So this was initially a self insert, but then I decided, "Nah, self inserts don't exactly have the best reputations in the world," so I changed the name of the character to a name that is common but one that I like, and changed her personality to a more paranoid, less open one. The OC in this story is also the same OC I used in one of my previous stories, but these stories do not take place in the same universe.

I have put so much into this story. It took me so long just to write the first chapter.

With that said, here is An Anxious Visitor.

Chapter One—Bitter Cold

Well, I've landed in another tough situation, haven't I?

My back was stiff and frozen in place, preventing most movement. My eyes were frozen shut, like the strongest glue had been used on my face. I had been numbed by the gentle white crystals of winter, paralyzed, and trapped by ice. I hadn't been conscious, luckily—but my subconsciousness transferred the gelid aid to my dreams, and all I could see from there was a world of cold black. There was only one thing I could hear distinctly—

Thump, thump.

Thump, thump.

Thump, thump.

Thump . . .

I soon craned my neck up to a dimly-lit, frigid setting. The surface I lied on was freezing, rough and wet, my environment was dark, only illuminated by twinkling lampposts. Small white snowflakes flurried down upon this city in the night, piles upon piles collecting in dark alleyways. All was quiet, except for the distant echoes of cars moving along crunching snow. As I had discerned, this place was a humble suburb, with a decent, thriving population.

Moaning, I pressed my weak, shaky hands on the ground—Only, it didn't feel like normal ground. I had unwittingly placed my hands in a puddle of icy slush. As I jerked, startled, my fingertips froze along with the winter air. Snow quickly coated my hands like a blanket from Jack Frost. Sadly, I had the tremendous misfortune of only wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and roomy gym pants. Not a coat, or a quilt for even a second of heat. I felt as though my temperature was dropping every second, but I couldn't just lie there on my own. I'm not one to immediately dive into action when there's trouble, because I'm used to being pushed aside and told to wait until an expert solves the problem.

Well, let me begin—my name is Annabelle, with a preferred nickname of Anna. It's not the name I'd rather have, since it's ridiculously plain and common as dirt, but I have learned to live with it. At school, it wasn't exactly a rarity to witness one of my teachers or peers calling out the name 'Anna' only for another Anna or two, especially me, to ask, "Which one?" Quite an annoyance. But, it was normally one of the others, I was always the quiet, submissive one. The different one.

Anyway—I pushed myself up into a sort of push-up position and scanned the area. It was definitely some place new, and I didn't recall ever wandering into this area—only waking up there. I stood, brushing the thick snow off myself, and saw a dark, wet stain on my shirt from the snow. My pants were also soaked, coated in frost. Cold freeze hit my entire body like lightning, and I hugged myself tightly in a vain attempt to retain warmth. I could visibly see my breath escaping my mouth, lips growing icy and pale. At this point, there wasn't anything left to do . . .

So, I trudged along the snow-covered sidewalk I had woken up on, rubbing my hands on my arms to try and maintain heat. Nothing worked, and my shoes were only growing soggier from stepping in sloshy puddles of slush. Not that I could do anything, though; my shoes had been practically ruined months before I woke up in this cold place. I slogged along the sidewalk for a few minutes, until I came across a puddle of water that hadn't been frozen yet. My reflection appeared as I loomed over the puddle.

I gasped in slight alarm.

I gaped at waist-length, slightly wavy chestnut hair—though, it's hard to tell with how ridiculously thick and abundant it is. My eyes were tired and hazel, and shielded by a pair of black glasses. I always hated my ordinary appearance, because brown hair and brown eyes were even more common than my own name. My whole life I'd wished for blonde hair, blue eyes, maybe red hair and green eyes, like Jessica Rabbit. But this time, my hair had icicles dangling from horribly split ends, my face was sickly pale, purple bags lingered underneath my eyes. With all the snow flecking my face, my few cheek freckles were hardly visible.

Sighing, I lifted my head forward, spotting a mysterious silhouette of a man with an umbrella and a thick winter coat. I raised my hand meekly, but the man simply glared, and pushed past me carelessly, knocking me into a contaminated slush puddle.

"Watch where you're walkin', kid. And wear some proper winter attire, you look like the village fool."

I panted from the cold, shakily regaining my balance. At the moment, I was more shocked than angry at the man—but, what energy did I have to even go on a rampage? I had hardly harnessed enough energy to stand on my own. With the cold digging at the last atoms of strength I had left, I proceeded to cautiously walk down the snow-covered path, where traces of people were left behind, from dropped coins, footprints, paw prints, and the remnants in the snow on the road from where cars and heavy trucks drove. Along the slow journey, I wondered, Where on Earth am I right now?

What is this city called?

Who all lives here?

. . .

Can anyone help me at all?

The mental questioning distracted me from a solidified heap of snow in front of me, and I caught my foot on it and stumbled forward. I groaned again, wishing so hard to be under a warm bed comforter, and that this was only a horribly frigid dream.

Then a bright light.

I blinked.

Out twenty feet ahead was a humble, inviting convenience store, accompanied by a small, old-fashioned gas station. There was a sign on the store that read: Flip's Food n' Fuel. I instantly felt a wave of relief wash over me, and I picked myself back up to weakly approach the store.

As I grew closer, I noticed a short, plump old man with a bushy gray mustache and eyebrows, wearing a decent set of winter attire. He was chipping the ice off the windshield of his large vehicle, and occasionally spewing out growls of frustration. This was a man I could only presume to be the owner of the convenience store, seeing how nobody else was really at the place.

