Chapter 135

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Just a friendly reminder than it is not a literary law to use only past or present tenses in a story. The tenses are permitted to change for the structure and reality of the story… in case anybody kills me for the miniature slight changes in the story (you’ll see). Lol. Tense changes are acceptable under certain conditions. Many books do this, including the Hunger Games.

comment comment comment if i have you right in the feels

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135:

Zayn inhaled the cold winter air. He was leaning against the bannister of him and Evelyn’s shared balcony.

His eyes slowly drifted upwards until they met the grey, clouded sky.

There were thunderclouds in the distance. He silently wondered if there would be any snow this year.

It’s been several years since he had seen snow. He wanted snow, and lots of it. An image of the whole palace, covered in a thick layer of snow, inches upon inches high, crossed his mind.

He imagined Evelyn slowly and cautiously shuffling her way through the cold substances, and her black hair contrasting the stark white backdrop that surrounds her.

Zayn closed his eyes and allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy.

In his mind, he saw Evelyn giggling and smiling as she stares at the snow with fascination. Then, she turns around and smiles at him. Her skin was dewy from that falling snow that had melted on her hot flesh. Her complexion is as pale and flawlessly beautiful as the snow. Her eyes, oh how her beautiful blue eyes shines from the light reflecting off the snow.

She was an image of perfection.

Zayn smiled to himself, and she’s all mine.

He brought yet another glass of glass of strong alcohol to his mouth. This time, he had switched up from the usual scotch to colourless vodka. The vodka burnt a little more intensely than the scotch, but its kick was also greater than the scotch.

He had lost count of how many bottles of alcohol he had consumed in the past three days.

It must have been a lot.

It’s been several hours since Ethan’s interruption to Zayn’s alcohol accompanied battle of inner desires. And all the sessions of suffocating in his own self-pity that were slotted between the wars of his love for Evelyn and the unborn child that grew inside of her.

At first, he thought it would be fun to take his frustration out on Redfern, but in the end, Zayn just hated himself even more. Damn Redfern and his fυcking morals.

His fist tightened around the iron banister, and the shapes of his fingers were imprinted into the dense metal. He took another sip of the stress relieving vodka and focused his mind back to Evelyn, his Evelyn.

His dearest Evie.

His mind sank back into the safe, deliriously satisfying world of fantasy. He imagined Evelyn dancing in the snow. She spins round and round gracefully. Her laughter fills his ear, and then, she runs up to him and leaps into his arms. She kisses him passionately. Her lips taste sweet and delicious. Zayn can hear her heart racing, for him. Her arms are around his neck and he is holding her body with ease.

Damn, how Zayn wished his fantasy could come true.

Out of the blue, a new figure appears out of nowhere: a tiny little figure.

It is a child, a little boy. He has captivating blue eyes; more beautiful than Evelyn’s—Zayn didn’t think that was possible. The boy’s skin is tanned, his hair dark and his teeth stark white. He is wearing a miniature black suede coat with rabbit fur lined collar to protect his little neck. The boy is smiling, and it is the most beautiful sight Zayn had ever seen.

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