Present day
Up ahead the skies, a thousand droplets of rain didn't cease to stop. It was like a beating of drums, pounding mercilessly on the roof of this cottage I was secluded in.
There wasn't much to do. Actually, there wasn't anything to do at all.
A thunder struck down on the earthy soil, its light so bright and its power so shocking. It could be heard all throughout Woodville. I lifted my eyes to the cold glass of my little window, seeing water slip down like a waterfall. It was so dark outside, there wasn't a sign of the usual snow that Woodville was known for.
Never had it rained here. Not once.
But now -- it was strange. What kind of sign was the rain telling me -- us, the Daevas? There was not much solution to the answer, and maybe the rain was just a simple miracle or a cause of global warming.
But in my heart, I knew that this was some mysterious sign.
I just couldn't figure it out. Not yet.
I lifted a finger and touched the glass. It was misty and so cold...just like Roman. I slid my index finger down on the moist glass, tracing a line as I did so. I made circles and odd swirls, my mind on him. Who was he to me, really? He seemed like he really cared about me, but was too prideful to show.
I remembered what happened four days ago, when his elder brother Alexander -- whom I believed killed my human family and my royal mother -- who confessed that I had been (and still was) his wife, and that Roman had showed up to stop him from coming near me, ending up with the two of them, blood-related, killing one another to the pinnacle of death.
I remembered Roman coming toward me as I'd knelt down on the cold, snowy ground -- after Alexander used his power to keep me away from their fracas -- kneeling beside me to gather me in his strong arms, trying to soothe me as he had gently rocked me. Roman had told me that he cared about me. I had asked him, my eyes tearstained, what he was to me, but he had only replied that it was not the right time for me to know.
When Roman wanted to take me back home to my newfound father's castle, I had told him that we couldn't leave Alexander alone, laughing like a lunatic, but filled with blood and full of pain at the same time. He had only clipped in a hard tone that I had to stop talking about Alexander.
Just last night, after I had woken up from a strange dream I had of me and a twin sister named Anne in the mediaeval time, I came out of my room -- finding myself in a small cottage where Roman took me to, after he allegedly kidnapped me saying that he'd keep me safe -- and asked him questions, in which he didn't help me out with. The final one was who I was to him, but he only said that I ought to get a rest, for I needed it.
And this time, I was inside my room, not coming out. I couldn't. It was dawn, but it looked like it was already ten in the evening. I sighed. There were so many things that happened so quickly in my life. Just a few weeks ago, after my parents and siblings had been killed, I found a home, where a girl named Georgiana Van Allen gladly accepted me. I had been okay with her four brothers living with her: Alistair, Roman, Axel, and Gabriel; my relationship with Alistair was unreadable, but I knew he treated me as an equal; with Axel, we were...something; with Roman, I sure in hell didn't know; and with Gabriel...well, we had our ups and downs.
Georgie and Axel were the siblings I was closest with. Seeing now that I was alone with Roman, of all people, I didn't feel good. My stomach lurched, demanding that I should eat, but I couldn't go outside my tiny room, knowing that I would see him. He didn't, not once, come in to check on me. All I heard through the long hours were his footsteps pacing the living room, occasionally. He sometimes went outside these past few hours, me not meaning to use my powers to hear. I heard him click the door to go outside, with the rain pattering on the ground, him opening his car, and grabbing something. He sometimes listened to his music there, and he also gathered firewood to keep us warm. But I felt cold, no matter how many firewood he burned.
I was not myself lately. I was all right when I came to stay with my best friend Owen in Liluwaye Cone for three days, after walking my way from the debacle I had witnessed between Alexander and his younger brother, Roman. That was not the only problem I had that time: on that very same day before the fight happened, I saw some visions of people in my head living hundreds of years ago, giving me some sign. Then Matteo D'Onofrio took me to his the portrait gallery in his castle, and showed me his family portraits from the very first D'Onofrio, to the current one. In that gallery, I found my mother's portrait, and it hit me that I finally realised Matteo was my father; my mother, Madeleine "Maddy" Carlson, was not simply Maddy Carlson of Woodville, the most beautiful woman in town. She was a princess. Daevas royalty. She was the highest born Daeva in our supernatural community, and was known throughout Europe and America, and possibly other parts of the world in the past.
