“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
Cyrill’s voice was as loud as an ambulance’ siren. It was his voice that woke her up from her seemingly surreal dream.
He turned around to face the thick burgundy curtains that hinder the sunlight from entering the chilled room by the glass window. He then grasped the hems and swiftly split it open.
Rozelyn looked to her left. Her alarm clock reads 6:15 in the morning; too early for a Saturday birthday celebration.
The sunlight swept the darkness; filling her entire room with beaming light that glared at her emerald green eyes, causing her to slip away from her vivid thoughts—courtesy of last night’s nightmare. She groaned as she covered her eyes with the ‘Avengers’ pillow from the blinding rays of the sun while suddenly realizing the presence of her stepmom’s adoptive son.
“Calm down, Cy. I’ll prepare in a minute.”
Rozelyn’s hoarse voice sounded like a broken antique radio.
“Huh, can you really do your morning shower in a minute?”
Cyrill crossed his arms like a little child that’s about to throw tantrums. He was just pinning himself on the edge of his seat to remain patient and composed.
Rozelyn rolled her eyes and proceeded towards the shower.
She gazed at her statuesque reflection by the bathroom mirror. She slid the straps of her nightgown against her spotless brown skin—causing her dress to smoothly plummet on the floor, revealing her enthralling physique. Perhaps even the primordial gods and ancient nobility would surely be ensnared with her captivating beauty.
Her hourglass-shaped figure greatly accentuated her curvaceous hips. Her generously proportioned and firm chest barely moved with the rhythmic oscillation of her breathing.
Her dainty fingers traced the bands of her undergarments and quickly grabbed it. Her body slithered from side to side as she pulled it from her hips down to her knees until it freely tumbled onto the lustrous floor.
She then began to bath herself in a refreshing shower. The water was a bit cold, probably because of the morning’s temperature. Her rose-scented soap was always present every time she took a shower. Not to mention the fact that her lavender shampoo was already waiting even before she stepped into the bathroom.
***
With a smile as sweet as red roses, Rozelyn tried to remain tranquil. She was wearing a sexy bloody red lace dress, emphasizing her curvy form. A sparkling ruby heart necklace—identical to Titanic’s Heart of the Ocean—ornaments her gorgeous neck that indeed highlights her profound glamour and completed her queen-like mien.
“How do I look?” Rozelyn asked upon reaching the floor to the still gaping Cyrill.
“The very definition of beauty.”
Cyrill’s sweet smile dumbfounded Rozelyn. She’d never seen the man five years her senior smile like this before.
Rozelyn hopes that one day, she can write into the stars all the emotions she felt towards the lad before him. Or perhaps there are just some sentiments that are not meant to be reciprocated. Love is indeed an ocean that we all long to be drowned into—and Rozelyn is the sturgeon that keeps on cascading into the vast waters of this emotion.
Hiding her astonishment and the redness of her cheeks, she raised a brow and said, “I’ll take that as a complement, Mr. Clarke.”
The man chuckled. This time, his voice was huskier and more masculine compared to the smile a minute ago that seems to resemble a lovesick highschooler.
“There you are birthday girl—”
Romaine was wearing a pink checkered apron upon greeting the two of them and was awestruck by her stepdaughter’s breath-taking appearance.
“Your dress is beyond perfection and you…you are Aphrodite incarnate.”
“Thank you, Romaine,” Rozelyn’s sweet smile illuminated her face.
“And you have your mother’s eyes,” Romaine stated in a sorrowful tone. Her eyes were about to be in tears; she was just holding it not to unwittingly stream down from her face. Romaine is one of the people on this planet that doesn’t like to cry in public.
Rozelyn was about to say something but her stepmom was already striding towards the kitchen.
“It’s okay. She’s your mother’s best friend, remember?” Cyrill comforted then gave her a gentle pat on the back.
She watched him follow her stepmom in order to assist in preparing breakfast as well as for her birthday barbeque party at lunch.
Lucia, the eldest of the cat triplets, suddenly popped in and hisses at her. Well, the cat has always been kind of unwelcoming to her since she was a lass.
Rozelyn winced at the cat. But, as she leaned closer to the feline, she witnessed in its eyes a heart-stopping occurrence.
