I land heavily in the dirt behind the rose bush.

How apt, I think drily to myself as I shimmy my short silver skirt back down over my thighs, where it got rucked up from climbing the stone wall. The matching silver heels are sadly still on the other side, but I couldn't think of a way to get them and myself back onto the property. There's no way I can throw accurately with this much tequila in my bloodstream.

Mmm, blood. I could do with some of that. The sunlight, while pleasantly tingly on my sensitive Moroi skin, seems to have transformed my throat into the Sahara desert.

Keen to retreat into the tinted confines of the indoors, I stumble barefoot out of the flower bed and towards the general direction of one of the front doors that dance alluringly before me. There's something I have to remember about the front door, but it remains irritatingly out of reach, held aloft by the tequila. Or maybe the vodka. Or the weed?

I smile to myself. It was a good night.

Front door, front door… My smile morphs into a frown as I try to remember. I think it might be important. Oh well, maybe it'll come to me after a shower and some sleep. And some food and blood. Mmmm, blood. I wonder what time the feeders wake up?

I use one of my strangely disconnected hands to get my keys out of my pocket. It takes me a second to realise that this skirt doesn't have pockets. Man, was it always this short? I'm pretty sure it covered more than just my ass when I put it on.

Keys, keys, where did I put my keys? Aha! In my clutch! The silver one, to match my shoes and skirt. Now where did I put my clutch?

After several drunken moments, I manage to locate the clutch that is slung over my shoulder. I fumble with the clasp, but eventually I pry it open.

Okay, let's see. Tampon, condom, cellphone, pen, flavoured condom- SCORE! Lighter, hair slide, Hello Kitty… Oh wait, that's my keychain!

Luckily I only have like three keys on this thing or I would be screwed. With much scratching, squinting and not-so-silent cursing, I get the key in the lock and turn. There's a moment of soaring pride as I push the door open, only to be greeted by the piercing gaze of a guardian.

Right, that's what I was trying to remember. The front door is always guarded.

I grin up at the formidable figure, turning on my infamous charm. "Any chance you'll let me go to bed and we can just forget about this whole thing?"

His face doesn't change, which is pretty standard for a guardian, but I take it as a 'no' in this instance.

I try again. "And is there any chance you won't tell the headmistress?"

Nothing. Not even the faintest hint of a smile.

"Fine," I sigh. "At least I gave it a shot."

It doesn't take long for the headmistress herself to emerge in a tartan dressing gown, clearly not pleased to have been woken. She takes one look at me from her position on the stairs and her face contorts in disgust. She doesn't look the least bit surprised.

"Guardian Keane, please get Rose a cup of coffee. We'll be in my office."

I'm annoyed at the way she orders him around—and make no mistake, it was an order. The 'please' was just an illusion. But I can't exactly tell her that in my current predicament, not that there's ever really a good time to disagree with her. And so, I have no choice but to follow her up the stairs.

The office that we enter isn't actually the office. It only has one client, actually, and that's me. I believe it was an arts and craft room before I discovered my true calling; the role of the rebellious teenage daughter. And so my mother has two offices, both of which I am frequently visiting, though they look much the same. The same dull fancy wallpaper, dark wooden furnishings and the exact same reprimanding expression. I've heard tell that it is possible for someone to be called into the headmistress' office for a good reason, but I myself have never had the pleasure.

The only difference between this office and the one inside the Academy is that this large dark desk houses several framed photographs of the family, including several of me at various adorable ages. I've always assumed that they're there to remind me of how far I've come.

Ah, the good old days when I didn't sneak out the house to drink and party.

"Rose, sit."

She manages to look formidable even in her pyjamas, though I suppose that's hardly surprising since she always manages to be intimidating despite her unusually small stature. I have her to thank for my own ridiculous height; five foot seven is practically midget territory amongst the Moroi.

I do as instructed, mostly because the room is spinning rather alarmingly. The antique wooden chair that I plonk down on is as uncomfortable as it looks, and I'm pretty sure it was some medieval torture device before it found its home here. Strangely enough, the room continues to move around once I'm seated.

The guardian enters with my coffee, silently setting the mug on the desk in front of me before egressing just as silently, closing the door behind him.

"Drink," orders my mother.

There's nothing better to do, and the coffee smells damn good, so I take a tentative sip.

Warmth floods into my mouth, rushing directly upwards to better revitalise those few remaining brain cells that I haven't managed to pickle in alcohol yet. It soothes my dry throat a little, though I'm still in dire need of some blood.

By the time I drain the dregs of the beverage, enough reason has returned to me that I am somewhat able to appreciate the situation I've landed myself in.

Going through the front door, what a rookie move! And those shoes were expensive, I'll have to go back and fetch them tomorrow… or later today I suppose given the hour. That is, assuming I'm left in one piece to do so.

Across the great expanse of her desk, my mother fixes me with those piercing blue eyes that I sometimes wish I'd inherited.

