Rozelyn just finished her first week of being a freshman.
Psychology was the major subject she chose and Philosophy was the minor one.
She currently studies at St. Patrick’s College, located only five minutes from their abode in the heart of Shamrock, Ireland.
Her raven-black hair was in a tight bun, causing her nape to be wholly exposed as she walked by the streets of the city.
The sky was already enveloped by the tawny sunset when she arrived home. Their house was not that grandiose, but it can already be called home due to its cozy ambiance and serene atmosphere.
Romaine was cooking an Irish stew and some anchovies. Rozelyn’s appetite suddenly dropped from being famished to being forcefully full. She hasn't liked anchovies or Irish stew since she was five years old.
But, respectful as she is to her sweet stepmom, she willingly changed from school clothes to household apparel; then eventually sat down on the rectangular dining table. On her left side, her emerald green eyes suddenly caught an intriguing scenario—a third plate and wine glass was laid beside Rozelyn.
“Are we expecting anyone tonight, Romaine?”
Rozelyn’s hoarse voice echoed in the private dining room.
They usually dine in the kitchen when no visitors or friends seem to bother by unexpectedly ringing their doorbell with a bottle of champagne in their left hand and a chocolate cake in their right hand.
“Cyrill’s already home, Rosie.” Romaine’s reply seems to be a bit gloomy.
Does it have something to do with his surprise return to their place? What could have happened to Cyrill in London?
Cyrill Clarke has been studying and performing in London as a professional musician, particularly being a cellist and a violinist. Clarke was neither her cousin nor her stepbrother.
Cyrill was the son of Romaine’s best friend Cassiopeia Clarke—Cassie as Romaine usually called her. Cassie killed herself due to being pregnant at the age of sixteen and having STD at a very early age.
Romaine was always sweet and altruistic ever since Eku introduced her as Rozelyn’s substitute mother. Though Visenna will always be Rozelyn’s blood mother, it was Romaine who gave justice to the title and responsibility of being a mother. After all, not all women who give birth are already considered a mother, and not all women are required to bore a child in order to gain the title and honor of being a mother.
Because of her amiable attributes, Romaine willingly adopted Cassie’s son and took him under her wing. He was her protegee since Rozelyn’s stepmom cannot bear a child due to medical complications.
She just smiled at the thought that her stepmom was gradually becoming an orphan sympathizer. Not mentioning the fact that even the triplet cats she adopted are also orphans and stray ones.
Coincidentally, she and Cyrill both grew up without entirely knowing their parents and their respective backgrounds. They are both stray roses in the middle of the thistles’ bed. If not for Romaine, perhaps they’ll end up being weeds in an orchard that will eventually wither away in the silent winds of this planet.
***
“Where is he now? It’s already six in the evening and the food is getting cold already.”
She tried to sound like someone who’s about to gobble everything prepared on the table. Rozelyn was always a big eater despite her gender. But this time, she can no longer feel the hunger in her stomach—especially the smell of anchovies kept on spoiling the fragrance of her velvet shirt’s fabric conditioner.
In a blink of an eye, the door by the foyer suddenly burst open before she could even take her next breath.
The entity’s electric blue eyes stared right at her, or perhaps at the served food on the table. His olive skin glistens by the living room’s chandelier light—making her a bit insecure. His towering 6’0 height already intimidates Rozelyn; even by just standing by the room’s threshold.
Cyrill was the perfect hybrid of Leonardo DiCaprio and Eric Bana. Nope, he’s not her so-called knight in shining armor, but he was her perfect example of a flawless handsome man.
When they were younglings, they kind of despised each other—probably because they both sought and competed for attention from Romaine. Nevertheless, this doesn’t stop Rozelyn from being in awe of the lad’s incomparable sophistication. She even wished that perhaps in an alternate world, he’ll be her boyfriend. But unfortunate as she is, according to their close acquaintances, Cyrill was not even interested in women—he prefers his lover’s sexuality identical to his own.
***
“Where have you been, Cy?” She queried him courteously.
“Is that how you greet an old pal, Rozelyn?”
He raised his eyebrows like he always does when interrogating her; even when he asks simple questions to her like what’s the product of 13 x 394.
Frankly speaking, Rozelyn is always talented in mathematics and strategic planning. However, she sometimes sucks in decision-making and even standing up for herself. She’s a dependent rose that always waits to be watered by her caretaker.
“Just curious about your whereabouts,” she stated blandly.
“Curiosity kills a cat, Rosie,” Cyrill countered.
“Enough of you two!” Romaine shrieked gently.
“Food’s already as cold as the winter’s frigid air.”
“Ah yes, October has finally come,” Cyrill’s wry grin can be seen even from afar. He constantly reminds Rozelyn of her heartbreak anniversary by uttering the tenth month of the year. His sarcasm and teasing will always be an A-Lister; especially when it concerns Rozelyn.