Her eyes are golden in color in the reflection of the cat’s eyes.
She tried to blink once and, luckily, her eyes are now emerald green again.
Rozelyn sighed with relief. Perhaps her over-excitement caused her to have sweven early in the morning.
“Why do you always ruin my day, Lucia?” Rozelyn still dared to ask the cat as if the animal would reply.
The orange feline just scowled at her and swiftly walked away with feline grace.
“She was always arrogant even when she walked.”
A familiar voice from behind mumbled.
The lady was wearing a mint green off-shoulder dress. Her lips were maven in color and her charcoal-black hair was beautifully made in dreadlocks. Her smiling turquoise eyes quietly greeted her and made her mood even brighter.
“Anaztasia!” Rozelyn’s joyous voice resonates in the living room.
“Hello, birthday girl!” Anaztasia’s voice was always pitchy in tone. Her best friend's grin was vividly painted in her porcelain-skinned face. Anaztasia and Rozelyn have been friends since they were ten. It was only the compassionate Anaztasia who seems to go along with Rozelyn’s peculiarity—both in attitude and the way she talks to people.
“I thought you'd come here by 11:00 am?”
“We’ll… I’m always an early bird, aren’t I?”
She said with a tilted head and feminine voice. She raised her right hand and muttered, “Bought you some French macarons and Chocolate Éclair.”
Rozelyn gave her a wide-armed hug.
“Thank you very much, Ana.”
She didn’t notice her tears were already streaming down from her eyes.
“Well, well, well…. The whore of Babylon has arrived. Where’s my cousin, Ana?”
Cyrill’s sarcastic voice was much louder than a trombone playing.
The ladies grimaced at the electric-blue-eyed man leaning by the living room wall.
“Avril will be here at exactly noon, King Cyrill,” Anaztasia teasingly responded.
“I’m not a whore just because I rejected Henriz. Besides, you’ll go into the Godzilla mode the moment I dated him—who happens to be your currently on-off boyfriend. Also, I know that you’ve had a crush on him since second-year highschool. It was I who found your love letter that was supposed to be given to Henriz...”
Anaztasia then winked at the embarrassed Cyrill. He was honestly humiliated by this dreadlocked-woman in front of Rozelyn.
As a result of that throwback, his black jeans suddenly displayed a bump—courtesy of his ferocious velvet steel. It often happens when Cyrill’s embarrassed—the cause of that occurrence remains a mystery even to him. He then seized a calico from the golden couch and wrapped it around his waist. He doesn’t give a damn on what these two will think of his quirky action.
“Aren’t you two gonna fill your stomachs with sumptuous breakfast?” He asked to hide his awkwardness.
“I already have my meal. Thanks for the invitation, Cyrill,” Anaztasia replied to the lad.
“You can have these desserts with us in the kitchen dining, Ana!” Rozelyn stated elatedly.
“Of course, Roz.” Ana then exuberantly winked at Cyrill.
And the three tread towards the dining table.
***
Thirty people attended her birthday barbeque party, or perhaps more than thirty. Her bloody red dress was the star of the show, along with her enchanting pizzazz.
Rozelyn never thought that their front yard garden could accommodate tens of people. She only thought a family of three can fit in here due to their hiatus when holding parties of any kind for three years.
A huge lobster was set before her very eyes, as well as a well-cooked steak and a New Orleans-style shrimp gumbo.
Her stepmom always knew her favorites, even when it comes to food preference.
“Cyrill was still roasting the pork belly over there, Rosie.”
Anastasia Arryn’s voice never failed to better lift the mood of Rozelyn. She sounded like a female disk jockey and Emilia Clarke’s voice combined when talking.
“Your voice is like a lark singing in the ebony dark,” Rozelyn spoke poetically.
“Your graceful way of talking to people makes anyone who comes in contact with you think twice if the sweet Anaztasia Arryn was really just an ordinary girl or the ever-blooming Goddess of Voices and Happiness.”
“It’s a miracle that you’re able to recite in a poetic way, considering that you’re not immensely fond of any literary style when communicating,” Anaztasia remarked then giggled like a newlywed bride.
