It was a quiet evening at the Paige household. Richard Paige was still away working with his campaign manager in order to perfect their strategies and the race. Maisey Paige had crossed paths with the bottle of gin for the second time that week, and was long gone with her mind. Ethan Paige was the golden son. Everything everyone expected him to be, the family favorite. They'd get a kick if they knew what he was up to in the dark alleys amidst the shadows.

The Paige's were notorious for getting what they wanted. Richard was the kind of man, if you could call him that, who'd weasel his way by sucking up to the people above him. He was kind of like an immoral genius. He'd make his superiors think he was a harmless, pathetic coworker until he pulled the ground from underneath their feet. The behind kisser would turn into a power-hungry serpent.

His beloved wife, Maisey, chose to drown out the world by tipping her head back. She acted oblivious when it came to her crumbling marriage. In all fairness, most would pity her if they knew what was happening. Once Richard returned from his 'business trips' she'd become a happy schoolgirl; her youth returned. When he wasn't there, she put on her happy-go-lucky-wonderful-parent facade to the outside world until the doors were closed.

It's when you're behind closed doors that your darkest secrets and vulnerabilities are shown.

Then there's Ethan, much like the previously aforementioned father, a low-life weasel who'd live the rest of his days without much worry of poverty or desperation. When the perfect son mask was carefully placed away, he'd retreat to the shadows to feed his mother's monster; addiction. With every drag and sip, he'd vanish from his life into something worse or better, only he knows.

But, who we've yet to acknowledge is where this begins. Down a long cobblestone path, you'll find at the end a house. Well, the Paige's would call it that, but most of us would call it a palace out of a fairy tale.

By the North side corner there is a girl's bedroom. A piano and series of instruments in the corner, a bed by the window, a huge closet, several cases of art materials, and a girl sitting by a desk. She had a pencil in hand and was crowding the flimsy sketchbook. When a sudden outburst made her grab the grey smudged eraser and rub furiously at the paper, she couldn't hold it back. Tears streamed down her face like cars moving down a highway.

She wiped her eyes as she grabbed her disk.

"Tamara," she whispered, and the palm sized circle glowed a pale blue.

"Hey--" Tamara trailed off.

"I can't get the eyes right, I can't get the face--" Emerson's voice cracked and she sobbed.

"It's going to get better. You have me," Tamara whispered.

The red head sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"I'll be over in five," she said and ended the call.

Emerson ran her hands through her curly red hair and glared at the drawing. How could you get like this? How could you give up so easily? She thought, as a sudden overwhelming anger took control. She ripped the drawing out of her book, and tore it down the middle.

Her mother's broken green eyes still etched in her brain, Emerson trudged down the grand staircase.

"Where-where do-oo you think y-your go-oing?" The dark haired woman slurred as she clutched the wall for support.

"Outside," Emerson said curtly, brushing past her.

"It's dark," her mother stated as she stumbled towards the steps, bottle in hand.

"And?" She challenged, trying to act stubborn, but inside hopeful of a reprimand.

"Make sure you lock the door when you come back," the woman shouted.

Emerson stalked out, slamming the door, and let out a frustrated growl. Then she noticed the figure.

"Tamara! You wouldn't believe what just," she trailed off staring at the dark shape. "Tamara?"

The brown haired boy turned around, face full of scorn, and sneered, "Get out of my way stain!"

"Excuse me?" She challenged, stopping her brother.

"You heard me. Do you need me to say it slower? Or should I explain it. You. Have. Stained. Our. Family. With. Your. Ugly. Face," he condescended.

She stepped back, shocked.

"W-well at least I'm not a druggie!" She shouted last minute.

Ethan turned around, malice in his eyes, and shoved her.

"Stay out of my way," he glowered.

Emerson stared him down, "I'm not scared of you."

He grabbed her arm and she flinched.

"You should be," he whispered darkly, with a sick look in his eye.

She pulled her arm away roughly, and Ethan wandered back inside.

He paused at the door and called out ominously, "Little girls like you shouldn't be outside alone. Especially at dark, and especially if you're stained."

"Dirty, rotten, filthy, scumbag," she muttered as she paced back and forth.

Emerson turned and sat on the porch, waiting for Tamara. Slowly,  her head became heavy, her eyelids drooped, and she lost consciousness.

A/N: OH MY GOSH!!!

IT'S DONE!

PROJECT DONE, WELL THE PLANNING PART!

NOW IT'S REALLY BEGINNING!

I know you all either know me from my KotLC stuff or you're new, in that case I hope you like my writing style, and I hope you enjoyed the story!

I'm so thankful for any of you Keeper fans who decided to read this. It's not something I usually write, maybe a little darker, but I'm so excited. I have so many plans and ideas for where this story will go, and if you ride along with me, it'll be worth it!

So thanks for reading!

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AND STAY BEAUTIFUL!!! YOU ALL TRULY ARE!!! ;)

~Tapqueen101