"So," she begins. "Let's just get this straight. This evening, we ate dinner together, watched some TV and then you said goodnight, and went upstairs because, and I quote, you were tired?"

I just sit in silence, knowing that this is far from over.

"The next part is just guesswork, but you've done this so many times before that I think I can fill in the gaps fairly well. You did your hair and makeup, pulled on an outfit so skimpy that it's hardly deserving of the name, and then, I'm assuming, you climbed out the window. Am I getting this right so far?"

You couldn't pay me enough to answer.

"You headed to a party where you drank and smoked yourself stupid, stayed out until all hours of the morning, then stumbled blindly home and climbed the wall, in the blazing sunlight, after which you were so utterly wasted that you couldn't even remember not to use the front door. Have I left anything out?"

Well, there were several activities at the party that she missed out, but I'm hardly going to set things straight for her. "Uh, no, that about covers it."

She looks briefly up towards the ceiling, as if asking for divine intervention. No lightning bolt is sent from the heavens to smite me, so I have to assume that her prayer fell on deaf ears.

She pauses for a moment, then says: "I know this is not the first time you've done this. It's not even the first time you've been caught. And I will not tolerate this any longer."

I struggle against the reflex to roll my eyes. The worst thing she can do is ground me, and even that I can escape. Luckily, my mother doesn't know just how excellent my climbing skills are.

She studies my face for a few moments, not pleased with what she finds. I'm not surprised. I probably look smug and stoned. It's been a long time since I last attempted to live up to her ridiculously high standards, and I have since discovered that my talents lie rather in being a complete disappointment.

"It's late, you're drunk, we'll discuss this later. You go to bed and sleep it off, I need to phone your father."

Her tone gets my back up. By 'it', I assume she means my personality; something I haven't been able to sleep off in my seventeen years of life. Where does she get off, treating me like a child? Then pulling out the ever so threatening, 'your father and I will discuss this.' I find myself wishing he had been here, but his work calls him away fairly often. When it comes to choosing my favourite parent, there's very little competition.

Once inside my bedroom, I lock myself in. I'm sure my mother will have a great time hunting down the spare key when she tries to wake me up, thus giving me an extra fifteen minutes to sleep, and giving me some small amount of petty satisfaction. Too lazy to put my clothes away, I strip and leave them crumpled on the floor on my way to the shower.

I lather away the layers of smoke, dust and booze fumes from my skin and hair, replacing the foul odours of the excursion with the scent of my favourite orange and jasmine shampoo that my dad brought me from a faraway land.

I let my mind wander, dreaming of the day that I can escape to such a place. Somewhere where I don't have responsibilities or parents or some unreachable example that I'm supposed to set for the people I'm supposed to be better than. A place where nobody knows my name and I can get into as much trouble as I want.

Exhausted, I collapse into bed and roll myself up in the muted, down-filled world of my blankets. I close my eyes.

It feels like only a second has passed before I hear the dull thudding on my door.

"Rose! Rosemarie Dragomir, get up right now and open this door!"

After a few minutes of this, there comes the sound of grumbling and retreating footsteps. Smiling, I roll over.

Rose: 1, Mom: 0.

My good mood lasts until the exact moment that I open my eyes, upon which my head enacts its revenge upon me.

"Up!" my mother commands, ripping the blanket off the bed.

I curl myself into foetal position, shying away from the ridiculous amount of light in the room. The sun is setting, surely it should be darker than this? The sound that I emit is startlingly similar to that of a dying alpaca.

"I don't feel well," I groan.

Even my own voice sears through my tender brain, grating against my skull and making me wish for death.

"I'd be disappointed if you did. Get up, you're going to class."

My stomach roils at the mere thought, so I don't move. In fact, I don't think I ever want to move again.

"Rose, get up."

I stay where I am. The lady is 5"4' after all, what can she possibly do about it? I have never felt less like obeying her than I do in this moment, and that's really saying something.

"I'm going to count to three, and then you'd better be on your feet."

"Good for you," I grumble into my pillow, wincing as my head pays the price for my sass.

"One."

I roll my eyes behind closed eyelids, but I think she sees it anyway.

"Two."

Does she seriously think this is going to work? I doubt anything short of an anti-gravity chamber would be able to shift me in my current state.

"Three," she waits for a brief moment, but I think she's smart enough not to actually expect anything to happen. There's a resigned sigh, then: "I warned you."

I hear movement above me, and then the bed all around me is soaked in freezing cold water. In the next instant, I'm on my feet, swaying slightly and dripping wet.

"What the hell?" I rage, my splitting headache fuelling my anger.

"At least now you don't have to take a shower." Her tone is as dry as I am drenched.

I see red. The heat of my anger burns in my chest, and I carelessly give it permission to transform into something more. Flames leap up across my skin with a hiss. I make no attempt to control them as they get bigger and bigger, casting a red-orange glow over my mother's shocked expression as she flinches away. It's the first time I've broken through her composure in a long time. It's good to know she isn't completely immune.

