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More… always wanting more.

She was born early in the morning, the day kicking off one of the hottest Augusts on record in the City. Her father liked to tell her she came out with a defiant, indignant roar, the last of his children, and that was how they’d chosen her name. Her mother had wanted something edgy and modern, her father a suitable, more traditional German name that fit the legacy of the family. Lena had finally relented when he came up with a satisfactory compromise, and so Leonie Graciella von der Marck was named.

Little changed from that first breath onward; Leonie was always defiant, always headstrong, and rarely well-behaved. Her mother was absent most of the time, choosing to continue the delusion she was a 20-something trophy wife for as long as possible, which, if Lena had her way would be for as long as she lived. Leonie had arrived late, a supposed ‘surprise’ in her mother’s late thirties – the result of a drunken and purposeful evening of seduction, when Lena suspected Oskar was readying to divorce her, or so the gossip said. And though she was fun to dress up and take around for friends and strangers to coo and fawn over – the perfect little accessory, as long as she was small enough to be portable and little trouble - there was limited purpose to mothering her further than that, especially as she grew.

Still, a very young Leonie lived for those moments, the rare times it seemed her mother loved her. But in the immediate aftermath, when Lena was done with pretending and off to her next beauty treatment or event or new man on the side, there was nearly always a tantrum of some kind or another to accompany it – a sometimes successful art-form she learned at an extremely young age. It was the immediate loss of attention and care, the distracted and careless goodbye that always preceded such a thing, before Leonie was foisted off on Melba and Lena swept away, sometimes not to be seen again for weeks or more. The nanny had been carefully chosen, not for her credentials, but to assure Lena that she’d never be a threat to her marriage. Even so, Melba loved Leonie as her own, and though it was at first a pale replacement for what she should have had, the girl quickly came to consider the woman her first and most accessible parent.

Even though she lacked the attentions of her mother, Leonie enjoyed a close, doting relationship with her father in her earlier years. The one of three children he never questioned was his, Oskar poured all fatherly devotion into his small daughter, partially out of duty, but mostly out of love. Distant though he could be, there were many times she was allowed to spend in his study while he worked, playing happily while Melba remained close enough to spirit her away without being summoned when serious business came up. Later, as she grew, playtime turned to curiosity about the many family documents in Oskar’s archives, things she was encouraged to look carefully through and ask questions about. He spoke almost exclusively in German to her, especially when telling her family lore and legend, or explaining what it is to be von der Marck. Oskar took his family heritage seriously, was beyond proud of it, and saw it as his most important duty to instill within Leonie the very same. As soon as she was old enough to play without constant supervision, the summer vacations began, without him, at the family estate in Canada, in addition to the yearly gathering that grew sparser and less attended as the years wore on. Oskar himself was one of those who failed to show his face year after year, like so many others of his generation, but the times he did, he was pleased to see the growing bonds between Leonie and the cousins closest to her in age. No matter how distantly related, they seemed as close as siblings and for that the man was always thankful, for a variety of reasons – some of which he would never articulate out loud. They were von der Marck, the result of one deified Patriarch, and no matter how spoiled Leonie was turning out to be, he could see already how she always put those she loved before herself. It was what it meant to be of their blood; they could set every selfishness aside for the family, whenever needed.

But it was little wonder they could scarcely keep the old tradition together; Oskar couldn’t even keep his own family intact. He was too proud for paternity tests; Leonie was the only one he was sure about for too long, for she had his and his father’s eyes and that was enough for him. Lena… he had loved her once, though they had been young when they married. But after their first child, Lucia, who he now knew to be his, she drifted. Became obsessed with staying young and beautiful. And as Oskar sought more and more solace in work and less in her, her obsession grew. He knew it was mostly his fault that she strayed. Could never say with certainty her son was his. But it was far easier to sweep it all under the rug and pretend it wasn’t any issue. It was only when he started considering divorce, both to set her free and provide himself some relief from the constant question hanging over his head that she came back to him one glorious weekend, the Lena of old whom he had fallen in love with almost twenty years before.

But in his weakness, he was hooked. In the best possible way, but with a new child, another new one to question at the very first, and Oskar was going nowhere. Falken wouldn’t hear anything about it, no matter the obvious worries. And so Oskar once again played the part of devoted husband, expectant father, and made the most of the year. Lena was entirely dependent and entirely his again, required coddling and special treatment; something he knew how to do, even though things would change shortly after, just like before. But for that short time, it was easy to fall in love with her again and believe things might be different.

