The next morning, upon recognizing Joshua's call sign beside one of the flashing icons, Lydia disabled the auto-read notification. "How about we share breakfast?

She groaned. "How about no, you prick?"

Once upon a time, Joshua had been Lydia's good friend. And when hell came at thirteen when Lydia was sent away to school, Joshua, heir-in-wait to one of the strongest families of their section stood by Lydia's side, sending gifts and recommendations. Being backed by the Laurences had sent rumors about Lydia flying and a level of scorn she had yet to experience again.

But they were friends once. It felt like a million years ago, but it was one of Lydia's few good memories growing up.

That damn nostalgia made Lydia weak to Joshua.

She didn't have it in her to treat the man how others treated him. Yes, Joshua was a bitch-imp and a brat, but his less-than-appealing appearance as a child and unsavory rumors about his family had made him the talk of the section—in a bad way. Lydia wished she hadn't known all that, because maybe then she could tell the bastard to go to hell.

She typed in a response. "Sure, thanks."

The screen flickered. "Fantastic!" Joshua exclaimed.

Lydia shrieked but managed to calm. "How—how were you able to force the com without my permission?"

Joshua beamed. "With the secondary auto-response feature, of course. Very costly but well worth the credits. Now, if we meet early, we'll get the entire day together."

And on and on he went.

Give it a rest, Josh. Please.

"Aren't we going to the party with your friends? This time Lars invited me as well. But that goes without saying, doesn't it?" Joshua asked, fighting to smile. "And I went ahead and accepted the invite on your behalf."

Lydia's eyes bugged. "What?" A quick slide of her finger along the surface showed all pending invitations. The last thing she needed was another costly party—and certainly nothing by the likes of Lars. She flicked her wrist, deleting it.

Joshua's smile fell. Judging from his glance off screen, he was getting yet another auto-response notifying him.

"What'd you do that for? I accepted for us as a couple. You brought over a year's worth of credits for my offering. Are you just playing with me? Doesn't that mean you wanted to seriously consider my suit? Are you just some sort of tease?"

That was a good question.

Lydia should tell him to drop dead. Maybe she could do it in a message. Yes. A distant, cold message via interface. That was the way. Or best yet, invite Joshua to dinner—an act that'd probably prompt him to get excited about his suit—only to shoot him down face to face.

How in the hell am I going to get out of this?

And then the worst part came to mind, Joshua would no longer be an option. He shouldn't have been one now but Lydia knew. Joshua was dick-under-glass: break in case of emergency. It would be a cold day in hell. Either Lydia, or Dizzy and Milton getting eaten by an imp split second decision, but it was there. It was there and Lydia cursed herself for being that desperate.

Lydia shuddered.

"If you're worried about tonight, don't be. I've got the best gifts..." Joshua assured her. "That sounds nice, yeah?" he asked. "Are—are you worried about the entry fee? To the party I mean. I can pay it for you and we both go together, like a date. After that we can talk about what to do with our new E. I can't emphasize enough how lucrative fighting him would be."

Lydia stared at him, searching for an answer. Finally, she bowed, "Master Joshua, I'd love to, but my mother—"

"What about the old has-been?" Joshua asked. He paused, remembering himself, and said, "What's wrong with your mother? Can't a servant look in on her? Is she sick?"

Old has-been? Lydia took a step back.

"I'm busy tonight, but go ahead without me," she said.

"Lydia?" Joshua called to her.

You don't speak about Dizzy like that.... Go to hell, low-life.

Beep. Lydia cut the transmission.

She hadn't been around Joshua for a long time but provoking him or anyone in his family was never a good idea. The Laurences were a vengeful lot.

Looking for her father was a more pressing matter. They had to do something about the bills.

As far back as Lydia could remember, Milton, and even Stella had a room of their own. The strange thing about it was, she never knew which one was which. Now when she stood in that frigid hallway, staring at the two doors, Lydia realized that Dizzy's 'don't fornicate with the enemy' rule had been so strong she'd kept her distance from that hallway, almost religiously.

The door on the right opened and Milton took a step back at the sight of her.

"Morning, button. What's on your mind?"

You mean other than our soul-crushing debt? Or your unapologetic and un-secret affair that's driving my mother mad? Where do I start?

