Façade [Book 2] (Glamour Series)

2 | Darkened Fate

After another long day out in the field with Oliver, I return back to my residential room.

The past couple of months at the mansion were the same. Get up in the morning, eat breakfast, have a meeting with Oliver, go train my skills, get a snack, train some more, have dinner, go to my room to sleep, and repeat again. It wasn't that I disliked the people, it's that they were actually growing on me. I had feared most of the people who had set their eyes on me.

But I quickly learned, that it was because we feared each other.

The only person I still don't trust, completely, is Oliver. He wants to be my friend, but something about him tells me he is a lie. Him, being the Dead King and all, has my nerves on edge and my mind a weary mess. he has shown me nothing but contempt. And I wish he would just leave me to train, study, and be happy with myself.

Or with Laurence..

I sigh, slapping myself onto my bed sectioned in the right corner of the room, taking in a deep breath before letting all the hot air from my chest. My long dirty blonde hair, which usually settled passed my shoulders, was bunched up at the back of my head in a tight ponytail. My spine crushed the soft mattress and the base of my neck rested at the end of a white feather pillow.

Laurence..

He had left some time ago, actually. The last I saw him was the night I got injured and had to stay on bed-rest. After my injuries healed, I was ordered to attend private lessons with Oliver, so I'm 'not broken by tough, mean, men'.

I just didn't want to wolf them to death, is that such a crime?

If I knew my punishment would have been to stick around Oliver all day long, maybe I would have tried harder during training.

And now here we are, with him trying to tempt me with words and magic wherever and whenever. My number one goal: was to resist every part that he flaunted at me.

Casting a gaze around my bedroom to the wall opposite mine, where I had a blush-red couch shoved against it, a large picture frame of an old woman, wearing a crown, glances back down at me. She was always so pale and, in her old-fashioned way, gave way a cold persona.

"And you," I state aloud to the woman in the picture-frame, "Look like my dear-old mother."

It was a random thing to say to an empty room but, in the darkness, I could have sworn I saw a smirk rise to her cheeks and her eyes dart between me and my bedroom doorway.

"The darkness does some pretty creepy things." I state, pulling the covers to my neck and curling against them on my right side. "I guess that makes me a hypocrite." It was a joke, but it felt more than true for me to believe it.