To tell a tale that’s never been told begins with a beginning that is not entirely unfamiliar. As the saying goes, once upon a time…

A woman arrived in a foreign land and met a foreign man. Though their relationship was brief, it bore a lasting fruit—their daughter. She inherited her mother’s looks and intelligence yet possessed a naive spirit like her father.

Often left to her own devices, the young girl would take solitary walks to and from home, careful not to disturb her mother’s busy life. These walks eventually led her to make a new friend who would occasionally accompany her on her daily journeys. 

One day, her friend noticed something different and asked, “Oh my, you look at this dainty little flower today. What’s got you beaming with such joy?”

The daughter was never confused by her friend’s words. Although they may sound cruel or sharp at times, they tended to come from a warm place of teasing.

“Nothing. Why, do I look happy?” Rose questioned. Rose, the daughter who believed her smile was never that cheery, shrugged. She stood in the mirror, sometimes confused as to why so many thought her smile was so bright. She herselfthought it was subtle, with a few teeth ever-present peaking through her lips. But her smile came with a soft touch of her noise rising and the bridge above crinkling. Her dimples took most of the attention, leaving her expression to light up any room like the sun.

“Soooo, you’re not happy?” The friend asked. “Because you should be. You’re young, naive, and without a care in the world.”

“That’s not what makes people happy, silly. You’re happy when you’re happy and sad when you’re sad. This goes for anything, does it not?”

The friend pondered for a moment. A finger on their chin as they mulled over the words. 

“I suppose…”

“Are you not happy?”

“I am,” The friend pondered for a moment, very contemplative of their words. “I suppose. Just a little down, given all the traveling and such.”

“Goodness, I’m so jealous. Life must be so exciting as an actress. Never dull, exploring the world and its vast, beautiful places.”

“You don’t travel?”

“Heavens, no,” Rose replied with a smile. She was not sad or disheartened. She was not even all that jealous if she was honest. “Everything I’ve known has been here in Forest Creek. Not even the city offers me all that much excitement. Too much hustle and bustle for me.”

“Sounds a bit boring, no?”

“Not at all. Mother used to travel a lot herself. Born and raised in France. Un si bel endroit. That is one place I do wish to visit, if any. But if she is content here, smiling as brightly as she does while tending to her garden some evenings, then it must not matter where you are. Life is beautiful that way. You can make it like that wherever—”

“Yuck. Do you mind? You’re going to make me sick?”

Rose stared long at her friend, who held a face of disgust. It didn’t take long before it cracked for the two to smile and laugh over.

“Tell you what, I will bring you something from my travels next time. And… I am not an actress anymore. Three gigs, that is all that it was.”

“Your acting must be terrible, then,” Rose shot with her most serious face. Her friend gasped ever so dramatically at the sight of Rose’s teasing words. A thought that was thought nigh impossible.

“Oh my, I must be a terrible influence on you if you are so snarky today.”

“Not really. You’re the least of trouble I may face, I believe.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Simple. Mother loves to tell all sorts of stories. When I was growing up, she would speak about all sorts of scary things. Troubled folks in troubled parts of the world. Monsters and demons wearing the faces of people. Such ridiculous bedtime stories if you ask me. Anywho, you’re frightfully not so bad in comparison.”

“Bedtime stories, huh… They may all not be so, you know. The world is a huge and dim place. Though I suppose it is not as dark as it once was.”

“Please.”

“I am serious. I have quite a few stories myself.”

“Oh, you do?” Rose’s voice hummed. She loved stories. Her mother, to her word, told a lot. Old and new. True and untrue. To figure out which was which was the little game the mother and daughter played. “My mother loves to tell me about this one, a Big Bad Wolf who came to blow the house down. And that same wolf tried to eat her as a child. She is so ridiculous at times. Don’t tell her, but it’s also my favorite.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

The friend gestured with their hands zipping their mouth and tossing away an imaginary key. It only got a light laughter from Rose as she found her pace slowing. She was home. 

“Here we are. Thank you. Do you want to come in and get some tea and cake? My mother bakes the best—Ah! Damn, a bloody paper cut!”

The railing was splintered. The door very much the same. 

It was not uncommon for nick or two to arise here and there. Despite Rose believing she had nailed the trick from her curious youth to avoid such blunders, at times, she still slipped up. Her distracted self, eager to speak to her friend face to face, left her hand gliding a little excitedly to incur the cut that now saddled her finger. 

“Let me see,” Her friend said, taking her hand to gaze upon the blood that trickled out with a beautiful scarlet hue. Bright like a gem, valuable just as much. Without a care, the friend brought Rose’s finger to their lips. Soft and supple as they kissed the wound to meet the sultry, sweet taste. The friend’s tongue curled, cleaning the tip, leaving a slightly flushed Rose squirming to the side.

“That, that was very—You, you have a problem. There was no need to be so…vulgar.”

“But I don’t have a problem. Do you?”

The friend studied Rose whose breathing was heavy. Her chest rising slow, with cheeks flushed an ever more flusteredrose tint. Many believe the daughter wore makeup, despite never saying so. That was just how rosy her cheeks were.

“You… I don’t know where you learned to treat cuts like that, but…”

“I could show you a lot more if you would like?”

“Uh, N-no,” Rose said, clearing her throat. “No, thank you!”

“My, how innocent of a flower you are,” the friend mainly mumbled to themself. “Fair enough. Will you be safe tonight?”

“She will be safe enough,” a voice said. It was the mother, with a cold scowl present. She was not alone—she rarely was, especially when she came home with bags in hand. 

“Mother, Mister Silas. There is no need to point that thing at her head. She’s my friend. Her name is Eve.”

“A bit older than your other friends, Lady Grimes,” Mister Silas offered.

“Mother!”

The mother eyed the strange friend. A clear gaze that revealed much, that her daughter could not see.

“My, what red eyes you have. Sharp teeth and sharp ears,” the mother said softly with a sharp tongue. “Stay away from her, you hear.”

“…” The friend held their hands up to surrender. Her gaze was beautiful and fierce as they sharply stared into the mother’s eyes. “Sure…”

The friend did not care that a gun was pressed to the back of their temple. Rather, the scent of gunpowder and a silver bullet brought a familiar scent with a familiar smile. 

“Later, Rose,” the friend said, paying farewell. They did not care for the warning either the mother oh so woefully delivered. Rather, they invited it like an open door to greet wary travelers.