She was Her Royal Highness Madeleine Christianne Gansevoort D'Onofrio. The Gansevoorts were the very first Daevas family to enter the world of the humans. And as she was my mother, I was her daughter, making me a...princess, as well. I didn't know everything about my family background, nor did I know about myself, exactly. All I knew was that I was married, I had a missing twin sister, I was a Daeva, and I was a princess.
But I was sure that was not the end of my future findings.
Drip, drip, drip, I heard the water pour. Click, the door opened and was shut again. Footsteps began to pound smoothly on the wet soil outside the cottage, and Roman opened his car door, sliding inside and shutting it closed. He clicked on something inside.
"I'm holding on your rope, it's got me ten feet off the ground...and I'm hearing what you say but I just can't make the sound..." Ah, A classic Apologize by One Republic.
It was weird to listen, I knew, but what else could I do?
"It's too late to apologize, it's too late. I said it's too late to apo --"
Shut.
"Damn song," Roman grumbled. He began to click another one.
"We had fire in our eyes; in the beginning I never felt so alive; in the beginning you, you blame me but it's not fair when you say that I didn't try, I just don't wanna hear it anymore. I swear I never meant to let it die, I just don't --"
"As much as I like Three Days Grace, now is not the time for this song." He switched to another station.
"'Cause, darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream -- so it's gonna be forever? Or it's gonna go down in flames? You can tell me when it's over, hmm, if the high was worth the pain --"
"Damn it!" he swore under his breath. I began to realize that, slowly, my lips were twisting up into a smile in amusement. There was something about Roman that wanted to make me laugh and cry.
From the past few weeks of my meeting the Van Allens and getting to know a bit of them, I learned that Roman had two personalities: he was a cynic and a vulnerable person. Though he did not show his softer side most of the time, when he did show it, it was something to be amused and glad about. He rarely smiled, therefore, he rarely laughed too. I remembered the time when I was in Matteo's castle...when a friendly maid helped me dress up nicely and brought back the glow in me, and when I went to the small dining parlor to eat, Roman entered, and we had a couple of awkward conversations -- that was only me being awkward, not him -- and I saw the ghost of a smile I rarely saw till that moment after I choked from my food and nearly ripped my linen in my hands. That was the effect of his smile when he did it. It was unnerving, yet gorgeous in a this-is-my-beautiful-smile-when-I-do-show-it-but-I'm-really-one-of-the-rare-people-who-smile kind of way.
When I made him smile, I felt proud. Like I was on too of the world.
I heard Roman exhale deeply inside his car. "If only I could do something to -- no, no. That won't do. It's best to let the memory sink in, than for me to tell her." He sighed again, slapping his hands on the steering wheel. "I promised I wouldn't tell, not now. I'll let it happen freely. Yeah, that'll work."
Ladies and gentlemen, Roman Van Allen was talking to himself. I didn't know what the heck he was saying to himself, but my smile was reaching way up to my eyes, making me laugh which was high-pitched and loud. I couldn't help it. It was good to laugh again. How I missed it.
But then it stopped when I saw a flash, my eyes heating, turning into an emerald green. My smile faded away as I began to see something. Something deep inside my head, buried long ago, forcing its way right before my eyes.
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Yorkshire, England
Spring 1471
"The duke," a messenger in the royal livery says rapidly, standing outside the door, his face all excited; his breath catches. "I need to see his grace!"
Nina had been watching Anne and I learn how to play the harp with the harper, Clyde West. She was so proud of the two of us learning, but then a rapid knocking on the door from the entrance began. Everyone is busy doing their own work: Mother is discussing with the wool merchant who came here personally for the cloths that are needed for our gowns, while Father is having a deep conversation with Lord Rigby of Caste Hall in his study. I know naught of what they are discussing, but Anne tried to stick her ear on the door a while ago, which made me chide her senseless before she got a scolding from Father or Mother. We have been here for two days, tomorrow is our twelfth birthday, and Anne is still reckless.
When the pounding of the door kept on beating, Nina grumbled and silently went out of the room as to not interrupt us, and answered the door with a "What be the reason, lad? 'Tis too busy in here for you do add problems!" Her voice could be heard all around the large mansion. Anne was the first one to excuse herself from the lesson, picked up her skirts and ran off from the room like a mad girl, giggling senseless and kneeling down on the floor of the second story, her tiny hands clutching the rail of the stairs like a little prisoner in a cell, her skirts a swirl of mess around her. She came to spy.