“You really are the unbelievable Queen of Flattering and Praise, Queen Rozelyn,” she added.
“Long live the Queen of Flattering…” A familiar voice from behind declared, making Rozelyn abruptly switch her attention to him. The man raised his champagne glass and continued with a husky voice, “…and Praise.”
“Eoghan Evans. What a glorious, magnificent, pleasant surprise!”
The two ladies didn’t notice that Cyrill was already beside Anaztasia.
“Cyrill Clarke! Your expected godly presence flabbergasted me, mate.” Eoghan asserted to the man before him, who was wearing a midnight blue polo shirt. The man was precisely the reason why Rozelyn always celebrates heartbreak anniversary during October.
Yet, she was confused whether the two are just conversing normally like any other lad or are they having their sarcasm championship in the midst of her eighteenth birthday party.
Perhaps these two would make great debate contestants in a live television broadcast. She and Anaztasia would surely be amongst the avid televiewers. They’ll surely be watching their three-hour long word wars while hundreds of spectators remarking Cyrill and Eoghan.
***
As quick as a bullet, Anaztasia wounded her forefinger, courtesy of the crab’s pincers. Even the people around them didn’t notice her ephemeral incident caused by a crustacean’s natural appearance.
But, Rozelyn seemed to be in trance. She cannot open her mouth nor blink her eyes. The only primal senses that worked was her sense of smell.
The smell of blood flooded her nose like a tadpole drowning in an ocean. Her best friend's blood seems to drive her innate essence into madness—a predatory madness. Like a mountain lion who was about to maim a doe, Anaztasia’s blood was pretty much redolent in her entire being. It took her entire strength and patience to remain unaffected by her body’s bizarre cravings.
“Uhm, excuse me,” Rozelyn immediately went to the comfort room’s lavatory and puked effortlessly.
She’s really going crazy—like real crazy. She probably has just one meter left before she falls into the pit of insanity. Just this morning, she smelled Lucia’s presence like toasted bread with peanut butter and jelly. Anaztasia’s finger cut was as aromatic as a Starbucks’ macchiato. Her mind was indeed crafting its new definition of being lunatic.
What was happening to her? She doesn’t smoke or indulge in weed delight or any sort of debauchery at all. Why is she suddenly having these weird cravings in the midst of her adulthood’s celebration?
As soon as the party concluded, Rozelyn climbed to her bed, even without changing into house apparel. It’s their house anyway, why the hell will she change when her migraine was about to devour her entire cerebrum in a matter of minutes.
So Rozelyn laid her head in her purple pillow and didn’t notice that she already plunged into a deep slumber.
The clock chimed to forty-five minutes past midnight. Rozelyn felt hunger creeping in her guts. Without a doubt, she climbed out of bed and went downstairs.
The kitchen was alight. Perhaps her stepmom forgot to turn off the light, Rozelyn thought.
She reached for a turkey sandwich in the fridge when she noticed that the door beside their walked-in pantry creaked.
That room was off limits to her and even to Cyrill. Her stepmom said that it’s her personal stockroom and was formerly the study of Rozelyn’s father.
But curiosity flashed before Rozelyn could decide to turn back. She wanted to know what lies beyond that god-forsaken room— why it was always locked and kept away from her sight. She’s already eighteen anyway. Enough of the days that she always relies on other people’s opinions when making decisions. She’s already an adult now. She must now learn to resolve her own decisions and face the consequences— if ever there is. Yes, she’s always the obedient sheep to Romaine and the protection-seeking dove to Cyrill, but those were the days prior to her reaching adulthood. Ephemeral is the only perpetual on this planet.
As she stepped into the room, the air was gelid and freezing; signifying that the air-conditioner was turned on and the room was in constant use.
Upon turning on the light, she expected that she’ll witness something far more horrific than a room of piled, dusty books. This was not the first time that her intuition failed her.
She was about to turn around when she spotted a walk-in fridge to her right. As she opened it, the scene she beheld made her entire body filled with shudder. Her heart was about to leap away from her chest and into the trash can as she realized the fridge’s contents—hundreds of blood-filled wine bottles greeted before her very eyes.