When I stepped onto the property, my footsteps quite noisy in the thickening snow, the terribly-complexioned man turned and smacked his lips. "Hey there, popsy. Come to buy a Flippee from Flip's Food n' Fuel?" he boomed, as if I was all the way on the other side of a mountain.

I covered my ears, then shook my head. I'm usually very shy around people I don't know, particularly adults or relatives I haven't seen in over two years. So I said meekly, "No, sir, I-I'm lost, I-I don't even know how I ended up in this place, and, and . . ."

The man hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Well, if you dunno where the heck y'are, ye must be illiterate! Yer in Royal Woods, kid."

What! Royal Woods? Excuse me?

"R-Royal Woods?" I said dumbly.

"Yeah, where else?"

"I just, I ended up on the side of a road, and I have no idea h-how I even got there . . ." My teeth chattered as I spoke. I turned my head to the store, where the lights were on and it looked toasty. "C-Can I go inside?"

"Ya got money?" the man asked plainly.

"P-Pardon?"

"Money. Ya know, ta buy. New policy o' mine: You cannot exit the store without buyin' something."

I froze in disbelief. This male equivalent of a hag wanted money in return for a chance to survive? I was speechless, put in shock. I was on the brink of hypothermia, and maybe a chance to the Emergency Room, and he wanted money, of all things? I hoped that none of the other residents of this Royal Woods place were like this, as I just carefully trudged along and avoided eye contact with the man.

"An' be sure to come back to the home of the Flippee when you have the chance!" he exclaimed vigorously, watching me walk away, even more desperate and lonely than before.

I moaned to myself, trying so hard not to crumble under all the stress and despair of waking up far from home in the winter. At least I was away from the seven siblings—yes, you read it correctly—pushy, overbearing parents and tough school life I had. Though, I was beginning to reconsider my longing to escape. I knew I'd never get home if I didn't find a phone, or a trustworthy person who could get me home or safe without me having to pay money before entering their house.

My wandering and wondering and pondering went on for half an hour, as I randomly took turns on the curbs of the suburban roads, and by then, I was completely surprised that I was still alive. I looked up and noticed how I had come across the entrance of a spirited little neighborhood, with a friendly welcoming sign and lovely-looking homes. Some of the homes had a decent remainder of Christmas decorations on them, from deflated snowmen to tangled lights. I assumed this was a neighborhood with welcoming people and even kids for me to associate with before getting home, so I didn't hesitate too long before walking down the path of houses.

One of the first homes I came across was one that definitely belonged to a family with playful children. It was a fairly big home, with a snowed-up yard, a huge Redwood tree with a tire swing, and a large, old blue van in the driveway. The actual house had a red door with a metal plate next to it reading 1216. Obviously, it was the number of the home's address. On the dark gray roof was a boomerang, halfway covered in snow, and another toy in the shape of a circle that I had no idea what to call. This home was my first choice, my first real chance at surviving . . .

So, I stepped up to the porch, nearly slipping on ice, and knocked, my hand trembling. I waited for a brief moment, spinning my ungloved hands urgently.

About ten seconds later, the door went open wide, revealing a boy who was about four or five inches shorter than me—but what caught me off guard was his snow-white hair. It was uniquely white, not blonde, but completely white. He wasn't old in the slightest, he was short and lacked wrinkles or dried-up, raisin like skin. Instead, his skin was fair and smooth, perhaps he had a little patch of peach fuzz on his chin. He had an orange pajama outfit on him, and wore a friendly smile.

"Oh, hi. Are you one of Lori's friends?" he asked, smiling kindly.

My mouth parted a little, as it grew dry, began to taste foul, my eyes started to water, and a lump came in my throat—

"Hello?" the boy asked. "You don't look so good."

I finally shook my head. I had grown anxious, as I always do when speaking to somebody new.

"Just a moment, please." The boy turned, pushing the door back, and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Mom! There's some stranger at the door! She doesn't look too good! Come over here!"

I dug my right foot into the heaping snow on the welcome mat, staring at the ground. My chest pumped, growing exponentially faster each second, as my fear of being rejected and kicked out of the property aroused.

Just as I was about to lose my hope, a tall, broad-hipped woman with pale blonde hair and a pink sweatshirt answered the door. She had a friendly face and thick, succulent red lips.

"Hi, I'm Rita Loud, how can I help y—"

She stared at me, scanning me from head to toe. Her smile waned into a look of shock and concern, as she faltered and stuttered, clutching the red door. "Lincoln . . . ?"

The boy his mother had addressed trotted to her side. "Yeah, Mom?"

Rita, the mother, dropped her jaw. "Oh, goodness! Who is this, Lincoln? Why are there icicles—"

"I dunno, Mom. She just appeared out of nowhere. She's not one of Lori's friends. I don't think any of us know her."

"Uhh, Mom, who's at the door?"

I leaned my head to the left to look inside. Down some black, unstable stairs hopped a girl, shorter than me, wearing a red and white jersey and shorts. Her hair was as brown as mine, only hers was shorter and pulled up into a ponytail. "Woah, Mom, who is this girl?"

"Uh, we don't know, Lynn—"

Lynn shoved her way in front of the woman and took a look at me. "Yeah, don't recognize her. Wait, woah! Is she in the middle of hypothermia?"

I clutched my arms, shivering. I didn't want to ask if I could be let in, because I am so used to being polite, submissive, and not greedy. It had come to me that I hadn't spoken at all since I met the greedy scammer back at the convenience store. Then I heard two shrill, childish voices rumbling from up the stairs. Two twin blonde girls of about age six were wrestling each other down the stairs, grunting and pushing and pulling.