I gaped at her, then I looked at Clyde, who was grinning wolfishly while shaking his head at the open doorway where Anne was in view, eavesdropping on Nina and the visitor, who were having quite a show.
"She be one happy lassy, bain't she, Dame Venise?" he asked, looking at me, his eyes bright with amusement at my sister's behaviour.
"Certes, Clyde, she is." I sighed and gracefully stood up from my seat. I picked up my harp, and put it inside its case, while saying, "I suppose 'tis over for now, this lesson with you."
Clyde stood the same time I did and he helped me fix things up back normal. He nodded in agreement and bowed to me, then left the room, whispering to Anne that she might get caught.
She rolled her eyes. "Pah! I shan't care, Clyde. Leave me be now, 'tis a very interesting sight, Nina and this man at the door," my sister whispered back, shooing him away. Clyde only chuckled. Off he went down to the kitchen.
Now I am here with Anne, for I have nothing to do. I simply cannot force Anne, for she will not listen to me if I tell her to stop what she is doing.
I am sitting beside her, hearing her smothered giggles covered by her dainty hand full of rings on each finger. I fix my skirts, tucking them carefully in between my legs, and place my hands on my lap, looking down below to the main hall, where Nina and the messenger are visible at the center. "I wonder why he is desperately looking for Father while getting all ecstatic," I mutter.
"We'll find out soon enough!" Anne whispers happily.
Nina groans, placing a hand on her hips. "What say you? What need you be to be looking for the duke?"
"I don't know why we are sitting up here, hiding like guilty girls, Anne, but I am going to stand now. I feel all silly." I stand up and look at her headdress, bobbing a bit as her head moves. I am waiting if she is going to do what I just did, but she simply raises her arm and shoos me away, her attention still glued to the messenger. I bite my lip and heave a sigh. I'll have to stick by her instead, but I most certainly am not going to hide. Anne looks ridiculous below my skirts, spying on the two servants.
The messenger grins and grabs Nina by the shoulders, shaking her. "His Grace, King Edward Plantagenet has come victorious outside the city of Tewkesbury against Lord Somerset!"
Nina gives a cry of joy at this news, and begins to pull the man inside, squealing as she does so. Anne and I both look at each other, our eyes scintillating at the good news. York wins again! I smile. "Oh, but his grace be busy having a meeting with Lord Rigby! He might be angry to be interrupted. Nay" -- Nina shakes her head and laughs -- "he be right glad of the news!"
"What on earth are you fretting about, Nina?" Mother has come now, touching her on the arm, looking concerned. She looks at the messenger standing beside the maid, and he bows down low to her. "Yes, sir?"
The man repeats the news, and my mother smiles, but there is worriment in her beautiful face, I can tell. Warwick, as she tells Anne and I, has been a good friend of the Gansevoorts for many, many years. Even if she knows that Somerset is a turncoat and that she does not really like the man, she is concerned. She is concerned with everybody, my mother.
"I am right glad to hear the news, kind sir. Come, let me lead you to my husband's study to let you tell him the good news." She stops for a while and smiles charmingly at the man, who looks away and blushes. "Anne, do get up from the floor, sweeting. It is an unladylike act. You and Venise shall go with me to hear more of the good news." She does not look up to see us, and she simply waits, her back ramrod straight.
I extend my hand for Anne to hold, and she pulls it and gets up, her other hand holding her skirts. She and I go down the stairs at the same time -- Anne doing her best to show my mother that she can do what I am doing -- and Mother holds our hands in each of hers. The man is respectfully keeping a distance behind us, while Nina stays in her place. I know she will be eavesdropping with the servants later behind the door to Father's study.
Mother knocks on the door, and as she hears Father's "Come!" loudly, she enters along with us, moving aside to show the messenger behind us. "Husband, there is good news that this man will tell us," she says in her smooth English accent. I did not inherit her accent. I have this strange one that conceives of talking in straight English, my vowels flat; like I am from a very unfamiliar country. My power tells me that my accent shall be used by people from a land that will be called America someday, but I know naught when this Virgin land shall be found.