Lydia couldn't speak.

The expression she wore made Milton sigh. "Aww, sprog. I know it's a lot of pressure. Coming of age is never easy, but we've just gotta count down. Everything'll be great once you get a theater job."

Years ago, Lydia learned the hard way, the violent and bloody, Dizzy getting a fist in the face, hard way that her father's trigger temper would never reach her. Lydia was sure she could set this house on fire, and the one Milton would blame would be Dizzy. The one Milton would take retribution out on would be Dizzy. She knew not to get between them, because for whatever reason, whatever side she chose mattered.

The only comfort she took was that they never straight out asked her to pick a side. She couldn't choose one anyway. To her, they were both assholes.

"Sprog, you don't gotta be nervous. You're suited for the theater. You're an amazing actress. But you don't gotta pressure yourself. You can get a nice job, an easy one. You don't gotta be the star. No matter what anyone says. Give me a second."

Though he'd exited from the right door, he entered through the left. Lydia waited, debating whether or not to make the finances a topic. If Milton knew about it and just didn't care, then Lydia wasn't sure she could keep from telling him off finally. And should he not know and find out it had something to do with Dizzy's negligence, that was just one more apocalyptic fight Lydia couldn't handle right now.

She had to prod, get a feel for the situation, and figure out if Milton knew. It seemed unheard of that he knew. Milton was solution oriented, blame wasn't something he did for long, but he also had little patience for his wife.

The right door opened. Lydia expected to see Stella walk out, so she lowered her gaze. It wasn't Stella; however, it was Milton.

"Here we go," Milton said, holding something rolled up in his grip. "Got this on the biggest file I could find."

He pressed the long strip of plastic to the wall.

"Now, don't you go laughing 'bout it being old. Data diskettes hadn't come into style till the year after this was taken. All we had back then were films. Had to press it to a wall, too, to get it to work. A real pain in the neck if you didn't have a bare power source. Let's see."

He dragged it along the wall until it finally lit up.

"Ah! Gotcha, ya little sucker. Right, Gander at your old man. I still look good, though, right?"

Lydia took the image in. The plastic clung to the wall and they both stepped back to admire it on its own. Maybe data diskettes were considered the upgrade, but in Lydia's eyes, this film, or whatever it was, was much more impressive.

If she hadn't seen it for herself, she would have assumed it was a painting or something.

"This is the entire cast. And look, I got to stand in the front this time. This was...our second show."

Milton looked young, but proud with his brilliant smile. He was a catch though, and the eyes of most of the people there were on him. In the very center of the image, Dizzy stood proud and smug as she beamed.

"She almost looks fake, how pretty she is," Lydia said before she realized she'd spoken aloud.

To her surprise, Milton nodded in agreement. "That's true. Hell, three of us had to shadow her when she'd go out. I was just a stage hand but they picked me for the job, figuring I'd be a safe bet. She didn't need me though. She already had someone to look out for her."

Look out for her? Lydia could barely recognize the face under that long curtain of black hair. The small stature was unmistakable, though.

Stella.

While everyone was dressed in a fancy costume, Stella stood by Dizzy's side, her barefoot touching Dizzy's shoe. She was clumsy, even back then.

They stood in a row and it was reflective of them now; Dizzy in the center, Stella to the side and Milton somewhat in the background. Everyone else was unrecognizable.

"Your mother wrote that play herself, did you know that?" Milton said sounding gentle. "I know how it must be to see her high out of her mind every damn day. But know that you came from greatness. Know that you came from someone who was powerful once. Someone who commanded attention. It was wasted on me, I guess."

Lydia agreed. With a sigh, she concluded that this, one of the few instances when Milton had paid Dizzy a compliment, wasn't the time to cause trouble.

Although they stared at the photo, Lydia couldn't quite focus on all of it. Some faces were distant, long forgotten ghosts.

"Have you thought about it?" Milton asked at length. "Thought about who you might settle with? I'll be honest, where I come from, you look for a job by twenty-one and fight off a marriage contract to your dying day, ya know?"

Milton didn't like talking about his life before meeting the great Daphne, but times like these when he got nostalgic, Lydia savored the openness. It wouldn't last long, and like an old wound being reopened, Milton would be quick to close down again. These moments meant far more than any credits.