"No, it's mine!"

"No, it's mine!"

"Let go!"

"You let go!"

The girls ceased their battle as they noticed the door was open, cold wind running through. I could finally get a clear look at them; one had her hair pulled into little pigtail braids, with a red cap over her head, and the other had the same blond hair, only it was let down and she wore a pink gown with a tiara. "Mom, who's that?" the girls said simultaneously.

"Ooh, Mom, did you order pizza? Ugh, no one ever tells me anything," I heard another voice say. The voice apparently came from a girl with pale blonde hair, similar to her mother's, and a mint-green nightgown with a pink sleeping mask over her forehead. The girl, also curious as to who was at the door, poked her head through the gap between Rita and the white-haired boy, then gasped.

"Mom! She looks awful!" she shrieked, hurriedly stepping out the door and bending down to my height.

"Leni, come back in, you'll catch a cold," Rita ordered, extending her arms dramatically.

And I've already caught one, please let me in, I'll do anything . . .

"Uhh, Mom, who is this girl? She literally has icicles dangling out of her nose," another teenager with a sassy voice said. This girl was one I presumed to be one of the oldest siblings; she had short, beautiful gold blonde hair, and wore a white tank top with shorts that revealed most of her legs. Only when she reached the door did she look up from her phone.

Rita raised an eyebrow at me, her worried countenance becoming more prominent. "Uh—Uh, sweetie, are you okay? How long have you been out? Where are your parents!"

The pale blond teenager had her arms wrapped around me in an attempt to console me. I simply shrugged, still shaking out of control, then sneezed at such a priceless high pitch.

"Mom, she looks kind of sick," the girl sighed, looking up at Rita worriedly. "Shouldn't we take care of her?"

"But her parents might live in this neighborhood, we should try and contact them to get her home," replied Rita, beckoning her to come inside. She looked back to me. "Do you know your mother's phone number, sweetheart?"

I shook my head in silence.

The oldest sister sighed and closed her eyes solemnly. "Leni's right, Mom. She might not even live in this neighborhood. She could literally be lost right now, or even homeless. And someone please tell me why she has icicles dangling from her hair, she looks like Jack Frost's demented sister."

I stood there, unable to speak, still shivering under the freezing air. Leni, the girl next to me, clasped her hands together and held them up to her chin like a precious child. All the other siblings at the door looked back at their mother, attempting to imitate the expression of 'puppy dog eyes'.

Rita's eyes darted from left to right twice, before she sighed, having decided letting me in was the right thing to do. "You're right, kids. It's best to let her warm up before she goes home—if she goes home at all. Now, let this poor girl in, stat!"

Her children blinked at her.

"Oh, sorry. I'm so used to saying that at the dentists' office."

At last, Rita widened the door for me to enter. I cautiously stepped in, as the siblings at the door parted ways, and as soon as I felt the inviting warmth of the home, I sighed and curled my lips to a small smile. The first room was a living room, with a gray-blue sofa in front of a small television. Adjacent to the sofa was a blue chair topped with a couple of decorative pillows. A burning fireplace was near the sofa, and I headed in the direction of it as soon as I noticed.

"You can come sit over here," Rita said, holding her hand out to the sofa. "Sit tight. It will be okay." Lynn, the jersey girl, handed her a fluffy white towel, and Rita wrapped the towel around my shivering back. Lincoln offered me a stuffed bunny with a red shirt he called Bun-Bun, but I refused—I didn't want to ruin him with my soggy snow clothes. Rita headed into a kitchen with black and white tile floors, calling out her husband's name. It also happened to be Lynn. I assumed there was a Lynn Sr. and a Lynn Jr.

Suddenly, I heard a chorus of noise rumbling down the stairs. Two more sisters were coming, both brown-haired and extroverted. The older one, a girl in a purple outfit, incredibly short, dark brown hair and paperclip earrings, and a girl roughly my age and height with a chestnut brown ponytail (supported by a scrunchie) and yellow button pajamas approached the sofa, but then gasped in shock when they discovered me pale and weak.

"Dudes, what's with the new chick chillin' on the sofa?" the purple-dressed one inquired, looking around with a confused expression.

"Oh, she just came to our door, and we don't know who she is," said Lincoln, plopping down on the comfortable chair. "We had to let her in because she looks really cold and sick." He turned to me. "Well, these are my sisters, Luna and Luan."

"'Sup, dudette?" Luna said.

"Ice to meet ya!" Luan exclaimed perkily, holding her hand out to me. "But seriously, I don't think it's healthy to have icicles dangling from your nose."

I recoiled shyly.

Lincoln scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Uhh, I don't know if she really likes to talk. But she looked like she needed our help, she might not have parents who live around here."

Luan, the comedic girl with the ponytail, plopped down on the couch beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. "This is definitely snow time for joking," she joked, contradicting her own words.

Luna and Lincoln groaned, facepalming. Leni, the girl in the mint-green night dress, came stepping into the room, her hands posed out in front of her like a carnivorous dinosaur. "Hey, you guys," she said kindly. "Is the girl okay? Is she sick at all?"

As if on cue, I sneezed again, high-pitched, prompting Luan and Luna to instantly burst into laughter. "That sneeze is priceless, dude!" Luna snickered, patting my head as if I was a pet. "Bless you!"

"Yeah, you could be a real comedian with a sneeze like that!" added Luan. She sighed, ending her laugh-fest.