I also have the Sight, and so I am sure it will happen in time. Other than that, Anne has a mixed accent, which is part English- and Italian-inflected.
My father and Lord Rigby are standing as they see Mother and me and my sister. The three of us sit beside the gravestone fireplace, while the two noblemen sit back down. The messenger bows down low, then Father nods his head for the man to speak, and he leans back in his velvet-cushioned chair.
"His hrace, King Edward, has won the battle against Lord Somerset," he announces loudly. We hear some whispers outside the room, and Anne begins to giggle, Mother shushes her. But I can see that she is smiling too.
"Continue." Father flicks his hand in a gesture to continue this blessed news.
"The king wishes for you to know this, as soon as he learned of you and your family's arrival here in England," he prattles on, giving a lopsided smile. Lord Rigby gives a "My word, D'Onofrio! The king truly likes your family," while we are all smiling. The messenger clears his throat. "The march began in Cirencester on the last day of April and from then 'twas a hard race to engage the queen Margaret of Anjou's army. Then she crossed the Severn. The king and his men came to Tewkesbury hard by Severn, and King Edward knew he must strike or else Somerset would lead the enemy back in Wales and seek safety. In three days they marched without stopping, riding hard and tired, and both sides were footsore upon the night of the battle. The battle is indeed bloody and gruesome, as we were told, and when 'twas done. The queen's son, Edward of Lancaster, was slain in the field. Somerset was taken and the queen and her army of men fled the battlefield like wild boars running from a hunt! 'Tis also said that the king himself took no prisoners in the very least."
"'Tis good news indeed!" My father is grinning. Anne claps her hands and gets up from her seat beside Mother, running to Father and sitting on his lap. He gives a little huff, but he bellows a hoot of laughter after. Mother and I are quite aghast, and so are Lord Rigby and the messenger standing at the center of the chamber.
"Also, there is more, your grace," the man says. "My Lord Somerset was found in an abbey with the others and brought into trial by Richard of Gloucester, the king's brother, as Constable of England and was executed without delay whatsoever."
"It serves him well!" Lord Rigby spits, going up from his seat and placing his hands on his ample hips. "That Somerset has done nothing but bring trouble to this country! Good riddance to him."
The messenger and Anne both nodded in agreement, though Anne has not a clue what some of this means as I do, too. She bounces on Father's strong lap, while he says, "Indeed, Rigby, 'tis right that he is executed. Is there anything more, my good man?" he asks the messenger. But he does know. I can tell it by the way his eyes flash a bit lighter. He can read minds, and he has experience of this power for many years now. He acts like he does not, though, to not be looked under suspicion as somewhat other than just a human. We are not witches, but we are not humans either.
"Aye, your grace," he replies. "'Tis said that the queen Margaret was found hiding in a religious house with a group of ladies about her, along with Warwick's daughter Anne Neville, who is in George of Clarence's custody. 'Tis all for now, but I shall be back for more, if there is still some to be."
Father nods, gently lifts Anne from his lap, and stands up, acknowledging the man with a swift nod. "I thank you, lad. You served us kindly. Go to the kitchen and have some venison and ale as payment for your trouble coming here. Methinks you are famished, are you not?" He raises a russet eyebrow.
The man grins and bows low to my father the duke. Messengers in other households rarely get to eat good food as venison. They only receive old bread and cheese with ale as drink, but with Father, who is a kind man, it is different. With that, he leaves the room, finding many servants beginning to walk left and right, acting as if they have been working for a while now. My parents don't say a thing, and the messenger closes the door and heads to the kitchen.
"I hope King Edward holds a feast for his victory for York!" Anne exclaims jovially, her face glowing.
"I feel it, sweeting," Father says gladly.
I see a flash of something. Skirts are swirling, feet hopping and doing intricate steps, harps and lutes playing, delicious food being set on a long table. "I can see it happening, Anne," I answer. Anne and I exchange grins. She knows what I mean.
Mother laughs joyfully, entertained by the three of us, her family.
Lord Rigby looks bewildered, scratching his thinning brown hair, his brows furrowed. He has no idea what I just saw.
"Long live the king! Long live York!" Anne cries. "And am hopeful for a feast!"