"Like...like if you'd take after me or go a traditional route?"

Talk of cultural specific marriage was an old-fashioned way of thinking. Milton must have known as much because he wasn't his usual bright and jovial self. A chuckle was his preferred way of masking something uncomfortable. Hell, it was the way Milton had approached the all-out war he had with Dizzy when he'd come back from one of his long escapes to find Lydia with her sight suspended at the tender age of thirteen. Back then, it was more of a 'don't let nobody touch you, and if they do, keep hitting 'em til they're good and dead' kind of attitude.

That speech was already three weeks too late, and without it, Lydia might not have known anything she'd done—she'd let happen—was so wrong. She might have said something if she didn't fear Dizzy ending up in the medical section at Milton's hands again.

Just as she'd done back then, Lydia shrugged. "I don't know. I try not to think about it." She glanced at her father out of the corner of her eye, feeling sorry for him somehow. "Do men really wear skirts in the Lower-Levels?"

With a chuckle, Milton nodded. "Yes, ironically we do. Women, too. It's weird how money influences so much."

"Money?"

"Course." Milton gestured to his own feet. "Fabric got expensive after the Colony sank. So trousers were a big deal then, and not just trousers, but trousers with a sash. One person got a bigger sash as a status symbol to say he had money. Before you know it, everyone's got trousers and a sash on the front above it. Eventually, it ended up at the back, too. It doesn't close at the sides so it's not a real skirt but I get why people tease us about it." Another hearty chuckle made his voice rumble. "So yes, by the grace of the Colony, you'll never see it in the main areas, but yes, men in the Lower-Levels wear skirts. Despite all that, most are strong traditionalists; male to female, and culture to culture. Ya know?"

There was an awkward silence between them until Lydia asked, "If I went the common, would you really care, Milty?"

"Common? Noble to non-noble?" Milton swallowed hard and shook his head. "No...don't suppose I would. Don't get me wrong, back...back then, yeah, I would have cared. I would have hated it. Nobles should marry nobles, E's should marry E's, and Yules for Yules. But now...." He paused and gave Lydia a wry smile. "Now don't you go telling nobody your pah was a born and raised traditionalist. Your mother would hang herself if that shit got out. But I'll admit, the thought had bothered me."

Lydia's throat tightened. "That's not a part of why you leave, is it?"

"What?" Milton met her gaze and smiled. "Lydia...the heart you've got in you, is so strong I sometimes worry it'll pop and leave you in ruin. Life is short, and if you're gonna die from some stupid ideal, you'd better make damn sure it's your own.

"Look at the E's—poor bastards—they can't give a single touch to a regular Yule without crying out in anguish. Yet the people who get to, they take it for granted. I don't ever want you to be lonely. So if it's the common you're for...then okay. The common it is. Don't hesitate for that."

Milton didn't always act like a father, but the few times that he had made Lydia think the man could have been a good one if he'd just try—if he'd wanted to.

"I guess...I always felt like you hated Dizzy for having my sight preserved. But at least she changed her mind later. I was too young to understand any of it, but I'd thought you would have been happy when I got it restored again." Lydia waited for a response. Finally, she grumbled, "You were anything but."

"I was a little...put off," Milton admitted.

"You were pissed beyond belief."

Milton turned to her. "And what about you? Weren't you pissed beyond belief?"

Lydia's breath hitched, her throat dry.

"You were barely a month old when you were examined and prepped. How's that fair? You forgive everything so easily, and I envy that about you," Milton said. "But I hated the 'enhancement-prep' then, and I hate it now. It's expensive, impractical, outdated, and cruel. Those days are over, there's no need for bionic modifications anymore."

The benefits and downsides to the procedure was one Lydia knew by heart. For as far back as she could remember, she was given a briefing each year. In truth, everyone around her was in the long process, so she hadn't noticed that it was unusual—not until her sight was removed but no one else's. She didn't have a friend left after that. And then she went away to school and she didn't want a friend, anyway.

"It's not cruel," Lydia said, almost reciting the yearly broadcast. "Back in that time, that operation was the difference between growing up to live a normal life, or being snatched away by poachers; forced to breed a possible imp by mistake in an attempt to get an artificial Elemental."

