“Come here, petal.”
I’m barely aware of anything but the saccharine voice that drifts through the smoke and haze to kiss upon my ears. A shudder rolls down my spine, my unfocused eyes seeking for the source before I even have the thought to do so. My feet move as though they have a mind of their own, taking me through the darkness permeated by shimmering clouds of violet smoke and haze.
Something intoxicating fills my nose, overwhelms my senses. I feel as though I don’t need to see so long as I can continue drowning in that sweet, cloying scent. Still, my feet carry me onwards, and that dulcet voice drifts to me once more.
“Peculiar little thing. You, but not quite you at all. How… intoxicating.”
I don’t understand a single thing that he says, but I know I want to keep hearing that lovely, masculine voice. Just as I am about to speak, to ask where he is so I may come to him, the smoke and haze shifts around me and I feel something drag against my waist. Somehow both cold and warm at the same time, it’s as though my senses are on overdrive as a large hand spans the entirety of my side. A solid mass presses against my back, and contrary to how I expect myself to react, I find my body sinking backwards into the lazy embrace.
“I’ve never seen a soul like yours, tasted an energy so sweet…” A sigh escapes me as another large hand places itself on my body, smoothing over my stomach and dragging sharp nails against the top of my thighs. Something exhilarating flips through my chest, sending my heart into a fluttering gallop. “I do so want it… don’t you, petal?”
I do, I do, I do — I don’t say it aloud but he knows, and he answers. The hand on my side slides up to the swell of my chest, finding its peak with ease and pinching it between two fingers. I let out a gasp, heat melting down my spine and pooling in the pit of my stomach. The other hand slides between my thighs, the sharpened tips of the fingers nowhere to be found. Lower, lower, so painstakingly slow. I can feel my breaths come quicker in anticipation, knees weakening. My head is full of nothing but want and that sweet, intoxicating scent.
“Find me,” the words are a sultry breath in my ear. I find myself nodding before I even realise it.
“And free me.”
— - —
I wake with a start, lurching in the bed. I can feel the heat flushing my face, the sweat dripping down my back. Disoriented, I peer around to try and catch my bearings. The light filtering through the window is weak and tinted pink, hinting at the early hour – it seems I’ve woken much earlier than usual.
My stomach is curling, and I find my thighs moving to clench together before I realise what I’m doing and stop myself. Suddenly aware of the desire weighing heavy in my limbs and burning hot in my gut, I’m even more disoriented than before. I know it has to do with the dream I just had, but for the absolute life of me I cannot remember what it was I was dreaming about.
Flustered and discombobulated, it doesn’t take me long to realise that there’s no chance of me being able to go back to sleep like this. As my reality slowly sleeps back into my mind, I let out a sigh and move out of the bed. The silken material of my sleepwear is refreshingly cool against my heated skin, and I find myself thankful that I’d refused the nightgown options and gone for pyjamas that have pants, or else there would be more of a mess to clean on my legs.
As I freshen up and sling a thin robe and slippers on to combat the cold sting to the air, I decide the best course of action for me to take right now is to go for a walk. The Clematis estate boasts a magnificent garden that spans farther than I can explore in a day. It’s something I’ve really been wanting to check out in my own time, but living as Rosalite is proving to be busier than anticipated.
I half expected to see Eden by the door when I slipped from my room, but to my surprise the hallway is completely empty. Were there any less light, it might have even been spooky – as it is, for me it’s a good omen. Looks like I will be able to venture about unaccompanied for the first time in a while. It’s hard to really process things when someone is acting as your shadow for all waking hours.
Not that I’m naming any names.
The garden is a breath of fresh air, both figuratively and literally, as I step outside into the dewy atmosphere. There is a fountain, ensconced by flowering shrubbery and decorated with climbing vines, that I have glimpsed from my window before, and it is where I decide to go this morning. I’m not going to go on a big adventure when it is likely the rest of the estate will soon be waking.
Leaves that brush against my skin as I walk gift small dewdrops in their wake, faint birdsong the only sound filtering through the air besides my quiet footfalls. When I reach the fountain I discover a carved stone bench facing it, hidden beneath an overgrown, flowering arch, and decide to take my seat there. Almost immediately, too many thoughts to sort through come hurtling to the front of my mind as I gaze at the fountain and let my eyes unfocus.
After encountering Estella in that bakery, something changed. That night, my dreams were full of memories, marking the first time I’ve been able to recall them in my whole stay here.
I had been right in thinking my name was similar to Rosalite’s – in my own world, I am a woman named Rosa. I don’t have any living relatives besides three younger half-siblings, who I spent most of my youth raising. As far as I know, my age is similar to Rosalite’s, too – twenty-two, though I can’t seem to recall my date of birth.
But it wasn’t only memories of my other life that came to me that night. It was as though there is a connection to Rosalite’s own memories, and it had just been blocked somehow before that night. Not everything came to me, but a lot did. I remembered her last days, her last minutes. The crippling loneliness she felt as she lay there by herself, dying at the hands of her own blood, and the utter resignation she had towards her fate. I woke up crying the next morning, that horrible, horrible ache still lingering in my chest in an echo of the memory I had witnessed.
