Bleeding Royalty Book One & Two (First Draft, unfinished)

Chapter 22: Theres A British Accent In My Head

Well, this sucks.

So, I sit back on the bed against the wall, with the letter in my hand. I already read it five times, and I still don’t believe it. My parent’s death wasn’t an accident. They didn’t die in a car crash, someone murdered them. Someone murdered my sweet, caring mother. Someone murdered my protective, loving Father. Why didn’t they just kill me too?

I have no family.

Why am I not crying?

There’s no way, there’s just no way. All of those family parties we had… all those Christmas diners. Is it all really a lie? They look so much like me! Or my Aunt and Uncle weren’t even related to me. Was my whole life a lie? I would never think in a million years my Brother wasn’t my brother. We always made cookies together, and played hide and go seek when we were younger. I shook my head at the thought. He’s not a Vampire.

And he wrote it all in a letter.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell me in person.

I gripped the letter in my hand, and swung my legs off the bed. I walked to the mirror, and pulled my hair out of my pony tail, to see a paler version of me staring back. I leaned forward, and probed the huge gauze patch on my forehead, placing the letter on the dresser. I don’t even remember how I got that…. I guess I fell? Great that makes my life even better. I’m a klutz, and now everyone knows it.

I pressed my hand in to the gauze, and ripped it off; too see a small pink line. I softly ran my finger over it, feeling no pain. Tiny little black lines lined the pink line. How did I heal so quickly?

“Good evening Miss Heart, nice to see you are up and about,” Alfred said from behind me. When I turned around he had strange look on his face. I felt a sudden chill, and remembered what I was wearing.

I covered myself, “Oh my god I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back!” I pulled open the second drawer of my dresser, and pulled out some pajama and a t-shirt. I made sure to cover my butt with the shirt while I searched for pants. I waved at him and gave a nervous laugh, hurrying to the bathroom. I must of scared him for life.

I quickly changed into clothes, and fixed my hair. I smelled the shirt I was wearing, and smelled a foreign washing detergent, and the slight smell of cologne. Little bitch touching my clothe--

The sudden smell of Mac and cheese, broccoli, a salad, and orange soda made my mouth water. I padded out of the bathroom, with a huge smile on my face.

Wait a minute how the bloody hell do I know that?

Why do I have a British accent in my head?!

Alfred cleared his throat, making me look up. “Miss Heart, I assume you are experiencing heightened senses? Maybe a key sense of smell and a British accent in your head?” He asked, and snapped his fingers, “Genevieve, please come in darling.”

An older woman came in, pushing a cart that has a folded TV dinner table on it, and a silver platter with a lid. My mouth watered some more, and then I realized he asked me a question.

I stared at the food, “W-why?” I stuttered, trying to focus on my words, and not the food. I suddenly felt light headed, and reached out for support.

Alfred’s hand grabbed my upper arm, and he practically dragged me to the bed. “You need to stay in bed for a while, you are still weak,” he scolded. I climbed on slowly, and got under the covers. The tray was placed on my lap, and I thanked the older woman. Her hair is in a low pony tail, and peppered gray, and her eyes are a light brown. She’s wearing a black long sleeved blouse, and black slacks. A red apron is around her neck, and wrapped around her waist. She must be a cook.