Author's Note: Warning- minor descriptions of violence. (And yes, I know there are some major historical inaccuracies- sorry not sorry :) also, just to be clear, i am using the ever-unpredictable Google Translate for translations, sorry for any inaccuracies there. If you want me to start posting the translations in English at the end of each chapter, please let me know :) thanks!)

Alex's POV:

I woke up in a daze. Squinting through the heavy layers of sleep crusted in the corners of my eyes, I saw mint green. I stopped, confused. My old room on the island? But that was impossible. I remembered a storm- running- the screams-

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I'd left the island behind a long time ago. This was my new bedroom in Senator George Washington's house, and I- oh shit. I'd overslept. I had to go make breakfast. I bolted up. I saw a set of clothes laid out on the foot of the bed. Were they meant for me? They had to be. I slipped out of my old clothes and slid on the new ones, noticing how baggy they were. But it wasn't until I went into the bathroom to get my medications that I realized the full effect. I stood in front of the mirror, shocked. My skin was pale and caked with dirt. My cheekbones were hollow, and a visible scar ran down the side of my head. My hair was wild and tangled. The clothes dwarfed me. Quickly, locking the door behind me so that no one could walk in and yell at me for using their things, I scrubbed my face until all traces of dirt had disappeared, brushed my teeth, combed my hair out, and put it into a ponytail. There was nothing I could do about my obvious scrawniness. I reached for the bottle of pills and took my prescribed amount, but as I tried to screw on the lid I accidentally knocked it over into the sink. Every last pill slipped down the drain. I stared in horror at the empty bottle as unsolicited memories began to resurface.

"Idiot boy. Lost your medications, did you? Well, let me show you something. This is what happens to ignorant little whore's-son bastard orphans who don't do what they're told." I heard the whip before I felt it, sharp pains shooting through my spine, re-opening old wounds. It broke the skin. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn't make a sound. He hit me harder if I cried. I felt blood streaming down my back as the sharp pain slowed to a dull throb, the way it always did after about ten lashes. I didn't dare tell him that I had seen him selling my medications on the street that very morning. If he knew I'd left the house, he'd kill me.

I gasped. My eyes flew open. I straightened up. Nobody could know that I'd spilled them. If the Washingtons found out, they'd never pay to replace them. I'd be out of the house in a heartbeat. I could survive without the pills. I'd have to.

I stood in front of the stove, flipping pancakes and shifting bacon in the pan. Laf stumbled in sleepily, still in his pajamas.

"Alex, mon ami, what is that amazing smell? What could you possibly be cooking this early in the- cher dieu Alex, sont ces crepes et bacon?"

I grinned. "You know they are."

He stared at me. "Mon dieu! Tu parle francais?"

"Oui, vous feriez mieux de regarder ce que vous dites autour de moi."

He laughed. "Maybe you can translate for Laurens sometime. He doesn't speak a word of French."

"Do you speak any other languages?" I said with genuine interest.

"Spanish. I know, pretty unexpected. I took courses in it all through elementary school. It was in a different town. I was living with my... first foster father. On a island in the Carribean. " His eyes had gone dark with hatred.

I turned to him, hardly daring to ask. "What island?"

"St. Croix."

"What was his name?"

"Peter. Peter Lytton."

I heard his words, but the meaning didn't register. My mind flooded with memories. The whip. The blood. The screams. The horrified look on James' face that fateful night when we came home to find his body swinging lifeless in the doorway, suspended from the neck by a rope. But most of all, a memory long forgotten. The way he'd always muttered about the evil foster child he'd had before us. Lafayette.

"You?" I whispered hollowly. "You were the one before us?"

He looked at me strangely. "He mentioned me?"

I nodded.

"I'm guessing it wasn't exactly in une lumiere positive, hein?"

"Lejos de eso, me temo," I said, smiling sadly. "Lejos de eso."