite sure about, he's boiled it down to Two's ego; Number Four doesn't really hate him, but he hates Number Four for all his eccentrics and his incapabilities. Number Six is someone that he's relatively okay with but Five knows that Ben is jealous for the same reason One hates him, and Number Seven likes Five, but her jealousy sometimes outweighs her cordiality. He doesn't know why they blame him for all their lacking aspects— if they were that jealous, they could just work on themselves.
Five has recognised, much earlier, than any of his siblings, that any kind of emotion in this place was nothing but a waste of effort. In all aspects of his life, Five Hargreeves would consider himself a calm, collected boy. Number One's obedience towards their crazed, millionaire father; Number Three's dreams of a life outside the house with aforementioned Number One, Number Two's affection towards a mother programmed to care for them, Number Four's eccentricities to cover his fears, Number Six's unwavering anxiety, and Number Seven's envy of them all. So many intense emotions, all gone to a wasteland— it is almost laughable to him that strong as these emotions were, they are useless.
It's surprising to think that Reginald Hargreeves, who had never been seen with a beat of anxiety in his step, would be capable of breeding children with such intense fires; a poised man, his every ministration tainted in unadulterated elegance, grooming a flickering flame so that it turns inside out and begins burning itself. Perhaps Five shouldn't be shocked that he's able to do so. He's only surprised when he feels the burn of fire beneath his own skin— Reginald Hargreeves had got to him, the old bastard. Small as Five's fire may be in comparison to his siblings', there are three unavoidable instances where it could be argued that his emotions may have gotten the best of him.
The smell of burning wood, the crackling of a birthed flame; instance one.
Living within Reginald Hargreeves' home for peculiar children entailed a strict routine, never to be dismissed in the promise of punishment. Five had gotten used to waking up at seven am, no matter what time he had gone to bed last night ( you'd be sent to your rooms at eleven on the dot but Five never fell asleep until later ) and dressing himself in the mandatory uniform as he heard the clamouring of his siblings downstairs. Despite being his room being on the highest level of the house, Five would always find himself alone, first, waiting on the lowest stage of the stairs for the rest of his siblings to come and slot themselves in order next to him.
