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Description
When I first saw him, he was coming up to our mansion in a white automobile. I stared out the window of my bedroom to see the ruckus.

Our blue eyes met.

I quickly turned away, blushing. Oh my, that's... Alexander Arine? What? Why is he at our home? My, he's even more handsome than those old wives say, I thought.

Clearly embarrassed at turning away, I buried my face in our newest book arrival. It was about a ritual, or practice of some sort, that is known among the world as magic. The book was incredibly interesting and I was reading the last hundred pages or so when there was a knock on my door.

"Um, Miss? Mr. James has asked for you."

Annoyed, I opened the door, book in hand, and gracefully walked into the room my father was in, as I was taught. My father looked at me with stern, cold eyes. I mostly attempted to brush his harsh ways off. The man was not my real father at all. To everyone else, he was a kind, generous man that took in a young widow and her child. To me, he was strict, sexist, and absolutely repulsive. I should have been grateful that was all he really was.

"Elizabeth! My wonderful child, please introduce yourself to our lovely guest." The way that horrible man said "child" made me want to spit in his face and run away forever. Instead, I fixed my black hair and walked over to our young guest. He appeared to have been in his early twenties, maybe younger, with beautiful blonde hair. His eyes looked so innocent and kind, two traits I hadn't been introduced to since the day my mother died.

Our guest stood, his hand outstretched. I quickly shook it, his soft skin giving me comfort.

"Alexander." He said. "Alexander Arine." He gave me the biggest smile I had ever seen.

"Elizabeth James." I smiled back.

Description
When I first saw him, he was coming up to our mansion in a white automobile. I stared out the window of my bedroom to see the ruckus.

Our blue eyes met.

I quickly turned away, blushing. Oh my, that's... Alexander Arine? What? Why is he at our home? My, he's even more handsome than those old wives say, I thought.

Clearly embarrassed at turning away, I buried my face in our newest book arrival. It was about a ritual, or practice of some sort, that is known among the world as magic. The book was incredibly interesting and I was reading the last hundred pages or so when there was a knock on my door.

"Um, Miss? Mr. James has asked for you."

Annoyed, I opened the door, book in hand, and gracefully walked into the room my father was in, as I was taught. My father looked at me with stern, cold eyes. I mostly attempted to brush his harsh ways off. The man was not my real father at all. To everyone else, he was a kind, generous man that took in a young widow and her child. To me, he was strict, sexist, and absolutely repulsive. I should have been grateful that was all he really was.

"Elizabeth! My wonderful child, please introduce yourself to our lovely guest." The way that horrible man said "child" made me want to spit in his face and run away forever. Instead, I fixed my black hair and walked over to our young guest. He appeared to have been in his early twenties, maybe younger, with beautiful blonde hair. His eyes looked so innocent and kind, two traits I hadn't been introduced to since the day my mother died.

Our guest stood, his hand outstretched. I quickly shook it, his soft skin giving me comfort.

"Alexander." He said. "Alexander Arine." He gave me the biggest smile I had ever seen.

"Elizabeth James." I smiled back.