I smiled lightly, my body shaking from both being cold and slight laughter.

"Yeah, that sneeze was totes adorable," said Leni, sitting to my right. She and Luan rubbed my shoulders softly, not massaging them with the force equivalent to a beast or anything extreme. Unlike most, I've always hated massages. They cause me more pain and stress than the work that urges most people to ask for a massage in the first place. I leaned against the back of the sofa, tugging the towel over my shoulders.

Just then, a tall man with a distinct brown haircut strode into the room, carrying a tray of hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies. He, like his wife, Rita, had a friendly face, and looked like he could charm the public with one wink. "Hey, kids, your mom told me about a g—oh, my!" He glanced at my body, which was still pale and covered in melting icicles and snow. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, still quavering.

"Here, have some cookies and hot chocolate. That should warm you up in no time." He set the tray upon the coffee table in front of the sofa, and said charmingly, "Bon appetit."

Lincoln reached his hand over the tray for a cookie. "Oh, may I . . ?"

I nodded again, handing him a cookie.

"Thanks, stranger." He opened his mouth wide, about to stuff the entire cookie inside, but then paused and closed his mouth. "Oh, by the way, what's your name? We never asked that, we're sorry."

It was at that moment I froze and had no response. It's not that I hate people, or that I can't talk, it's that I have a major problem—social anxiety. Not that I am antisocial, because that was an entirely different meaning in itself. I consider myself an asocial being, not an antisocial being—Never hostile to others, never hating them, just reclusive and alone.

Lincoln waved his hand over my blank face. I hadn't realized that I left him hanging for over ten seconds, so when something new came into my senses, I snapped back to reality. "So, um, what's your name?" he repeated.

Luna, Leni, and Luan all looked at me, awaiting my answer. I just sat there, my big brown eyes like a deer's in a headlight.

"Okay . . . Never mind. We'll get to that later." Lincoln sighed, leaning over to Luan. "I don't think she can talk."

"Me neither," said Luan.

Then, the sound of footsteps like drums in a band.

It seemed as though every resident of the house had come forward to meet me. I counted eleven at most, two adults and nine children. And I thought my own family was large. Without speaking, they all went to work trying to give me maximum comfort. The oldest sister placed my feet inside a green bowl of warm water, the two little twins wrapped me in a fuzzy blanket, and Rita handed me a box of the "softest tissues she could buy".

"Gee, you're a real quiet one, aren't you?" Rita said at one point.

"Yep, this is basically what happens when one of the Louds is sick, especially me," Lincoln started introducing, putting his arm around me. "Anyway, these are my sisters, Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, Lynn, Lana, Lola, and Lily. Wait, Lisa isn't here, dang it—"

All the sisters lined up in birth order, oldest to youngest. Apparently, Lincoln had said their names in the exact birth order, too, which impressed me to say the least.

"You forgot me."

Lincoln and I shrieked, leaning back in fright as a little girl at the age of eight appeared. Coal black bangs concealed her eyes, and her skin was pasty and pale, like she was a ghost. She wore a white pajama shirt with black and white striped leggings.

So I guess there were thirteen.

"Lucy! I always forget about Lucy!" Lincoln moaned, slapping his hand over his eyes. "Anyway, she's between Lynn and Lana in birth order. And I'm the middle child."

"It's no surprise, really. I'm just a ghost in a house full of oblivious mortals." Lucy's voice was blank and cold, no trace of emotion whatsoever.

My eyes widened in shock, as Lincoln just scowled at Lucy. "Uh, Lucy, we're kind of trying to stave off hypothermia for this girl here."

"Right. Welcome to the Loud House, mortal. Beware, I must warn you of the overbearing siblings you are about to face." She trudged over to the line of girls, squeezing just between Lynn and Lana, the girl with the red cap.

One last child, the thirteenth, came stepping down the stairs, not bothering to look up from two green smoking test tubes in her puny hands. She had untidy short brown hair, a green turtleneck sweater, and a huge pair of thick black glasses. She seemed to be the only member of this family who wore glasses, which was strange to me, since vision impairments are usually inherited. The girl reached the bottom of the stairs and looked over to me, then asked, "Mother, who is this guest you have invited to our abode?"

"Oh, Lisa, we didn't invite her," said Rita, crouching down to her daughter's level. "She just came to our front door. Be nice for her, sweetie."

"Pish posh, maternal unit, I am a certified genius, I know the difference between intentional impolite actions and serving others well." Lisa carried her test tubes into the dining room, as I sat there, awed by this four-year-old's expansive vocabulary.

"That's Lisa. And I've already introduced myself, Rita Loud, and this is my husband, Lynn," said Rita. "Can you at least say your name for us, please?"

The whole family gathered around the sofa, with the two eldest sisters sitting on either side of me. All of them had fair skin, just like me, some dotted with brown freckles.

Well, I couldn't have just left them hanging. They couldn't call me "Stranger" my entire time here. I decided to be honest about one thing.

"My name's Annabelle," I finally said, lips trembling, eyes burning.

"So she can talk!" exclaimed Lincoln, smiling at me and showing off a large, chipped tooth at the front of his mouth.

"Yeah, I can talk—I'm, just, so sorry, I don't know what came over me. I'm fourteen years old and I can, in fact, talk. I'm fourteen years old and I have no clue where I am."

"So, Annabelle, do you live in this neighborhood? Where are your parents?"

