My peaceful existence was shattered by the arrival of my Aunties.
It explained one of life's mysteries – why Grandmama was so disproving of Aunt Lorraine's spouse. Aunt Lorraine had married a woman by the name of Raisya. Aunt Raisya was a mountain of a woman. As I was approximately the size of a watermelon, I couldn't say with any degree of certainty how tall she was. But I know that she was half a head taller than my father and a full head taller than her wife. She had a full belly laugh that sounded out through the halls, ringing like a gong. Her long, dark hair was artfully tousled around her head and down her back. She was gorgeous, anyone could see why my aunt had fallen for her.
She was also more than eight months pregnant, which was the reason that my Aunties had returned to the states. Aunt Raisya wanted her child to be born an American, so that they could reap all the benefits that came with it. She also knew that, being a Rookwood, the family would be able to provide more than they ever could on their own. And so, expecting my new cousin, they came back to Rookwood Manor.
My grandfather was over the moon. Grandmama was just as happy to see Lorraine. She was less happy to see Raisya. My parents, however, welcomed my new Aunt with open arms. My mother and Raisya would sit in the rooms with me and Clark and talk for hours about babies and baby care. They'd look online together and coo over baby aesthetics and designs for nurseries. Though, they ultimately decided that they wanted my new cousin to share with me. We'd be like siblings, they told us.
To be honest, I was excited. I would get so see a baby firsthand that I could compare myself to. I would know how to act – just a little bit better than them. Although, a part of me did balk at the thought of having to share Clark with a new brat.
Having my aunts in the house brought noise and life into the dark and hollow halls of the Manor like there hadn't been before. Lorraine was an artist, and so she would forever be lugging an easel outside to paint, or into the green house, or one time into the kitchen to watch the servants at work. And Aunt Raisya would watch Clark and I alongside the nanny. Luckily, she didn't say anything about Clark's choice in literature beside the occasional eye roll or snort.
They were a welcome, if boisterous, addition to the household.
My younger cousin was another story.
The day that Raisya went into labor was the day that the house went quiet. Clark was at school, and my parents had gone with my Aunties to the hospital. My uncle was working, and my grandparents were off at parts unknown. I was left alone with my ever-silent nanny, whose name I didn't even know.
I sat amid soft blocks and cloth books, not really bothering with any of my toys, watching the sun through the windows of my nursery. I watched at the sky went from blue to orange to black, and finally I was scooped up off of the carpet and wrapped in my nighttime onesie before being deposited into my crib.
The darkness felt too quiet. Not even Clark visited me that night. My parents didn't come in to check on me either. Straining my ears, I could hear the occasional door open and shut. I might make out some footsteps echoing in the halls. But that was all, and I fell asleep to the sound of nothing.
I awoke when my nanny picked me up to change and feed me. She was as silent as ever, and I couldn't hear anything beyond the nursery door. The longer the day went, the more worried I got. Was it normal for a new mother to stay at the hospital this long? Were there complications with the birth? Was my aunt okay? Even though she'd only been here a few weeks, I'd grown somewhat fond of her. And I liked my new family as a whole, so I'd hate to see what the loss of a member would do to them.
Thoughts of death plagued me, and it turned my mind towards thoughts of my own funeral. Who bothered showing up? Who paid for it? Where was I buried? Was I laid to rest in a coffin or cremated? And what about Tristan?
I hoped he got a lovely funeral.
It was during the middle of my imagined eulogy for myself that I finally heard voices. I recognized the voice of my father, and I recognized the voice of my Aunt Lorraine. I couldn't hear Raisya. I sat up in my playpen and stared at the door, willing it to open.
And then, it did.
My parents, my uncle and his wife, and my Aunties came in. Clark followed close behind them, and then my grandparents were there, too. My nursery never felt so crowded. They all gathered around the crib that had been sitting empty across from mine for the past week or so. It was a non-gender specific yellow and elephant themed. Less pleasing to the eye than my own purple and rabbit themed crib, but acceptable for a Rookwood, nevertheless.
Aunty Raisya was carrying a bundle in her arms, which she gently placed into the crib. My Aunt Lorraine then pulled her into her arms, smiling. Grandfather was patting her on the back, saying she did well, and my father was taking photo after photo with his phone.
Clark stood next to my crib, watching with a small smile. He looked at me and stuck his fingers through the bars of my crib where I was standing, watching. I grabbed hold of him.
"Now, there's a fine young lad," my grandfather said. "He'll grow up well, I can tell."
Grandmother clicked her tongue. "Not quite as handsome as our Clark, but cute enough." My mother scowled at her, though neither of my Aunties even gave notice that they'd heard her at all. Uncle Clark reached into the crib; I assume to pet the new baby. His wife was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Three strong young boys," Uncle Clark said, clearly pleased. "We've all done quite well, haven't we?"
"I couldn't care less whether I had a daughter or a son, I would have loved them all the same," Raisya said, archly. Uncle Clark chuckled, and backed away from the crib, sticking his hands into his pockets. My mother was looking at me from across the room. Awkwardly, I waved at her. This made her smile.
"Samsam is a beautiful baby," she told my aunt.
My world froze.
Samsam. That… wasn't technically the name of the protagonist of "Magical Miracle." However, it was the name of the protagonist for "Immortal Miracle." The original cast of characters in the web novel that inspired the show was diverse and complex. I knew that Samsam wasn't a Caucasian name, and that the protagonist of the novel had a darker complexion, but I hadn't known that it was a Malaysian name. When the show was adapted from the novel, the protagonist was morphed into a red headed white boy named Sammy.
But it wasn't the show I was a fan of, it was the original novel that captured my interest. Samsam, the hero Velocity. My world shrunk down to the size of a pea as I struggled to process my sudden realization. I fell onto my soft mattress, releasing my cousins' fingers.
That means… that my cousin Clark was in fact the infamous coward of the show. That meant that the Rookwoods of my new world were one and the same with that atrocity of a children's show. Rookwood the city was the The City. There was, in fact, magic in this world, as nonsensical and horrible as the magic system had been – if you could even call it that. That meant that, somehow, that little baby across the room would become a superhero.
But, that didn't make any sense. Because then, who was I?
Then it struck me. The show had whitewashed its characters, turning Samsam into Sammy. So… if Clark and Samsam were here and were cousins, that meant I could only be one character.
The tragic comic relief character, Henry. The orphaned cousin who is always getting into mortal peril. The emo, eye liner enthusiast Henry, who was barely a character for how little development he got. The quiet nerd who sat at the back of the classroom because he didn't have any friends. The character that received superpowers for all of one episode, in which it was revealed that he inadvertently caused the death of both his parents, before his identity was revealed to the world and he had to give up his powers for good.
That was who I am.
Oh god. What did I do to deserve this?!