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Present day
I was back to reality, though what I saw felt like I was actually in it; like I was back in time. It was so weird. We were loyal Yorkists. We were a friend of King Edward the Fourth. Not that I knew much about this, but we kind of tackled European history at school.
I was a docile little girl, acting all demure and modest, while I had a sister who was the opposite of me. Huh. I read the history of the Wars of the Roses on the internet through Wikipedia one time for my history class. The story that happened in the 15th century was interesting -- but actually being in that time, it was amazing and horrible.
So that was who I was before. I was eleven years old and a good, obedient daughter. I had a twin who looked exactly like me, though we had different personalities, eyes, and accents. I wondered where she was now, but I didn't know what happened to her. I didn't know if she was still alive like me or was dead. I wondered if she had a memory loss like I had, but I had no clue where Anne was. My mom never told me a single thing of my past when she was already married to my "dad," Stewart Carlson. All I remembered was that I was born on May 18 in the late 90s, and that I was adopted by Stewart into his family. Mom was already married to Stewart; and Greg, my brother, was born in the early 90s. My little sister, Jemma, was born a few years after me, making me the middle of the siblings. Though my siblings knew that I was not really their sister, but a stepsister, I was treated with love -- and a daily vexing from Greg -- and as a real family. I believed that Stewart was my real father, for Mom rarely mentioned my real father. All I ever heard from her was, "He was a good man, Venise. But the both of us thought it best for us to part and for you to stay into my keeping." I often asked her what his name was, but she only shook her head and left it at that. I asked what he was like, and she always began to cry, her voice shaking, her rosebud lips trembling, as she said, "He loved both of us so much. Oh, how he loved us. He said he would never stop loving us. But it was better that we parted with him." I didn't ask her why he wanted Mom and I to leave, because I knew she would not answer me. I didn't have my skills back then, but I was always wondering why Stewart and Greg looked at me and my mother as if we were something meant to be kept a secret.
Maybe they knew what Madeleine and I were, but I certainly had no idea what we were back then. Jemma had acted as if she didn't know what we were at all, though I was not sure.
My mother was a gentle woman. She was kind and loving; affectionate and understanding. She always had time for Greg, Jemma, and I. She never picked between the three of us. She was always graceful, and as odd and funny for Jemma and I, she always had time to teach my us how to eat like ladies and how to walk and talk like ones. It served us well whenever we went out or whenever we were invited at dinner parties from rich neighbours, or even the average ones like our family. But there was not any ordinary thing about my mother. Greg was taught how to be respectful and courteous to women, but he occasionally laughed at everything he did when it came to etiquette. Mother had patience, and it was rare for her to be mad. I never saw her and Stewart fight, which was odd for me because all I heard from my classmates was that their parents were getting divorced, or that they always fought. Not Maddy and Stewart Carlson, though. Mom, Jemma, and I had reading time in our small living room with English tea prepared by Mom herself. We were taught how to do embroidery, which Jemma lacked the skills at, while I oddly enjoyed it immensely. My siblings and I were sung by her, who had a voice of an angel. I had her skills at singing, and Jemma and -- unbelievably -- Greg, too.
Mom and Stewart loved telling stories to us, and Mom occasionally told us of her native country, England. This, as an answer found in my dream and my vision, was mine as well.
I closed my eyes, feeling the tears in my eyes. I missed my family so much. So damn much that I wanted to be with them. I knew that Stewart and my mother were touching my shoulders, assuring me that I shouldn't be sad. That they were still here for me. I could see Greg frowning down at me for, even if he loved to annoy me all the time, he was still my dear brother who loved me as his real sister. I felt Jemma beside me, hugging me to know that they were all here for me; that I was not alone. But as I opened my eyes, they were not here. It was just me, inside a little room, staying at a small cottage that God only knew where. But it wasn't just me. I was with Roman.
And I was acting like a cowardly chicken, hiding away inside my tiny house.
I despised myself for the cowardice I was showing. It made me weak...but then again, I was not strong. In occasions, I had my rare moments that showed my anger. But it was because of how I was changing; how I showed my skills as a Daeva.
