Huge. That is the only word she could use to describe it. As she jogged around in the fast-paced city, she wondered what her mother would think about it. Then again her mother was raised here. In America. She had heard stories from her brother about it. Her father was a native of France. Her mother though, was a trueborn New Yorker. Her father, Zechs Marquise, had moved here so he could have space from his parents. He was an artist, and her grandparents didn't think he could make anything of himself simply by his paintings. He thought differently, and came to America to prove them wrong. He soon proved himself wrong though, for he ended up in a one-room apartment and didn't eat as much as he should have. Her father was stubborn and wouldn't take help from anyone. He was determined to make it on his own. He went to a club about a month after his initial move and decided to take his saved money and was determined to drink himself crazy before the night was over. At least if he went crazy, he would eat more often, as they would put him in an asylum. That night her mother, Krystal Rogers, a talented musician, was playing. She started off by playing a simple string on the violin. The D string, he recognized, for his love for music was great. Her hair was falling down over her face. It wasn't long, it only came to right below her shoulders, but the pure shape of her face, combined with the finesse of her hair was astounding. He was completely dumbfounded. He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. That night he had asked her out to dinner, and 4 months later, they married. A year later, her brother, Kalab, was born. And three years after, she was born. Artemis Catareia Marquise, their only daughter. Her mother, regretfully, had died bringing her into this world. Her father had raised her since birth alone, but when she was just four years old, he to died. A heart disease had taken her father. And she, she had taken her mother. After her mothers death, her father had moved back to France. He had signed on as a graphic artist and made excellent money. After his death, everything in his possession went to them. His children. They were taken into custody and were sent to foster home after foster home. When Kalab turned 19 he took her and moved into a two-bedroom apartment. Now she was twenty-two and was determined to find out about her mothers past. That was why she was here in New York after all.

Kalab had recently graduated. He was a psychologist. She had tried her hardest not to laugh at the thought. She was in a university as well now. She wouldnt be out any time soon though. She was a medical student. She was working for her PhD in basic practice and hopefully her masters later. Though they had chosen more professional careers, they were their parents turned around. She was the artist. To help get money for university she sold painting of hers. She sold all of her paintings. One sold for almost half of a million dollars. A Midnights Depth, that is what she called it. It was a painting of a view of the Earth from the moon. It had 3 people in the picture. A woman, a man, and a ghost. The 2 living were sprawled out in a crater the size of a bed. They were naked but the ghost was standing closer than them. Looking through the painting, as if he could see those looking at it. I did most of the painting while I was drunk, but the lady who bought it insisted that there had been a death of a man who had feelings for me and, even through death was protecting me. I agreed with her and she bought it immediately.

This was her fifth year in college. It would have only been her third considering her birth date, but she had skipped two grades in high school. Her constant 4.0 average had gotten her a 4-year scholarship, but she still had to pay for the rest. She had taken the money she had left over and planned on a trip to New York. She had invited Kalab, but he simply said he had too much to do. She agreed sense he was relatively new in his career and it would look bad if he took the two weeks off. It was summer however and she didn't have anything to do. She wouldn't have minded a year round college, but she needed breaks. She did speak English, which was a good thing. It was required to take in Paris. She had also taken Spanish, Latin, and Japanese. True, she was a ranked as a 'nerd' but she didn't mind. After high school it didn't matter anyway. Now all that mattered was to keep her scoring up. It was in the ninetieth percentile, and she wouldn't let it drop. Not a single point.

Crowded. Another word to describe this city. The airport was jam-packed and she still had to get her luggage and a rental car. She hoped she could find a way to her motel. Though she was there to do research she also planned on having some fun. Attending a musical, going to an American Ballet. She had heard that they were amazing. She attended tons of French and Italian ballets before, but this was going to be a treat. This place was supposed to be spectacular. And that was just what she was hoping for.

Time. Something she didnt have on her side. She had finally gotten her luggage but when she went to get a rental car, they had lost her reservation. She was just about ready to turn around when she realized she couldnt. Her brother had said she couldnt make it, and she was going to prove him wrong. No matter how much she wanted to, she was to stay here for the two weeks she had planned on. She went outside to hail a cab. She was used to it. She lived in Paris, one of the most hectic cities in the world. Once she had gotten a cab she realized this might have been better than a car for herself. Sure it would cost more, but she didnt know her way around this city. She could end up in the place the Americans call the Bronx. She had heard terrible stories about that place. And that was one part of New York she wouldnt take the time to visit. She sighed. She was twenty-two and was still single in every aspect of the word. Maybe a computer programmer or something. Only a cute on though. Looks didnt really matter, but they still were important. It is not that she wasnt pretty. Even she agreed she looked nice. At 62 she towered over most her age. Her hair was a silky platinum blonde, mistaken for white quite often though. Her eyes were hazel, but, to be true, they looked almost gold if the sun hit them right. She wasnt fat either. At a slim 103 she looked almost sickly. Maybe it was her breasts. They were a 28 A, incredibly small. But she wasnt about to get implants. Then again, maybe it was her personality. Though she wasnt going to change that any either. Oh she was just a mess. She hoped someday she would find a guy that would fall for a mess like her. Maybe she would find him right here in New York. Who knows?

She stepped out of the cab as fast as she could. It smelled so bad. Cigarette smoke, she noticed it early. It was disgusting. In France all the cabs were kept up. But this wasnt France so she should stop arguing with herself. It was just plain ignorant. She looked up at her motel. It was 250 a night but she had been saving up for this trip a while. A man came up to her. A clerk, she recognized by his uniform. He toke her bags and asked what room she was staying in. She told him she didnt know and he motioned to the front desk. Before she walked away she bothered to notice then grin on his face. Her French accent stood out. She knew it did. But it didnt matter, she was proud of her heritage. And at least she wasnt a clerk who lived by the tips he received.

She walked up to the front desk. The man turned around, obviously disgusted by her appearance. She scowled. She had on a pair of black cargo pants and a black silk shirt with a red dragon on the front. Not the most fancy apparel she owned, but for an almost twenty hour flight. She would have rather been comfortable than well dressed. I have a reservation sir. She said enforcing her accent, Under Marquise. M.A.R.Q.U.I.S.E. The man looked at her as if she was crazy. Perfect, she thought, if he thinks I am crazy he will leave me alone. UhMiss. Artemis Marquise? The mis-pronunciation of her name was most definitly purposful. Excuse me sir but exactly how were you able to mis-pronounce my name after I clearly stated it? He looked mad, how perfect. Sorry madam. Your language is just so difficult. How difficult will it be if I report this to the manager? Hm Nervous, she was sure of it. I am sorry Ms. Artemis Marquise. Now she had power over him, this trip would be fun. She was going to make sure of it. Better, now may I have my room key please? Yes Ms. Marquise He handed it to her as if it would break if he let his guard down. Now all he had to do was to bring it to her on a silver platter, and she would be merciful. Of course that was a maybe.