I sipped my hot chocolate, then set it back down on the tray. "I don't know." Slowly, I began to descend into tears and more incoherent murmurs of sadness. "I just woke up on the side of the road and I didn't know where I was, then I went to a convenience store owned by some greedy old businessman, and, and, and—"

Rita hushed me. "Ah, I see you met Flip. Know your mom's phone number? Or anyone you're related to?"

"I don't even live in this city at all. And, I don't have my phone on me, nor do I remember any of my relatives' phone numbers." I sneezed again, then wiped my nose with my arm. "I live in South Carolina, which I'm positive I'm nowhere near, and I haven't heard of this Royal Woods until I heard the man tell me where I was. I'm so lost and confused and scared, I don't know where to go and I miss South Carolina." My voice had gone incoherent and high pitched again, while tears streamed down once more.

Lynn Sr, the father, looked at Rita in concern. "Rita, I don't know what we should do, how does anyone even end up in this situation?" he asked, a tint of fear on the edge of his voice.

"I have . . . No clue." She looked back to me, and back to Lynn. "Listen, I know this might seem a little . . . Illegal, but I don't think we have any choice."

Lynn Sr. exhaled with reluctance. "Yes, Rita. She can stay. I don't want to be responsible for the hypothermia of a child."

All the Loud Kids cheered gleefully, throwing random props into the air like excited graduates. Rita cleared her throat and snapped her fingers sharply, her children all going quiet. "Now, kids," she started firmly, "this girl is not a casual friend, or anyone we know well. So we have to be respectful. So, Lynn, no play punches, Lucy, no popping up and scaring her, Lola, no forced makeovers, Luan, no cruel pranks, Luna, no guitar to the ears, Lisa, no dangerous experiments, and Lily, no throwing your diaper at her."

Lily, the babbling baby, sucked on her pacifier, then spat it out and giggled. All the other siblings nodded in understanding, murmuring with excitement. They all dispersed, some going to the kitchen, some staying right there in the living room.

"If my calculations are correct, then one more minute out in the snow would have been enough for you to attain hypothermia," Lisa stated with intelligence. "Likewise, you are blessed to have been allowed in this obnoxious location by our maternal parent. Though I believe in no blessings."

"Ah," I said blankly, biting into a chewy chocolate chip cookie. "Thank you for that, um . . . Was it Lisa?"

"Indeed. My preferred label is, in fact, Lisa." She pushed up her glasses and climbed up onto the sofa next to Leni. "Must I repeat the names of my sibling units for you?"

I shook my head slowly.

"Heheh, what an ice surprise!" The comedian, Luan, came leaping her way to the sofa, squeezing her way between Lori and me. I stared at her, face completely devoid of anything but confusion.

Lori groaned. "This is Luan," she sighed, placing her hand on Luan's head. "I'm Lori, that's Leni next to you."

"Hi there, Autumn," Leni greeted with a friendly grin.

"Um, actually, it's Annabelle—"

"Rockin' that Mom's letting you stay in the crib with us, dude," the rockstar one interrupted by mistake, coming into the room and sounding rather laid back. "What's your name again? I didn't hear, you gotta speak up if you wanna survive the jams of a concert."

"Annabelle," I repeated, sighing through my nose. I so badly wished that I was named Florence. To me, it was a beautiful, uncommon name that no teacher would confuse me with like four others who shared the name.

"Cool. Glad you're chillin' with us." Luna beckoned Lisa to make room on the sofa, to which she obliged. "Thanks for the scoots, little sis."

"Gee, I'm gonna need flash card practice with how many children there are in this house," I mumbled, smiling a little.

To my surprise, Lisa, Luan, and Luna all started to snicker. "Oh, you're funny enough for even me!" Luan exclaimed, nudging me with her elbow.

"Huh? It wasn't that funny," I replied. Quite frankly, I shouldn't have been surprised. Oftentimes, when my father and I have half-hour-long discussions, I say some subtle things, and I never really expect to get a laugh out of the other. It's a strange phenomenon that happens so frequently for me.

I felt a warm hand go to my forehead. It was Leni's, apparently she was checking for a fever or some other illness. "Oh no! You guys, I think she has a fever!" she squealed.

"A fever from being out in the cold? I have my doubts about that statement. Nasopharyngitis is far more likely to be obtained from being out in such frigid conditions, not to mention, the rapidly descending ice crystals," Lisa informed us, her straight, deadpan face not budging.

"NASA, Fahrenheit, kite-us?" Leni questioned, tilting her head.

Lisa slapped her forehead. "Common cold."

"Ohh," the other siblings chorused.

A moment later, Lincoln's head popped out from behind the wall covering the kitchen. "Oh, Annabelle, our mom says it's a good idea for you to take a warm bath or shower," he told me, walking over and getting down on his knees by the coffee table. "It can help fend off sickness. Come on, I'll show you to the bathroom."

"We'll take it from here, Lincoln," Lori smiled, standing up and clicking the power-off button on her phone. She turned to me. "Come on, we'll show you to the bathroom. It's upstairs. And, you guys, if Abagail needs to use the bathroom, let her use it first. She's a guest, as Mom would say."

Leni also stood up, smiling in her perky grin, and she and Lori helped my weak body up the stairs. Lincoln skidded over to the bottom stair, yelling, "Pretty sure she can walk by herself!"

Luna, Luan, and Lisa were left to their devices in the living room. The latter two eyed each other suspiciously, then their hands instantly dove in for the cookies. But Luna slapped her sisters' hands away before they could even bite into one.

"Bogus, dudes! Not cool."