Rosalite was not a villain.
But that doesn’t matter when the rest of this world seems to regard her as such.
After meeting Estella, and accessing some of Rosalite’s memories, it has become painfully clear how that has come to be. Rosalite grew up alone, with no one on her side but herself. The second any of staff showed an ounce of sympathy, they were removed. If it appeared she was making a friend, they disappeared. Whatever wasn’t taken care of by her nasty relatives, was entrusted to Estella. The woman evidently had a way of setting her up, manipulating the situation so that Rosalite’s reputation in society would fall every time she showed her face. Humiliating her with magic devices, with trends and fads.
If it ever looked like Rosalite was interested in someone, then the next time they appeared in public Estella was on their arm, whispering in their ear. Compared to how immature she was when I met her, some of her schemes in the past were quite complex, and almost always resulted in success. Before she knew it, Rosalite had been painted a jealous, wicked woman and none of her peers dared approach or include her for fear of the black stain her presence could become on their reputation.
What I don’t quite understand, though, is how Estella manages to have such influence when she isn’t from any particularly prominent family. She wasn’t born in the capital, she isn’t particularly wealthy, and though some might consider her pretty she isn’t a show-stopping beauty. I can’t seem to figure out how it is that she managed to pull all of that off on her own.
My main goal is still to get home, back to my own world, my own life, but now that I’ve experienced the misery Rosalite went through, felt the sorrow that haunted her bones, it somehow feels… personal.
While I’m here, I’m going to do whatever I can to try and get some form of closure for Rosalite.
If that means literally throwing hands at that wicked ginger bitch, then I’m most definitely not above it.
By the time the sun peeks over the hedges and warms my skin gold, I don’t quite know how much time has passed. I do know, however, that I very nearly pass out from fright when a voice sounds to my right.
“An early morning walk is very unlike you, my lady.”
It’s just Eden, I discover with a wide-eyed glance – knowing that doesn’t help the frantic racing of my heart as it attempts to leave my chest, though.
“I ought to put a fucking bell on you,” I mutter to myself, pressing a hand to my chest. I look up to see Eden’s lips pressed firmly together, like he’s suppressing a laugh or something equally scandalous. This isn’t the first time he has nearly scared me to death with how quiet he is. “Can you perhaps walk a bit louder? I think my soul actually nearly passed out of my body.”
“As you wish,” he says. I squint at him; he sounded… amused, still.
“Whatever,” I say, waving my hand. “How did you find me?”
“I’ve got a good nose,” he says, somewhat offhandedly. When he catches my confused expression, he seems somewhat flustered and hurries to add, “I simply followed the smell of brewing trouble.”
“That’s rude,” I snort, turning my gaze to the fountain. There is still a light mist hovering above the grass in its shadow, adding a magical haze to the image. “But I suppose its not entirely wrong, with how the previous days have gone.”
Unfortunately, meeting Estella wasn’t the only hiccup I have experienced this week. It seems she has a few close friends whose missions also happen to include harassing Rosalite.
Eden doesn’t comment further, and I take the opportunity to ask, “What are the vultures up to, today?”
It’s probably not very proper at all to call my relatives vultures in front of a personal guard, but I don’t particularly care. It’s hard for anyone not to notice their nature, anyway. After obtaining some of Rosalite’s memories, I’ve taken to asking Eden this of a morning. For some reason, he always seems to know. It’s kind of suspicious, but it’s convenient right now so I’m not going to look into it. I just want to keep an eye on them in case they’re planning another attempt on my life. They’re running out of time, after all, I’m considered a full adult upon turning twenty-three, and will come into my inheritance fully. The only way they will see a cent of it is if I die of “natural causes” before that.
If Eden has the urge to laugh, he hides it well. Actually, he appears a little more serious than normal. “They’re on the move today, my lady. They are spending the day off the estate.”
That makes me pause – movement from them is never good, if Rosalite’s memory serves well. Something trickles into the forefront of my mind, a brief recollection from recent years. I turn to Eden fully, pondering how to word what I want to ask without looking suspicious. In the end, I give up and decide to be blunt.
“Did they happen to leave dressed in black, and take the carriage without the crest? Going, uh, in the direction away from the city, to the west?”
Eden appears baffled at my question, but in such a way that it’s obvious I hit the nail on the head and he’s wondering how.
“They’re going to a certain black auction, it’s hosted in a large warehouse to the west of the city.” I explain. It’s where they obtained poison to use on me a few times, but I don’t bother telling Eden that little tidbit.
The man seems alarmed, eyes widening as his lips part ever so slightly. “...How do you know this?”
“They’ve gone before,” I say, adding a shrug for good measure. “I don’t like that they’re going again. Their attendance doesn’t mean very good news for me.”
His brows furrow at my vague statement, but he doesn’t inquire further. I rise from the seat, stretching my limbs.
“Want to go on a trip, Eden?”
He is somewhat apprehensive.
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