Milton didn't answer. That was unlike him.

Eventually, he muttered, "That's how it started out. And that was desperation. Families nearly sold their own body parts to make sure they could afford to get their kid enhanced.

"After the laws changed, the rich picked it up as a way of guaranteeing a strong head of the house." He snorted. "Idiots didn't realize that if the kid chooses to stop the process part way, they're rendered sterile depending on hormones in the treatment. They had to turn to breeders and adapt the common anyway. So what was the point? And what's the point of it now? A status symbol. Daphne chose to have something like that done to you for what? To fit in? To be included? And then what? Throw an enhancement at you with no warning? At thirteen? She could have chosen physical strength, good memory. Anything. Nobody does the eyes so young. Not when the restoration is years off. You're supposed to do it within a year of the eighteenth birthday."

The gravel in his voice betrayed his lasting venom about it. Lydia didn't want to think about that time either, because it was the one time in her life she truly feared Milton would commit murder—he would have if not for Stella jumping in.

"Why did the poachers want kids, anyway? I thought they wanted E's," Lydia asked, hoping to change the focus of the conversation.

"They do," Milton said. "Artificial E's are common enough now, but back then." He sucked his teeth. "Shit, one failure after another. The last straw was when they started going after pregnant mothers and injecting them with the serum. Every defect they conceived was thrown with the other imps. Calling them imps," Milton drawled again as he turned to face the wall once more. "As if that means they weren't supposed to be human. Anyway, kids were the next targets. Adolescents impregnated and considered strong enough to grow the infected fetus. So to curb it, medics figured out how to make it hard to perform the experiments; enhancements."

Lydia flinched.

Milton nodded. "And it worked. But then the laws changed and they cracked down on poachers."

"But they didn't stop the enhancements?" Lydia asked.

Pursing his lips, Milton shook his head. "Money, I told you. The rich still did it, other sections followed." He chuckled. "To hell with that. Where I come from, enhancements are one anomaly we don't agree with. So I admit it, I fought it. But then after the enhancements preparation happened...." He glanced at Lydia and nodded. "I kinda felt it was okay. The medics swore it wouldn't hurt ya. And just so long as you were around others like you, they said you wouldn't care. Just so long as we didn't make a big deal outta it. I'm sorry if I made ya feel like I wasn't proud of you because of it, or that something was wrong with ya. I was proud." He nudged Lydia and chuckled. "Remember those recitals?"

Thoughts of Milton jumping out of his chair at the end and whistling while Dizzy, and even Stella, hid their faces in shame made Lydia chuckle.

"I thought you were just being polite," Lydia mused.

Milton laughed. "Cut me and you won't find a polite bone in this body."

"That's true." Lydia calmed, her eyes fixed on the picture. "Very true."

They stood side by side in amicable silence until Milton asked, "So anyone in mind?"

There wasn't anyone, but rather than admit to that, Lydia sighed. "So long as you wouldn't hate me if it ended up being Joshua. After a lot of struggles against it, that is."

Milton didn't laugh; he didn't so much as crack a smile. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

Lydia gave no response.

"Don't even joke about that," Milton said. "Joshua's nuts about you, and you know deep down you'll never so much as like him—not in a million years. Don't you dare joke that you'd walk into a marriage like that without looking back. It'd be cruel, and too much pressure on you to live with a drooling mess you can't even respect. Joshua's not an option. Ever."

Those words felt a bit too real, but Lydia whispered, "I can love him if I tried. I know I can. I can love anyone."

Milton didn't have an answer. He just went back to looking at the image on the wall.

"Can I ask you something?" Lydia whispered.

"Anything, button. You know that."

Throat feeling tight, Lydia coughed. She needed a moment before the words would come. "Why...why...?"

Milton's blue eyes were somber when he said, "I guess life is like this picture. It looks so good on the surface."

"Everything'd be okay if you'd just love her," Lydia muttered, staring at the image on the wall.

"I know," Milton agreed. "But love doesn't hurt. Love's not supposed to hurt. Love is fifty-fifty. Anything less is pain. Some people aren't capable of love. The best they can do is possession. I just hope you make it outta this house knowing the difference."