On the upstairs level of the house, there was a narrow hallway with seven doors, one on each end, and five along the sides. Lori guided me to the left side, where there was a bathroom with a similar checkered floor as the kitchen's. Leni tailed behind us, likely not having expected to do much.

"Here's our bathroom," smiled Lori, opening the door to present me to their cramped-up space they called a bathroom. "Not the finest bathroom, but, well, this house is kind of old. But, you're open to use it anytime you want—just be warned, there's often a line for the bathroom in the mornings. It literally gets irritating after a while. . . ."

I stepped into the bathroom, feeling the cold smoothness of the checkered tiles. There was a sink facing the door as soon as one would walk in, with a toilet right next to the door, and a bathtub with a shower curtain. A stack of two fresh white towels was on top of the rear of the toilet. There was a robe hanging from a hook on the door as well. From the looks of it, this bathroom would break down any second; I was surprised that it was still standing.

Leni sprinted up to the mirror, snagging some lipstick from the edge of the sink and eagerly applying it. The entire time I had been there, she had never failed to just . . . Look happy. It was a rarity to see any of my siblings happy around one another, they fought and warred far too much for me to be comfortable around them. Oddly enough, I felt more comfortable around Leni after spending a few minutes with her than I ever did around siblings I've spent my fourteen years of existence with. After all, Leni was the first one to try to convince Rita to let me stay.

"Leni? What're you doing?" Lori asked.

"Oh, I wanted to do my makeup," she answered, facing her sister with a grin.

"Maybe we should let Annabelle have the bathroom for a little bit so she can relax." Lori approached the tub, where she turned one of the knobs by the faucet. "Come over here, Anne. We'll show you how to work the bathtub."

Oh, that nickname again. Anne.

I held my hands out in front of my gut and sat on the edge of the tub with Lori.

"This knob on the left is the hot water, the one on the right is to make it cold," she explained, turning both knobs at the same time. "Turn the knobs left to turn the water on, turn right to turn it off."

She smiled at me again. I had been staring at my feet, too paranoid to make eye contact. No, I didn't hate her, but my social anxiety was quite obvious in this time. Never had I so badly felt . . . Welcomed, invited . . . Accepted.

Lori tapped my shoulder, and I looked up abruptly.

"You okay?" she asked, sounding a little worried.

Without warning, I lurched forward and wrapped my arms around Lori's waist, pulling her into a hug. I noticed how much taller she was than me; my older sister, who's seventeen years old, is only a couple inches taller than me, yet Lori might have been around that age and must have been 5'7, taller my puny 5'1 (probably). I'm not at all short for my age, nor tall, but Lori was definitely the latter.

"Uhh, what are you doing? Are you feeling okay?"

I lifted my face up to hers, tears flecking my eyelashes. "Thank you," I whispered, a small smile appearing. "So much." Tucking my hair behind my ear, I pulled away and tapped my index fingers together. "It's just . . . This family. You guys all seem to get along so well, and you're so nice even though I'm not worth letting inside—"

"Woah, woah. Take it easy." Lori sighed, panning her gaze to the right and patting my head. "It's literally our pleasure, there are thirteen people living in this house, after all." Her lips straightened. "You get comfortable around people very fast. Hugger, huh?"

I nodded. Leni was staring at us from the sink, her hands clasped together and held up against her face in an endearing way. "The guest is so nice!" she said, bubbly. "I want a hug, too. Group hug!"

Leni rushed over and slung her arms around Lori and me, squeezing our upper backs. I squeaked in discomfort, softly kicking my feet as a signal to stop. Lori pushed away from Leni, gasping for air. Now, I love hugs very much, but surprise hugs overwhelm me.

"Leni, stop. You're hurting her."

"O-M-Gosh, I'm so sorry!" Leni helped me regain my balanced posture. "So, like, how did you end up at our house?"

"It, um, goes back to a little less than an hour ago," I started, seating myself back on the edge of the tub, which Lori began to fill with steaming water. "I don't know what happened, but I just woke up along the side of the road mysteriously. No explanation, not a clue that hinted at how I ended up there. So I mentioned coming to the convenience store, and I ended up here—Wait, didn't I tell this story already?"

"Oh, yeah, I just forgot," Leni said nonchalantly. She beamed at me.

The bathroom began to fill with humid steam, fogging up the mirror and almost making it hard to breathe. "Bubbles?" Leni offered, holding up a white bottle.

"Yes, please, I'd love some," I answered, placing my hands on my chest graciously. I could hardly believe how well they were treating me already, considering I was some random stranger they'd never seen at their front door, begging for help. Though I knew it would be difficult for me to remember all the names of the family, I had a feeling that the Louds were not dysfunctional and uptight like my own. I had to give credit to Mr. and Mrs. Loud, they managed to stay together with so many children, while mine divorced at just three kids.

Shyly looking at the two older girls, I took the bottle of bubble solution.

Lori looked to Leni. "I think we should give her some privacy now," she whispered, taking her younger sister's hand and leading her out of the bathroom. They closed the door behind them, and I was all alone.

I took a brief breath, and opened the soap bottle to pour the solution into the water. Bubbles rose up like bread with excessive yeast in an oven, some drifting off into the air. They eventually filled the tub to the brim, and I took off my snow-dampened clothes (except my glasses), letting them slip down to the floor. I sank myself into the bathtub—

It was the best thing I'd ever felt in my life.

