Sylvester Rider's parents were odd. They had an inexplicable amount of money, they always practised caution and observation when outside, and they both showed remnants of injuries, limping occasionally, when they trekked around the landscape around their mansion-like cottage in one of the lesser-populated areas of Norway.

Sylver Prince, as his father Franklin Prince nicknamed him, also found it odd that his mother, Hazel Alex Rider, would so often tell him stories of his ancestors varying from some long-lasting degree to her own mother, but never her own story, when he could tell that her own life was far from dull.

It didn't seem like Sophie Rider had accumulated enough money for her daughter to retire at under fifty, after all. And she kept telling him she'd explain where his first name came from, and telling him to remember that he was a Rider more than a Prince. She said she could see her mother in him, strongly.

At the age of eight, he decided that when he could, he'd change his surname to Rider, to match his Mum's.

He was nine when his parents told him they were expecting another child. He didn't know what to expect, and he sat in the garden and stared at the sea for some time, every day. It became a habit, and a calming one. After school, he would sit and stare, no matter the weather.

One winter's day, when school had been called off, he still sat out there, though he took a blanket and a hot water bottle. He couldn't see the wind farm in the distance that day, but the snowflakes that fell around him relaxed him too, so it was alright.

At school itself, he preformed adequately, learning German over the Norwegian and English he already spoke. Literature lessons he took in English and excelled in, reading and writing and thinking; technical subjects like Maths and Science he enjoyed less but endured.

Sylvester was ten when his little sister was born. His mum insisted she be called by the surname Rider, his father suggested the first name Kinley. And a delighted big brother held her dear.

When she was one-and-a-half, Kinley started calling him Sylver. Alright, it sounded a lot more like "Syller," but it warned his heart nonetheless.

At thirteen he joined a creative writing club. He'd always loved stories, ever since his mother had been speaking to him about the family history as a kid. He'd taken to telling them to Kinley, the family stories, and when he started dreaming up plots and intrigues he would vocalise them to his mother. He discovered that she was great at noticing plot holes and following his thought train, and often asked her opinion on matters of prose thereafter.

He was fourteen when he had an idea, for a book to write. Though he enjoyed reading fantasy, and war books, he'd never found one which blurred the boundaries of the good side and the bad side, for example, or was ambiguous over characters' identities, indicated some things, and then tore apart that indication.

He figured that a great way to make a book dramatic would be to have two clearly separate viewpoints, one of which appeared a hero and one a villain, before, in the very final chapter, revealing that they were on the same side.

He'd got the inspiration from, in part, his mother's stories, the oldest ones of which in particular included a lot of moral ambiguity. He mentioned the idea to her, and she told him that it would be a very interesting book, asking, "When do you plan to write it?"

A spirit of rebellion arose in Sylvester then, of stubbornness, and he set his jaw as he looked her in the eyes and said, "When you tell me your story, I'll tell the world mine."

She sat him down, and he learnt her past.

Her story was the most ambiguous one he'd heard, and he wished he could write it, but knew he could never. It was her life story and it was incriminating. However, he would have to settle for writing his own, as he'd told her he would.

Through his mother waving money around, when he was sixteen, having finished one level of studies and passed well, he got in contact with a publisher. They received a copy of his book, DarkSide, and their feedback was positive, so he told them of a few of his other ideas and they decided to give him a deal for his book, and potentially any others he would write, which, after reading the terms, he accepted readily and eagerly.

Previously, he'd never had a plan, more a series of vague hopes as to how his life would preferably go; this was something he would latch on to.

Still living with his parents and his little sister, Kinley, who was six when Sylvester had first signed with his publisher and had been very proud of her big brother making "grown-up books," which was her phrase for books without pictures, he wrote three more books before his twentieth birthday, the first, DarkSide, having had some commercial success and won a prize. His third and fourth books won a couple of prizes, too.

However, it was the fifth book he wrote which made his name, and no small amount of money either.

Labelled "Based on a true story," Puppy Loved was oriented around a tale Sylvester had been told by a friend of his from school, named Elias. The both of them had gone to an all-boys school, and Elias had gone on to further study while Sylvester had turned to writing for his money.

Sylvester didn't know first-hand what Elias's story felt like, but the tale had touched him enough to write about it, his own rendition, depiction, of his friend's predicament.

Elias had told him a story of a girl.

She'd been in half his classes, been nice, friendly, pretty enough, and intelligent. Elias had always been well-read and high-achieving, having particularly followed some authors' works on topics such as the World Wars which helped him in the history classes they'd shared, and Sylvester suspected the other young man was sapiosexual - attracted to intelligence - at least, to some degree, judging by the rest of the story.

It'd taken a short month or so of competition at the top of their classes before Elias had developed what he described as "not love, but a strong sense of attachment and possibility that still hasn't quite left me" towards her.

At the culmination of the next month, it was his birthday, for which she'd brought him a cake.

Two months of not much happening later, during which time he drifted away from her slightly, unsure whether or not she appreciated his company over others', or at all, and not confident enough to presume she did, she brought exactly the same cake for someone else.

He hadn't been sure if she and her female friends had always talked so loudly about other guys' muscles or good looks in front of him, but it certainly renewed his resounding doubts about himself over the next few months that she did, often and loudly.

She even moved away from the table they'd shared in one of their lessons in order to sit with her friends.

It had all looked so good for Elias, in his mind at least, but it was not to be. He'd lost hope but not attachment by the six-month mark, and still, reminiscing, couldn't quite let her go.

"One of our teachers even presumed we were in a relationship," Elias had told Sylvester, wry grin on his face and morbid humour in his eyes. "As did our peers." The grin disappeared. "It was a mess, the whole thing. I'm glad it's over." He snorted. "Best years of your life they said, yeah bloody right!"

Elias received half of the profits and the starring role in the film, so he had very few problems with girls after that.

Nor for that matter did Sylvester, who got on rather well with the actress who'd played the love interest in the film.

Sylvester Prince and Natalie Strand started a relationship when he was twenty-one and she twenty-three. Fortunately, she got on well with Kinley, who was now eleven, as well as Hazel and Franklin, who were now in their late sixties.

She was confirmed to be pregnant within six months of the relationship itself being confirmed.

It's been eight months on this story... Once again, I am a terrible person, but this time I have some kind of excuse. I've been writing.

Not writing this, unfortunately, but I've expanded into the category of A Song of Ice and Fire (the book series that Game of Thrones is based on). If you've read them, feel free to check out what I've done while I've been ignoring this category (sorry again for that!)

So... This feels like a good time to tell you guys that I usually leave a bit of myself in all the characters I write and create. Sylvester, for example, is the writer in me, the creator. Paul was the music-loving side. Some of the aspects of Hazel are my smartarse parts and she also includes my isolation.

However, (and this is one of the times when I'm seriously hoping no-one I actually know is reading my work on here, particularly from my school, where a few know who I am on this,) that little tale of Elias's? For the book labelled "Based on a true story," which Sylvester writes and publishes?

It's based on a true story. My story; of which that section may not be over but might as well be.

I don't know why I thought you guys should know, but... I did. So there it is. My sad little tale.

Oh; this is a critical point in the story, by the way. You may have noticed, but Hazel and Franklin have two surviving kids. Sylvester and Kinley, the latter of whom I haven't touched on much this chapter. I've been debating what to do with them both (there ain't enough room in this story for two lines of families, you know,) and have had to make a decision on the course of the fic.

Hopefully there'll be a next chapter at some point, to clarify what exactly I've planned!