I call my fire back once I'm dry, suppressing a satisfied smile at her reaction.

Her voice is choked with outrage. "Rose!"

I shrug. "What?"

"You've gone too far this time, Rosemarie!"

Her eyes are wide. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was afraid of me. She backs out the room, gaze never leaving my face. Something twists in my stomach.

I dress slowly, nursing my headache, but she doesn't come back to hurry me. In fact, when I eventually leave, she's nowhere in sight.

Our house is on the Academy grounds, so it's a short walk through the campus to get to the cafeteria. I pull my cocky, bad girl attitude over my face like a mask, but in my head I keep thinking about the events of the morning. Considering how hungover I am, it should be impressive that I was able to pull off that spell.

And it's perfectly ridiculous that she's so upset. Of all the terrible things I've done, including that time I stole a car and crashed it through the main gate, this is the thing that she freaks out over? The fact that I used a challenging spell that I have had to practice for months, and all because it could possibly be construed as offensive?

"How could you do that, Rose?" I grumble to myself in some approximation of my mother's voice as I fetch a tray and grab a donut. "Moroi magic is sacred, Rose! It's a gift! How dare you use it as anything other than the cute and harmless party tricks we use our magic for, which would make our ancestors roll in their graves?"

I slam my tray down on the table, receiving little satisfaction as the loud sound slices through my tender head.

"Somebody's in a good mood this morning."

My best friend smirks at me over the top of her algebra textbook.

"What did Janine do this time?" she asks with a smile.

I glower at her. "I went to Jesse Zeklos' party last night."

Her smile evaporates, and she groans. "Because why would you want to stay at home and study for the algebra test?"

The corners of my mouth twitch, despite my terrible mood.

I was an adorable kid; really cute, with my big brown doe eyes and dark hair, like a Disney princess. In fact, since I happen to be a princess, people always assumed that I was gentle and ladylike. That impression normally lasted about as long as it took for me to open my mouth.

Everyone was glad when the rowdiest, most mischievous kid in the class became friends with the actual angel; Vasilisa Dashkov. They thought she'd rub off on me, the fools. But despite being polar opposites in nearly every way, Lissa and I have been best friends for over ten years.

"Exactly," I reply, returning to our conversation. "So anyway, when I got home, I forgot about the guardian at the front door-"

"-No!" she gasps. "Rose, tell me you didn't!"

"Yup. I went through the front door at two o'clock in the morning, high as a kite and completely plastered."

She puts her head in her hands and groans.

"You shouldn't even be alive! What did Janine do?"

"Nothing yet," I shrug. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. But that's not the end of the woeful tale."

She raises her eyebrows. "There's more? Surely even the great Rose Dragomir cannot do anything worse than that?"

"Apparently I can. If anything, she reacted worse to what I did this morning."

"What else could you possibly achieve, as hungover as you are?"

"That's the thing, it wasn't even that bad. She threw water on me and I just dried myself off."

I pause, but she's not buying it.

"…Using elemental magic."

There's a second of silence, then: "You WHAT?!"

A hush falls over the cafeteria as numerous heads swivel our way, trying to listen in on our conversation.

"Ow," I wince, clutching my head. "Headache over here, can you not be so loud?"

Lissa leans forward and grabs my wrist, speaking in an agitated whisper. "What were you thinking?" Her face pales as another thought occurs to her. "Rose, did you hurt her?"

"Give me my arm back," I grumble, pulling it out of her grasp. "I had perfect control, but she completely freaked out. You should have seen her face. And besides, when do I ever think about what I'm doing?"

"This is different."

"Why? Why is it so different? I've done things so much worse than this, why is it this thing that she reacts to?"

"I know you've done your fair share of dumb things, but this was stupid, even for you. You could have done some serious damage this time."

I recoil like she's slapped me. As far as I'm concerned, she might as well have. I stand up.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

I cut her off. "I'm late for class."

I stalk away without a backward glance, leaving in such a hurry that I forget I had meant to pay a visit to the feeders. My throat burns dully at the thought of the loss, but the sensation pales in comparison to the flames of my indignation.

I gave up on my mother a long time ago, but now Lissa's taking her side? For some stupid reason, I thought that maybe she'd be proud of me. It's not an easy spell to do, and I executed it flawlessly. I really should have known better than to expect so much.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review to let me know what you liked and what you didn't. It's always fantastic to hear your feedback, especially when embarking on a new fic. Feel free to favourite and follow, too, as you see fit. I am not the strictest updater, and if you'd like to know when I do post, it's a good way to keep in the loop.

I am really excited about this one. I've been writing it for a while, and though I've only got like two more chapters completed and I swore I'd finish my other fic before I started posting this one, I just couldn't sit on it any longer. And my self-worth is pretty fragile, so I get a kick out of compliments from strangers on the internet. Ha. Ha ha. The way that the dynamics shift fascinates me, and this is my first actual AU. If you saw any mistakes, please correct me, as it's currently unBeta'd.

The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.