I groaned and turned around from the window in front of me. I walked and opened the door, my sneakers echoing in the living room. The place seemed very old, and that people never came inside here for a very long time. Its walls were of dark maroon, the paint scratching off already. The floorboards were creaking, and it was dusty and full of scratch marks. There was light in the fireplace, and I looked more around the cottage to keep myself busy. There was a bookshelf at the side, but it held no books to keep anyone busy; there was a small sofa that was already old and its sponge cushioning were scratched and dirty; there was also a chair at the center where Roman sat before. Instantly, I moved toward it. I rested my hand on the back of the chair and, slowly, I sat there, unmoving, my eyes on the fire.
"No, Gregory," Mom says kindly, her lips gently turning into a smile. "When greeting someone, you have to bow," she says in her soothing English accent. My brother, Jemma, and I stare at her, as if she has gone crazy.
"Why bow, Mommy?" My twelve-year-old sister says, her brows scrunching down together.
Me and my brother look at each other, then to our mother. "Yeah, Mom," Greg says slowly. "I mean, I know that gesture is very courteous and all, but let's face it," he laughs and then shows his irresistible grin that shows his pearly white teeth, "we're not in the time where Jane Austen lives anymore."
I don't say anything. I simply look at my mom, waiting for her answer. She looks dazed, and her mouth is slightly opened, her dark eyes round and blank. "Mom?" I ask eventually.
"I didn't mean any harm, Mom," Greg assures her. "If you..." He coughs. "If you're remembering one of...your, ah" -- he looks at Jemma and me furtively -- "days, then okay. But bowing's not the thing now."
I don't know what Greg means with that look he gave me and Jemma, but something's fishy, I can tell. I mean, there's something weird going on that only he and Mom knows. But I really don't know what the heck it is. I'm just a fourteen-year-old girl, you know. I don't know everything.
Jemma loops her arm through mine, and she raises her brow at our mom. Mom blinks really fast, and her head snaps to attention, her pretty dark eyes looking at Greg. She smiles in apology and puts her pretty hands on her chest. "I'm so silly!" she exclaims,
Now I knew it seemed odd. Greg knew. But they kept that from Jemma and I. Mom wanted a normal for us. She learned to love Stewart too. But now, I was wondering if she ever forgot Matteo. I bet not.
"I miss you, Mom," I said softly, my voice still echoing in the small living room. The door shut and I turned around in my seat to look at Roman.
He stood there, quietly removing his sodden black jacket, not looking at me. But eventually, he did. I didn't know why such a handsome guy could also gather such cynicism inside his cold heart...
He stared at me with his penetrating amber eyes, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He had a long, straight, patrician nose, with lips that were set in a grim line...but I noticed that the upper lip was slightly thin and bottom was kind of plump and pouty, which was now immobile and very...very kissable. His jaw was strong and was now clipped. He was staring at me, like he was angry at me.
I was used to him acting like this, but it still unnerved me. I feared him and did not fear him at the same time. Venise Carlson feared him, but Venise Gansevoort D'Onofrio did not. I was weak, strong, and haughty. I pursed my lips but remained looking at him with my olivine eyes. He held his jacket in one hand, only wearing jeans and a wet white shirt and scuffed Doc Martens. He broke his gaze with mine, and he slightly shook his cropped, midnight black hair, the water dripping away from it. He walked toward where I was at, and I just noticed that he was holding a small paper bag. He placed it on my lap without much acknowledgement, then he threw his jacket on the sofa, and sat down with a thud. His arms were outstretched on the back of the sofa, with legs slightly apart on the floor.
I looked down on my lap, where the paper bag was on. Then I looked at him again.
He nodded at the bag. "I figured you were hungry, so I got that."
"You bought it when you went out?"
"No. I always pack food in case of these kinds of things. And they're not expired, so don't worry about that."
"Oh." I touched the paper bag. "Thanks, I guess."
"Welcome."
I put my hand inside the bag and brought out a bag of Cheetos. There were beef jerky and some canned goods. I also brought out a can of Coke. I groaned as the bag of Cheetos fell onto the floor, so I got off the chair and sat on the floor instead, me bringing out the other food out of the paper bag. I attempted to open the Cheetos, but failed to no avail.
"Here," I heard Roman's deep voice say, "let me do it." I gave the bag of junk to him without looking at his face, and he grabbed it, our fingers brushing as he did so. I let go instantly.
