Rosie and Tate. Tate and Rosie.

There was nothing nicer than having a proper, loving older brother. Tate was one of those brothers believe it or not. Rosie Hera Langdon was a girl that didn't really enjoy human company. She liked to keep herself to herself. She didn't like her mother, she hated her father and if it were up to her, she definitely wouldn't be alive.

Well, funnily enough, she wasn't.

"Tate," Rosie said one summer's morning in 2011, watching her brother stare outside of his old bedroom window, seeing a black car pull up. It was shiny and large, and a big van was behind it. Tate ignored her and carried on staring. "Tate," Rosie said a little louder, tapping him on the shoulder.

"What?" came his short reply.

"What are you doing?" Rosie murmured. She pushed her thick brunette hair out of her face. The air was quite sticky. There was no answer. "Tate!"

"Rosie, leave me alone," Tate snapped, spinning around. Rosie closed her mouth and nodded quickly. When Tate was convinced she wouldn't interrupt again, he turned back around to see three people get out of the car and walking down the path. "There's the family, they are the ones I was talking about." Rosie peered out of the window as well.

"What's so special?" she muttered. "There's nothing special there. What's so special, Tate?" Tate slowly felt his patience slip away, but then he remembered that Rosie was…different.

"She's pretty, don't you think?" he asked her. Rosie shrugged.

"I guess," she yawned. "What's so special, though?"

"ROSIE! Shut up about it," Tate shouted.

"Tate!" came the angry hiss of their mother, Constance. "Be nice to your sister." Tate rolled his eyes and glared at Rosie, who just sat there and waved.

"Tate is stalking the family," she pointed out quietly. Tate threw Rosie such a glare that it almost frightened her.

"I'm not," Tate grunted to his mum, who's eyes were wide with disbelief.

"Tate, I'm telling you now, you stay away from this family! I don't want them finding out anything about us that they don't have to," Constance hissed, grabbing Tate by his shoulders and shaking him violently. Rosie watched them, her eyes glazing over as she drifted off in a dreamlike state, into a different life, a different time…

"Tate, you can't catch me!" a six year old Rosie trilled, running away from him, down the stairs and into the garden. The eight year old Tate just sighed and carried on drawing, trying to ignore his sister's teases and taunts. "Tate!"

"Leave me alone Rosie," Tate shouted down to her, chewing on the end of his pen. "I'm not in the mood." Rosie sighed a hefty sigh and walked back into the house, up the stairs to Tate's room.

"You're never in the mood anymore," she whispered, sitting herself on his bed. Tate felt slightly guilty then and he put down his pencil.

"I'm sorry," he told her honestly, looking his little sister straight into her eyes. "I am. I've been so busy recently that I completely forgot about spending time with you. What do you want to do? How can I make it up to you?"

"We can play that game where we pretend to be superheroes, like what daddy used to play," Rosie grinned toothily. Tate gulped. It had been 2 years since his dad 'left'. Of course he didn't know what had actually happened to him, but it didn't matter. Rosie just believed he had gone on a long shopping trip…she was a little slow so that didn't matter. Tate was generally very protective over her, but he was so much like her father that it was hard for him to have a childhood of his own. "We can play that, right Tate?" Rosie asked nervously, seeing his hesitation. Tate snapped out of his daydream and nodded quickly.

"Of course we can…you be Rosepetal, the best superhero in the entire world who can fly with flowers and I will be…"

"I'm warning you Tate, if you dare mess with them-"

"Then you'll do what? Kill me? I would love to see you try!" Tate shouted. Rosie was brought back to the present time with the constant argument. Her senses suddenly began to tingle.

"Ma, get out, the family's coming upstairs," she hissed, shooing her mum away. Constance let go of Tate and went hid behind the wardrobe. A young teenage girl in a dark green bowler hat opened the bedroom door and looked around, settling herself on the bed and staring at the wall. Rosie glanced at Tate and saw his reaction was something she couldn't actually read.

"Tate, remember what ma said," Rosie hissed, studying the girl as well.

"Shut up, Rose," Tate muttered back, his eyes trained on the girl. This was only going to end up in tears, she could tell.

New story...opinions? I'm not too sure yet.

Next chapter next Friday!