Rozelyn was about to mutter more words but her stepmom gave her a warning look and gestured to her to just keep it to herself.
Fine. She mumbled in her own mind. The dinner went well; though the Irish stew’s bitter flavor still stuck in her tongue. She always hates anything bitter and foul-odored. That's why she never eats dark chocolates and bittermelons.
Before the two proceed to their private chambers, she badly wanted to ask either of her family what the hell has happened to Cyrill in London. Both are miraculously quiet—contrary to their usual dining. Either Cyrill or Romaine always narrates their comedic experiences in a vivacious manner as the two were always the sunshine of the family. It was only Rozelyn’s presence that often radiates nuisance and devastating avalanche wherever they go.
But today…today was eerily and bizarrely silent. Only the clanking of the silverware and dishes reverberates in the dining room. If not for the lo-fi music playing in the background, their dinner would honestly end up like the inmates’ last meal before their death row.
Jacinta, one of Romaine’s cats, approaches her with a wagging tail and a beseeching purr. In a matter of seconds, anchovies were already on the cat’s personal plate made from their discarded dishes.
Rozelyn was in deep thoughts while she washed the dirty dishes. Cyrill is one of those men who, even at first glance, can make anyone give in to sudden release—regardless of a person’s sexual orientation.
There’s something unexplainable to Cyrill’s aura. It’s kind of dark… but not evil. And his eyes, she swears she saw his eyes flicked to golden ones the moment he saw Francisco—the youngest of the triplet cats that Romaine adopted since Rozelyn’s twelfth birthday.
Was Cyrill somehow sick? Or was she just spending half of her time reading Anne Rice’s novels and watching the Twilight movies?
Either way, she knew something’s terribly and immensely wrong. She can smell it. Her intuition, who’s been guiding her since girlhood, keeps on whispering to her that it’s something beyond Science’s explanation—something paranormal is going on. This was due to the fact that a person’s eye colors do not switch in a heartbeat; unless she’s having one of her ‘awakened dreaming’ again.
During her grade school days, she sometimes bragged to her classmates that she can smell anyone a hundred miles away and that she can even guess their birthday without physically asking them.
Rozelyn is one of those weird girls who always thought that they’re the “special” ones. She's one of the girls that you don’t want to be in your company during lunchtime because of her constant loquaciousness on how she can light a candle in a blink. She also brags to others that she can move objects with her mind—somewhat like Roald Dahl’s Matilda.
She’s one of the people, even up until now, that believes that she has superpowers and extrasensory perception. If daydreaming paid money, Rozelyn would probably be richer than any billionaire by now due to her constant fantastical reverie.
***
“Rozelyn…”
Visenna’s wine-red hair was swaying by the surface of the lough. The place was dark as a crow’s feathers and utterly spectral.
“Rosie…”
Rozelyn was perplexed by the identity of this entity. Her mother has green eyes like her. But this Visenna, she has citrine eyes. No, those are golden eyes.
“Who are you?” She still dared to ask this woman—if she is one.
“I am the woman who gave birth to you.”
“Are you my mother?”
“Are all women who gave birth already considered a mother?”
Rozelyn took a minute to process that query. She’s terrible at deciphering figurative statements. That’s the primary reason why she didn’t take Literature despite her best friend’s invitation. Though, the sarcasm is familiar to her. She knows deep in her guts that she already met someone who has subtle sarcasm like this entity.
The figure’s eyes shimmer by the moonbeam. Her lips formed a tight adder-like smile as if to mock Rozelyn’s presence. The crimson dress she wore seems to dance gracefully in a Mephisto Waltz in mid-air.
“If you’re not my mother, then who are you?” Rozelyn was growing impatient.
“You’re asking the wrong query, darling. ‘What are you?’ is more accurate.” Her smirk was even more vicious and infuriating.
Rozelyn seems to undergo in her ‘internal screaming’ moment. Is this a banshee?
She…no, It.
It was wearing a crimson lace dress, just like Visenna’s dress when her father proposed to her biological mom.
But a banshee has a deafening, continuous shriek. This entity seems to not shriek or wail or weep at all.
Surprisingly, the entity’s face began to morph in a much hideous appearance. It resembles the appearance of a hag, a crone, and a Lamia all combined.
This time, Rozelyn tried to sprint far, far away from the Lough Erin. She tried to get out of this ghastly place that she doesn't know if this was a dream or was somehow transported to an alternate world.
She was about to turn around by the corner when the entity’s claw-like hands grabbed her right foot and she excruciatingly stumbled in the solid ground.
In a heartbeat, she was now staring at the entity’s face—whose emerald green eyes and brown-skinned face was identical to Rozelyn’s, as if the latter was facing a mirror.