A sigh left my lips as I stopped my car in front of the family compound, making sure to lock it up in the family's parking lot, before stepping out.

The scorching rays of the tyrannical sun scalded my skin, as I carefully tied my long silver hair into a ponytail, to keep it from whipping into my face from sandy winds.

Once done, I glanced at my car, or more aptly, the car I borrowed from a friend, a hot pink pickup truck, with scratches covering all of its doors.

"I don't mind the color, but it's kind of hard to 'not scratch it', This thing looks more scarred up than a honey badger." Murmuring quietly, recalling my friend's request while I tilted my head at the car's paint job.

At first glance it looked fine, but on closer inspection it looked like it had been damaged repeatedly, necessitating repeated paint jobs, each a different shade done over time.

Resulting in all the different shades of pink paint blending together to give it a faint vomit impression.

Course, I could perceive that due to my training in the arts and my Manifest, higher powers know if she sees it. I certainly wouldn't be telling her otherwise if she hasn't noticed the impression.

Fixing my constricting scarlet tie for a moment, I made sure I looked presentable, puffing out any wrinkles in my alabaster collared shirt and soft blue pants.

Though perhaps in many ways, this ritual was ultimately unnecessary, as none of the servants I knew were present today for my visit, for me to make them quietly uncomfortable.

But even if they had been, there weren't many left, as many of the servants were already sent away by the remaining family, whether because they weren't needed anymore or because their atrocious actions would not be tolerated anymore.

I only dressed myself as neatly as I did to remind myself of the past façade of the family, and as an excuse to see how it looked on my human appearance.

Though it did paint a nice smile on my face, when my niece, Cari said I looked so fashionable, it made this silly get up, all that more tolerable to wear.

While reminiscing in that memory, my feet walked though the main gate, a heavy white iron fence door that had been carefully forged and decorated, with the same repeated paint telltale signs, all in the effort to keep it imposing to the untrained gaze.

Though that was how it was during my Elder Sister's-Clarissa's era, when she sought to intimidate and wow guests, the gate nowadays was much more realistically worn, with pieces of the grey metal underneath peaking through the chipped paint.

I could even spot that a few of its decorations chipped off since her passing, on a spiteful whim I peel some off myself, then activated my Manifest and watched it crumble away into dust, amused.

Softly chuckling to myself, I continued forward, cracking a bit more of a smile, knowing she couldn't do anything about it now.

"If she was still around, that insufferable woman would be screaming at the servants asking who was trying to ruin her name like a frenzied dog." I'm thankful Cari didn't turn out like her deranged mother every single day I lived, my heart is already pained from attempting to visualize the image.

Hell, I sometimes wonder if it was simply a matter of time till Clarissa was going to be assassinated, but that's a stray thought for another time. Scolding myself for wasted effort as I stalked forward towards the large mansion, designed in the style of the Victorian era, with sweeping accents to really sell the angle of wealth.

Finely crafted wooden doors, which were further enhanced with minor reinforcement to make the wear and tear more difficult to occur, to extravagant windows given a similar magical treatment, to even silver plaques carefully nailed into the mansions front doors, detailing a outlandish story of the family's birth.

It was all-such a disgusting waste of effort, I mocked within my thoughts as my eyes caught sight of my human reflection while passing some of the mansion large first-floor windows, causing my feet to stop for a moment.

I usually paid no attention to my human skin, it's pretty much just a frivolous action for pointless vanity, but is this not a place and time for it? I stood up straight, staring into the reflection cast by the silent indifferent windows, displaying this hateful form of a human.

Examining my form, I found myself growing amused with some figurative descriptions that appeared in my head one after another, skin that bares not a sign of a stain, with hair that grows like the branches of a willow tree, and a pleasant expression that anyone naïve enough would assume to be wholly genuine.

The only sign I had of any harm on me was my prosthetic left arm, replacing the arm I lost in a confrontation. Even though in truth I could do something about it whenever I wanted to, it serves as a good reminder that my actions could easily affect others more than just myself.

Though now that I bring it up, I guess this form itself could be said to be a fanciful creation of my Mutation, I bemused while I returned to my walking, aware that plenty of people assumed I was unfit as a fighter, let alone capable of dealing death, it was a fascinating assumption.

Darkly chuckling to myself while walking around to the front garden, stopping for a moment once I see a large swath of the plants browning, parched from the heat that smothered the Tejas State.

Some fared better than others, with only a slight browning at the edges, while others were glorified sculptures of dead plants, made of flaking plant remains.

I kneeled for a moment, picking up some dead plants from the garden bed, crumbling it without effort in my prosthetic hand before standing once more contemplating.

"Now that lil'cari is next in line, I wonder if she'd be more interested in getting some suitable plants here than the gaudy shit her mother put here. Stupid things practically drank the nearest aquifer dry for life support."

Grumbling to myself I left the dying plants be, walking by the mansion's side entrance, I noticed it ajar and stopped.

Quietly closing it while I wondered if I was being too rude to the plants, it's not like they chose to be planted here in a land that hated them, they deserved sympathy more than anything.

I let the thought roll around in my head as I shifted gears, examining the wooden door I just closed.

Recalling the fact that the mansion had several entrances, each created for a specific role and status, meant to ensure each group did not go through the same entrance, it was an extensively elaborate system designed by Clarissa over the course of a week.

She thought having specific doors for every single role and status was some strange accomplishment, yet nearly everyone thought of her as pathetic for it, finding the excessive doors tedious and a waste of funding.

Of course, everyone thought better than to mention it to her, even her own supporters in the family were reluctant to even make quips about it for risk she could ever be within earshot.

I kick the dirt In front of the door spitefully before walking away, continuing on my way to the back of the Manor, missing one crucial detail that would prod me later on.

Why was the side door left ajar? Perhaps if I had investigated at the time, I could have dealt with the problems sooner, but I was stuck reveling in my nostalgia until one of the problems reared their ugly head.

I continued my waltz, intent to explore the compound grounds first to relive old memories, but almost immediately, I found a nostalgic spot that I hadn't even remembered until now.

Finding the entrance of the kitchen's back door, where one of the more serious incidents happened to me, a memory I kept in the back of my mind until now.

Clarissa made it clear about how much she disdained me when I returned from South Americ with a Mutation, and actively ignored any harm that the workers (her so called servants) caused towards me.

It was only when they did a shoddy job of covering their tracks, did she punish them for it, often using it as an excuse of how 'gracious' she was for 'helping' me.

Clarissa and some of the other older siblings treated me like I was dead already, a common occurrence was them intentionally placing me into dangerous situations in hopes I died in an accident. Course I am only scratching the surface, as my foot kicks the spot, the sand fluttering upwards, revealing the old nostalgic stone porch beneath the thin layer of sand.

Almost immediately, the memory came to the forefront, of myself, much younger standing there, while a gaggle of family workers surrounded me, each carrying tools, with each and every one meant for harm in one way or another.