I could feel him staring oddly at me. I heard the chips rustle as Roman finally opened it. He handed it to me, and I took it. I took a Cheeto, and popped it inside my hungry mouth, savouring the cheesy goodness of it. I ate and ate, but then I realized that I was eating out like a pig, while Roman didn't get any of the powdered junk. I slowly looked at him, seeing he was looking at me with bright eyes, his lips slightly twisting up into a lopsided smile. That damned smile again. It was unsettling and heart-stopping. "Want some?" I asked shyly.
He grabbed a handful with one hand, then leaned back into the sofa, a Cheetoful in one hand, and the other taking each and eating it. I dropped the junk and took the soda, popping it open and drinking it.
I gave a sidelong glance at him. I didn't know what he was to me in my past, which only added to my chagrin. What if I was in love with him before? Gah.
"How are you feeling now?" Roman finally asked.
I blinked at him. "Awkward."
"That's what you're feeling?"
I nodded.
He grinned. Damn. "Why so?"
"Don't start with that, please."
"Why?"
I ground my teeth together. I was trying not to burst into embarrassment and irritation toward this impossible boy. "I just feel awkward, that's all."
"Because...?" he queried, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.
I took a swig of my drink. "Because a while ago, you were so cold to me, and now you're my friend once more."
"Huh," he said. "I see. Anything else besides that?"
I shook my head really fast.
"Oh, come on."
I bit my lip. I couldn't stop him. He'd keep annoying me. "Because I feel...embarrassed toward you. Because...because I'm...I don't know!" I burst out.
He chuckled. "Reeeeally?" I glared at him menacingly. "Well, I'm sorry if I was such an ass a while ago. I wasn't in the mood."
"Like you're always in the mood," I grumbled to myself.
"What was that?" Roman said with an amused laugh.
"Nothing."
"Like I'm always in a mood, perhaps?"
I groaned. He stopped teasing me, but he was still smiling. Then I began to talk. I wasn't looking at him but, rather, on my hands with my fingers twisting together on my lap. "I'm seeing strange...things."
He waited.
"I'm having visions, and I had a dream -- about my past. I was only eleven, and I had a twin sister named Anna Marianne; Anne for short. Matteo was -- is --my father and Mom was there. We were Yorkists and our family was close with the Plantagenets back in the fifteenth century.
"I know that it's strange but it's good to know that I'm kind of having my memory back. I'm slowly discovering who I was, even if I haven't seen all of my past yet, but I don't understand why it's showing now. I mean, why didn't it show then? When my mom was still alive to help me with this?"
I looked at him, and he was staring into the fire. "It's a part of your cycle. Not that all of the Daevas have memory loss, but when they do have it, which is rare, they eventually have their memory back, though they have to wait for hundreds of years for it all to come back," he answered.
So I wasn't the only one who had this unfortunate demise.
"Since you had no memory for a long time, your past is sinking in in waves. You'll know more about yourself soon enough."
I wanted to ask if he knew Anne, but of course he did not. She was older than him by hundreds of years, and even if he did, he wouldn't answer me. I wanted to ask what I was to him again, but thought better of it. Now was not the time. I got up. "I'll get some rest for a while," I said quietly.
He looked up from his seat and nodded. "Get some. I'll sleep here."
"But don't you want to sleep with me, Roman?" I asked, my hand moving to touch his neck, stroking it, my eyes feeling dark and misty. "I'm sure there's room for the both of us on the bed. It's cold there and...I need someone to warm it for me. Will you do it for me?" He furrowed his brows at me, then looked at my stroking hand. For a moment, his eyes went dark and he looked as if he was going to accept the offer, but stopped himself as he realised that this wasn't who I was. I didn't do these things. My eyes went light again, and I saw my hand still stroking his smooth neck, and at once I dropped my hand to my side like his skin was filled with toxic.
I gasped a little at my seductive move that came from nowhere inside me, then I muttered my apology quickly and ran to my room, shutting the door with a bang.
What the hell happened to me back there? My cheeks started heating up as I blushed with humiliation at my move. I didn't even know I did that to him! It was like some flirt came inside my body and tried to seduce Roman.
But...I was the one who did it. I stroked his neck. I practically seduced him, and it almost worked. God.
What was happening?