If anything, Lena was an even more distant mother than before, giving Leonie over to the nanny as soon as they came home from the hospital. Age had done nothing to kick that missing maternal instinct in. She only checked on her once or twice a day at most, only held her when they were out in public or attending some friend’s party or another. Oskar couldn’t hide his disappointment; he’d hoped that the nearly full year they spent together awaiting their youngest daughter would turn into the life together he’d always wanted. But Lena carried on as if she were a young, unmarried woman, and eventually they drifted once more. Lena began staying at the estate in England more often, and, with no way to determine when it happened, it became her permanent residence, away from their home in Germany, though she returned on occasion to keep up appearances.

Yet even with the utter disgust and outrage that she had not only left him, but forced him to send his baby away under some false pretense of her happiness, Falken would not hear of divorce. It would disgrace the family, he said, and so Oskar was forced once more to pretend all was well and sink his full attention into work. He could not believe he’d sent his Leonie away, or that he’d allowed Lena to talk him into it. The beautiful girl with the piercing von der Marck eyes was special; she had potential to be all they had been missing for generations. And yet, send her away he had. He’d somehow fallen under Lena’s spell once more, believed her when she said Leonie’s acting out and utterly bad behavior was due to a lack of attention, stimulation, and happiness in the home. In short, she missed her friends and should be where they were, she’d said. He’d consented because, as far as he knew, Lena got her information from Melba, who’d been kept on as a maid in Leonie’s absence, and Melba knew his daughter better than anyone else in the world. Or so he thought, because by then, Leonie’s rapport with her distant von der Marck cousins was more than solidified. Her bond with her sister had also grown, without his ever realizing that in Lucia was at least someone else who understood just how awful a mother Lena was.

Everything changes...

Fourteen. An important age, at least according to what Leonie had been told over and over again by her friends. Some of them had already become ‘adults,’ an arbitrary label for many an activity, and others too worldly for their own good. And yet, in her father’s study, during the break and recently returned from the semi-yearly vacation spent with Judah and Louvel at the estate, the young Lioness was happy enough to peruse the records for the umpteenth time as she had when a child. He would call certain things out to her as she made her way through his archives, and she back to him, in German as always. When she exhausted the supply of documents and pictures to read and look at, her attention turned next to Falken’s. It was just as well; her father suddenly had business to capture his attention and her grandfather had been called in to assist. Real business, that she was never privy to. Not that she held much interest in the auto empire in which they invested heavily, and in some of which they had majority shares. It was always instantly boring, and so it was easy enough to slip away. His study and archive was only next door and so she excused herself, barely noticed, and scooted right in after an absent wave of a hand was given.

Leonie had taken this as acquiescence and in no time had delved deep into the fresh documents she’d only seen once or twice before. Hours passed and she worked her way deeper, blowing through passwords on the computerized records and picking locks with ease when she couldn't find the keys on the huge, full ring she'd snuck off Falken's desk. A voracious reader, Leonie was on quite a role until she came to a seeming treasure trove of information. It was under heavier lock and key than the rest, but that was little matter; Leonie was nothing if not persistent and soon enough, victory was hers. But as she read further, as it became obvious that though many of the cover documents were in German, they were not about her family, she felt her stomach drop. Mixed in with plans for strange looking automobiles were receipts made out to miscellaneous people, though one name... one name in particular had her brows raising. Jerome Adenauer. Uncle Jim. There was an unspoken open secret that he handled certain family business for them, and Leonie had heard more than one rumor about his heavy handed ways with those who stood against them, as well as the stories behind some of his tattoos. None of them were pretty. Other receipts with his name were interspersed along with other packets, but this one...

A larger sum was notated on it than any of the others, by at least an extra zero or two, with both his signature and her grandfather’s: a guarantee, she assumed, if there were ever any questions of the legal sort. But the thick packet the receipt had been attached to... with shaking hands, Leonie opened it up. Inside were designs, diagrams and technical specs that were as foreign as Greek to her, but seemed to be some sort of water-based car. There was a name, Stanley Meyer, and a range of dates. 1940-1998. Leonie dug deeper and, at the end, came to a copy of a death certificate. A brain aneurysm had supposedly felled the man, but the documents before it painted a very different picture.

She gritted her teeth. There was no other way to translate the line items and notes she was reading: Uncle Jim had been summoned to kill the man. The ledger there in her hands spelled everything out, from the payments made to various people, including the coroner, and the confiscation of every plan available. A significant threat to the family wealth, eradicated, with one clever disguise and a slip of a hand over a drink.