I hadn't relaxed in a warm, soothing bath since I was eight years old, when I started to take showers, and ever since I started middle school at age eleven, I had tons of stressed dumped on me every week with hardly any time to unwind. Showers were forced on me, and I've never really liked baths—but this was entirely different. The bubbles took me in as their own, like a womb of soap and comfort. I sighed and leaned back, bringing my knees up above the water. My skin softened, the numbness vanished, I could tell I was alive again. If I did believe in Heaven, this must have been what it's like.

I must have spent half an hour or so in the bath, because when I stepped out onto the cold tiles again to get a towel, I heard a knock. I tightened the towel around my waist and opened the door to see the two blonde twins, grinning widely at me.

"Hello, Annabelle," said the one in the glittering pink gown. It had almost seemed like her happiness was forced.

The twin next to her was the one with the red cap and overalls, who had a way less disturbing smile. "Sorry about Lola, she's not always too friendly," she said nonchalantly. "I'm Lana, this is Lola." She shook my hand, and I noticed that both the twins had gaps in their teeth from recently losing a couple. They reminded me of my six year old sister, Cindy, who looked almost exactly like Lola. Cindy has thin blonde hair and blue eyes, and even the gap in her teeth.

"Charmed," I smiled, bending down to their height to pat their heads. Indeed, both of them appeared very charming, endearing. After waving goodbye, they skipped down the hallway to their bedroom on the other end. I snagged the robe from the hook, then tried to wring out my hair and dry it as best as I could with the towel, and slung it around my neck, because it was always a strange habit of mine.

As soon as I exited the bathroom, I saw Rita coming up the stairs with a white basket full of folded laundry. She looked in my direction, poking her head out from behind the basket.

"Oh, good, you're out," she said, setting the laundry by the wall. "Is there anything else you want tonight, hon? All the kids are in their bedrooms, it's nearly bed time for them."

"No, thank you," I murmured, rocking back and forth on my feet. "I really just want to go to bed. Thank you, again, for letting me stay, even with how many children you have."

"Oh, it's no trouble. Would you like to sleep on the couch?"

My stomach churned. I have slept on a couch before, but it never ended well. Every time I do sleep on a couch, I always awaken so suddenly without any outside influence, and because of the incredibly dark, almost pitch-black area, it frightens me into full consciousness. I vividly recall a night when I fell asleep on a couch at someone else's house (which was my stepdad's before my divorced, middle-aged mother moved my siblings and me in with him and his three crazy children) and woke up in the middle of the night, alone, without knowing where anyone else was. The event has led me to hating sleepovers and sleeping on couches in general.

"Sleeping on couches scares me," I muttered, bringing my shoulders up to my jawlines. My dampened hair swept over my shoulders, partially concealing my face.

"Why's that?" said Rita gently.

"I'm . . . I don't like the dark." I admitted it with such fear and almost timidity. "If I'm alone, that is." The irony of my statement was very obvious, because anyone with the IQ of a mouse could determine that I spent a lot of time by myself and was not afraid of being alone. But, being alone still scares even the most independent folk.

"I can ask some of the kids if they'd be willing to let you sleep in their rooms. You can choose."

She named which kids were in which rooms and allowed me some time to think it over. I thought very carefully before making my final choice. My first judgement was on Luna and Luan, who were closest to my age, but it was clear that they were the loudest kids in a family with the last name 'Loud'. Not to mention, there was a drum set and Luna slept with headphones on. Headphones that blare unforgiving rock music are not my cup of tea in the slightest. Then I eliminated Lincoln's room, since his bedroom was so small it might as well have been a closet, and I wouldn't want to sleep in the same room as a boy. Lola and Lana's room was next to go, since they were the kind of siblings to fight over practically everything—and Lola also creeped me out, just a tiny bit. Lisa and Lily's room wasn't a very good choice, since the chemicals on Lisa's dresser frightened me, and Lily, according to Lisa, was prone to snoring.

And then there was Lynn and Lucy's room. That was an easy given, since Lucy, though being quiet and seemingly harmless, had so many gothic and fear-provoking things that I didn't even want to enter their room.

When all was said and all was done, Lori and Leni's room was the best choice, because I felt as though I was beginning to connect with them a little bit in the bathroom earlier that night. Also, unlike my two crude older sisters, they were a lot more . . . Gentle, soft. So Rita walked me down to their bedroom, where Lori was tapping endlessly on her phone screen and Leni was sitting crossed-legged on her bed, reading a trendy fashion magazine.

"Ahem, Lori? Leni?" Rita said, holding the door open just a crack so only she could be seen.

The teens looked up from their silent activities.

"Would you mind if Annabelle sleeps in here tonight?" Rita opened the door wider, and I stepped into the bedroom. An automatic whiff of nail polish and fresh perfume hit me, as if I was walking straight into a salon with gray-blue carpet and light cerulean walls. Lori and Leni's beds were sitting adjacent to one another, with a nightstand between them. There was a walk-closet close to Lori's bed, a hook fixed to the top with a few scarves twined around it. There was a vanity table covered in nail polish bottles and makeup supplies, and posters and photos were plastered on the back wall. In spite of the displeasing nail polish smell, this was the room I'd have most rather be in.

"I don't mind if she sleeps in here," said Leni, licking her finger and turning a page. She looked to Lori. "What do you think, Lori?"

Lori took a breath, then sighed, "Okay, fine. She can sleep in here for tonight."

I smiled up at Rita, who thanked the girls as she patted my head. She walked out, and flipped the nearest switch in the hallway that turned the lights out. Her bedroom was on the first floor, so she put her hand to the stair rail and stepped down carefully in the darkness. Nervously, I shifted my attention to the two blonde teens. My hands went into a bizarre posture out in front of me again, as I held my head low and shy.

