AN: Hello! I present you all with yet another story I may or may not follow up on. You can never really tell with flaky people like me. However, I'm pretty into my idea for this one, so we'll see how it goes.

This chapter... It's short and seriously lacking in boys that sing, dance and sell newspapers, I know. Both of these things will change. Just think of this as a semi-prolouge. Let me know what you think. I'm shallow, and reviews are like the only things that ever motivate me. :]

I came off the boat unsteadily, my eyes frantically searching the crowded harbor. It was so loud, too loud. The grayness of this scene was stifling. The world was getting nosier, faster, busier, and I was left feeling catatonic. My muscles tensed and my stomach felt as though it was tied in knots. The overwhelming voices of strangers, the pelting rain, and the unfamiliarity left me gasping, struggling to retain my composure. The urge to scream, to cover my ears, to run, to react battled with all I'd been taught during my eight months in Vienna.

"Duffy?" A voice I knew called out from the mass of bodies like a beacon of safety. "Duffy!" My mother cried again, finding and embracing me. Her joyful yet gentle hold as well as my father's welcoming grin brought me back from the brink of panic. Soothed by their presence, I found myself emerging from my anxious trance. In his smooth tone, my father said, "Let's get you home, darling."

We arrived at our home, a luxury apartment on 5th Avenue. The ivory and gold adornments in the hall made me feel at home and secure. I found myself contemplating whether I could stay there forever. My fantasies of isolation were interrupted when my father cleared his throat and handed my luggage to Lloyd, our butler. "Drusilla?" He called me by my impractial, horrendous, yet true name.

"Yes?"

He looked unsure of what to say next. A sense of guilt welled up in my gut. This situation made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it. In his defense, who could be prepared to handle a daughter like me? "We're glad to have you home," was all he eventually mustered, with a warm hand placed on my comparatively small shoulder. And somehow, this was the most appropriate exchange I could imagine.

Soon after, I retreated to the solace of my bedroom. The lavender walls and lacey curtains seemed childish, ironic even. I stretched out on the oversized four poster bed. It felt like exactly as it had the night of the incident. How could my bed, my room, my city have remained so static in these months when I had evolved into an entirely different woman?

"Baby doll?" My mother cooed from the other side of door, not long after I'd come to my room. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," I replied thoughtlessly.

She opened the door gingerly. That's how she did everything, ever so calmly. Every simple task poised and gentle. She was the perfect wife for a man like my father, the picture of what I should have been. I had been molded to be like her, to marry a wealthy man and quietly run his household. However, that life plan was now nothing more than a dream. I'd failed my parents. I'd failed myself.

Seating herself at my side on the bed, she took my hand. "We missed you very much," She said and carefully touched my caramel-colored curls. "It was lonely here, without your pretty smile."

Unable to meet her patient gaze, I smiled sadly at the floor. We sat quietly for a moment, maintaining a cautious composure. They don't teach you how to handle situations like this in the finishing schools I'd attended for years. There's no proper etiquette for a homecoming like this. In our silence, a bird chirping and a man laughing could be heard in the street from out of my open window.

We looked up towards each other, eyes meetings, and suddenly my tears of relief and uncertainty burst forth from my eyes. My mother instantly reached her frail arms around me creating a tight embrace which I folded in to. As sobs racked my body, she rocked me back and forth, wordlessly.