With a pained sound, the packet went to ashes in her hands. She pulled another file, and another, and still another. All held similar stories, similar outcomes. Inventors were dead or had been successfully threatened into silence, and sometimes not even paid off. She hardly noticed how the papers crumbled beneath her fingers, how hot her hands felt as each one fell away into a cloud of grey dust, the scent of burning paper quietly surrounding her. The thought of burning it all down slithered through her mind, looking for anything, any way to pay them back for the harm they’d caused. Anger and disgust twisted into an almost desperate rage; if this was what it meant to be von der Marck, to be wealthy and privileged, Leonie wanted no part of it.

The young Lioness backed slowly from the corner of the archives she likely wasn’t ever meant to see, her vision cloudy and red with unadulterated outrage rising. She might be a spoiled brat at the best of times, might never take much but family history seriously, but she knew the difference between right and wrong. Her gut twisted, a sickening feeling washing over her. A shiver trailed down her spine, sending a tremble through her that eventually had her head feeling it would split in two, until everything went black.

------------------

“Leonie?”

Her father’s worried face appeared before her eyes, even as a frown creased her brow at the sight of him. But she had, like before, refused to entertain even the hint of a conversation with him. Instead, she scowled at him and continued folding clothes as best she could, organizing them in her suitcases, opened all over her room as they were. She didn’t meet his gaze, only turned her back, and carried on packing. She’d refused all help from everyone, even Melba, the better to give her hands something to do while she contemplated all that had happened.

It wasn’t the first time her mind had done something without her acting in any way. She’d moved things from one place to another, could hear and see things others couldn’t at times. People were sometimes open books to her, without knowing it themselves, their thoughts, emotions, and hidden desires open for her to peruse, though she tried hard to avoid it. Leonie was worldly enough to know how all of it might be taken, so she mostly kept it to herself unless she was taken acutely by surprise. But it was the first time it had been bad enough to hurt someone. The fire department had made short work of the rest of the smoldering archives, taking care of what the sprinklers had not, and had been quickly sent on their way by the security team, along with a hefty donation to the department, a tacit agreement for their silence. The maid who’d been overcome by smoke inhalation had been taken to the hospital for observation. She would be alright, but Leonie could feel nothing but guilt and fear that she had lost control over herself and an ability she still didn’t understand.

Another tremble worked its way down her spine. Falken stood in the doorway, watching father struggle with communicating with his daughter. Leonie didn’t have anything to say to him, either, and as far as she was concerned, he was only blocking the exit. One suitcase was full, and without a word, she closed it and set it beside the door, before working on the next. She would have to work harder on setting those things aside, in the interest of safety, for herself and everyone around her. But how, she did not know. She could start with denial, she figured, tamp everything down tight. If she had strength enough to bring such things about, she could certainly wield it well enough to make that supposed curse go away.

“Please, Gracie,” he murmured from the door as she turned her back. She couldn’t make them leave, but she sure as hell didn’t need to acknowledge them. “Please talk with us.” But aside from the stiffening of her spine at the favored old nickname, Leonie didn’t let on she’d heard a word her grandfather spoke, either.

Within the hour, she was finished. Her mother, actually within the residence in Germany for once, had happily complied with her demand to be sent back to school early. No flights were to be had on such short notice, not all the way back to the U.S. without any stops, so Lena had booked the jet. In a few short hours, she would be returned to Exeter and far away from anything to do with home.

For once, it was a relief to run away, even if it was to a place she despised.

Done...

Leonie had watched the dark-haired male slip from her sheets and out the door the morning after that last night together; it was the usual end result of a stolen night of pure sin, at least while under the expansive family roof, though it had been a very long time since their last tryst. She shouldn’t have been surprised, not in the way he slipped out just before sunrise so no one would be the wiser, or how she let him despite always wanting him to stay. Not speaking about what they got up to and what effect it had upon her had had that effect over the years, had allowed things to stay light and casual, no matter how much she craved more from him. That morning, with a pounding head, she had kept her eyes closed as he brushed a kiss to her lips, though she’d smiled for him and whispered her farewell, and soon enough she was alone again, the silence almost deafening. And yet, as the door had closed with a sound of finality, she sat up and flung the covers from her nude form with a huff. She’d had the faintest hope that things would be different that time; they’d had too much wine the night before, again, and with the spilling of it from bottle to glass, so too had her deepest, darkest secret that she’d never spoken, in so many words, to anyone else. He’d listened like he always did, providing relief in the form of the confidante she hadn’t known was missing for years. But they still hadn’t had the conversation she’d been hoping for. One that could have been had without hurting anyone else at that point.