Leni was first to come forward. She stuck a paperclip on the page she'd left off at, and grabbed my hand, towing me into the room. And goodness, was she strong.

"Welcome to our room," she enthused, spreading her arms as if she were presenting her life's work. "Let me get a sleeping bag for you, I think we have some in the closet." Leni closed the bedroom door and proceeded her unusual raptor-walk to the walk-in closet, and rummaged through a pile of random items until she turned up with a soft pink sleeping sack. "Here it is! I used this all the time when I went to my friends' houses for sleepovers. Isn't this fun, Lori? It's just like a sleepover!" She clapped her hands, amused.

"Yes, just like a sleepover," Lori chuckled, just briefly taking her eyes off her phone.

Leni set the sleeping bag up on the floor near a small table with a sewing machine, smoothing it out to the best of her ability. She picked me up by my upper arms and relinquished me onto the sleeping bag like a mother tucking her baby into bed at night. Leni buried herself under another pile of soft things in the closet again, returning with two silky blankets with the faint fragrance of mildly expensive perfume that almost made me sneeze. She threw one blanket over me hastily, then another.

"Hmm, what am I missing?" Leni thoughtfully tapped her chin. "Oh, right! You need pajamas. I think I have some night gowns that I've grown way too big for."

"Uhh, Leni, why didn't you put them in the hand-me-down box in the attic, then?" Lori asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know. I think I forgot." She smiled innocently.

"Oh, Leni," Lori grinned from her bed, clicking her tongue in a somewhat condescending manner. "Sweet, sweet Leni."

Leni glanced at Lori blankly.

Ten minutes later, the lights in the bedroom were out. I was dressed in a white nightgown with soft frills at the ends of the sleeves and bottom, similarly to Leni's. Lori had gone down to wash white, long sleeved shirt and bell-bottom pants a few minutes earlier. Leni had me in her arms on my sleeping bag and was humming a soothing lullaby to help me sleep (even though I never asked for one), and she'd cocooned me in both the blankets she got me. She was rocking me back and forth, gently stroking a part of the blanket as she continued to sing. And she wasn't a bad singer, she was decent, but I just felt a little strange that I was being sung a lullaby.

Lori looked up from her glowing phone screen to where my sleeping bag had been, then rolled her eyes. "Leni, she's literally fourteen, she doesn't need a lullaby," she remarked, sending a text to whoever was on the other end.

Leni ceased her melody and looked back at Lori. "But she's sick and tired," she yawned, her voice a little croaky. I admit that I had been enjoying Leni's affection, it was great to know that at least a few people cared for my well being at the time, particularly her and Rita. "Maybe a lullaby might help."

The girl's kindness brought tears to my eyes. Mucus dribbled out of my nose, and I sniffled. Leni noticed, then gasped, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, wiping my nose with my arm.

"I don't think she talks much, Lori," said Leni worriedly, reaching for a tissue from a box she'd retrieved a few minutes prior.

"She talked earlier when the whole family gathered around her," Lori responded dryly. "And in the bathroom. She might be selectively mute in most situations. Some people are like that."

"What does selectively mute mean?" Leni scratched her scalp as I blew my nose weakly.

"It means she chooses not to talk."

"Ohh. But, she was talking with Lisa, Luan, me, and Luna earlier." Leni abandoned the conversation and went back to her lullaby. At last, my eyelids started to drop, my consciousness subsided a little, and my body went limp, as if I'd fainted right then and there. Leni embraced me one last time, a little firm, then whispered, "Goodnight."

She allowed me to fall back on the sleeping bag, and she trudged over to her pink bed, shielding her eyes with her sleeping mask. She slipped under her covers, rolling onto her side and facing away from Lori's bed.

Lori turned her phone off, the light of it fading, and stretched out to put it on a night stand. She brought her covers up to her neck, sighing quietly.

Then she heard something airy and vocal—

"Dancing bears, painted wings

Things I almost remember

And a song someone sings,

Once upon a December—"

"Leni, quit singing," said Lori sharply, arising from her bed.

"I'm not singing," Leni said, lifting her mask. "Maybe Annabelle is."

Lori detected the voice from my direction, and her eyebrows lifted. The voice had been coming from the dark space across from their beds.

"Someone holds me safe and warm

Horses prance through a silver storm—"

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Lori and Leni were crouched beside me, awed expressions on their faces.

"You . . . Have beautiful singing," Lori whispered, sitting down cross-legged.

"You sing as good as Luna," Leni said, mimicking Lori's position.

I rose and sat on my knees, placing my hands at my sides. "R-Really?" I stammered, nervous.

"For a person who's practically mute"—Lori nodded—"Yes."

I blushed a little. Compliments tend to fluster me, especially if it's for something I find to be rather modest or not in my strong field. Quite frankly, I always thought my singing was awful.

"I'm sorry," I said, voice cracking. "I was singing. I forgot I'm not at home." Singing had helped me sleep, it never failed to soothe me. "It helps me fall asleep."

"Aw, don't be sorry," smiled Leni, becoming affectionate again. "You sing lovely. But, we have to go to bed now, so—"

The girls stood back up and walked to their beds, not taking their glinting eyes off of me. We finally all fell asleep when the last stir in bed was done.

I will soon reveal something about Anna that won't shock anyone, given how she acts in this story. But I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Just

Note: I do not own Once Upon a December. The original lyrics belong to 20th Century Fox and Disney, since Disney buys everything.