By eighteen years old, the prior two and a half had been filled with random excuses to ‘hang out,’ see one another when they could, run off on quiet little get togethers. Jude was a year older and presumably wiser, and she’d happily allowed him to take the lead - most of the time - on how and when they would meet up for their illicit nights though it had never stopped her from asking or sending suggestive texts or emails to spark a response. More than a few weekends had been spent in New York, some falsified document or another excusing her from the Exeter campus so the two of them could play at being adults with no one being the wiser. She lived for those times; it had all been perfect, and for Leonie, though they never talked much about it, it was the beginning of a love she knew some other girls would have killed for. But though she never would have considered herself in such a way at that time, it was also a terribly naive line of thinking.

They never talked about it. Not in any significant way, and that alone should have raised red flags for her.

Her thoughts drifted to that final year of college. Where she sat quietly in her room in her apartment, staring at the stiff white envelope that contained a wedding invitation. The Lioness’ breath had caught in her throat; she knew well he’d met someone, that when it became clearly serious, it had stopped their stolen nights in their very tracks as he courted the woman who now, apparently, would become his wife.

Leonie had met her a time or two; in her typical way, she’d taken the rejection in stride, even if she felt she’d been punched in the throat that first time. Anna was an amazing person, gracious and kind and open-minded. It was hard to hate her, and it was never Leonie’s style to blame the other woman, anyway, in any situation. In every way did she compliment Judah, and he glowed with happiness in her presence. That alone was something she could accept, and find a way to be happy for him. It took some doing to wrap her head around it, but without missing a step, the Lioness accepted the new person in his life and bowed carefully, quietly out.

So why had he have ever thought it a good idea to invite her to his wedding? Appearances, most likely, but Leonie was not so easily swayed. Her hand had shaken ever so slightly as she lowered the invite back to her bed and worked hard to ease the frigid hand from around her heart. It had been inevitable, hadn’t it? So why was it such a shock? The Lioness didn’t know, had no answers to any of the questions tearing through her head, but she promptly forced all emotion from her mind and the wrenching feeling from her gut. With a deep, steadying breath, she decided she would not attend but would instead send a gift. A more than appropriate gesture, and one likely to send the precise message she wished she could say to his face:

Inappropriate, Judah von der Marck. But I wish you love and happiness.

It was safer that way. Devoted to Anna or no, Leonie had had the sense to know that staying away was the only absolute and certain way of keeping him, or her, from slipping, and keep her heartbreak from rising any closer to the surface, too. Even the yearly gatherings, ever more sparsely attended by the family as a whole, would not be attended much, if any longer. It simply wasn’t worth it, no matter how much she would miss Louvel; besides, she’d somehow thought he would understand. Perhaps better than anyone. Once the decision was made, she felt strangely at peace. A weight was lifted and the Lioness finally realized how much anxiety had been wrapped up in Judah von der Marck and the behaviour, she would soon learn, that so many males were prone to.

No. The Lioness would not fall again. From that moment on, she’d decided she would spurn any part of love and commitment, and would live her life as she saw fit. Wild and reckless, she would indulge whatever whim she pleased and at last create the level of discomfort for her distant parents she’d always wanted to. College was almost over and it wasn’t like she needed to work. No, she’d pull Melba from the German estate and travel the world, party her *** off, do whatever she pleased. Why bother with anything else, adulthood, or responsibility when she had no need of any of it? Once she graduated from Columbia, she could even keep the lease on her apartment, she thought. Just so there was a place to land, an address that had nothing to do with her family that was all her own...

And there in the present, in the low light of the early dawn, Leonie decided it was time to renew that promise to herself. It had been good to be home at the manor; she’d caught up with many family members, finally spent time with her beloved Louvel in person rather than the occasional call or email. And it had been so vibrantly wonderful to be with Judah again, even without their bedroom shenanigans thrown in to complicate such a simple thing. But it hadn’t been enough, and the visit had ended like all others - waking wanting far more than she had the courage to say, to ask him for, and he apparently in the same boat or worse, happy to keep things the way they were. Whatever that barrier was between them, the Lioness had had enough for one lifetime of one-sidedly trying to figure it out. Despite the charge of it, the feel of grounding that being at the estate with those she loved best always gave her, it was time to separate herself from it again. No matter how relieved she always felt there, it just wasn’t the place for the likes of her.