“And I saw a picture of a woman with two men. One of them—clearly, my relative. The other…” She bites her lip. I couldn’t tell if it was shame or intrigue. “The other looked… like you, or a relative thereof.”
“What if it were?” I cling to anticipation for her answer.
“Oliver, please tell me we are not related.” I can't help but burst out in laughter. “Why are you laughing?” I try to sound serious, but I fallrelativelyshort.
Pun intended.
She, too, must have realized how ridiculous that would be. “You see a photo of a man that looks just like me and immediately think we are related?”
“Well, it's not like it is you, right? You'd have to be like 125 years old,”
I interrupt, “122, actually.”
Her giggles are soft like those of a little Sprite. “Or maybe,” She takes on a Dracula accent and wraps herself in an invisible cape, looking at me over her arm. “You’re a vampire.” It was when I didn’t answer that her seriousness returned. “You’re not a vampire, are you?”
I shake my head with a smirk. "No, dove, I can assure you I'm not a vampire. However-” Tilting my head back, with an eyebrow raised, “I would love totasteyour delectable blood again.” I can’t help but burst out into the deepest belly laugh I’ve ever had, before the tidal wave of earnestness returns. “But the truth is just as complex and perhaps even more unsettling.” I fight with my inner self, not to give anything away.
I want to tell her the full truth, but she just isn't ready yet. “The man you saw in the photograph is indeed related. The resemblance is uncanny, almost as if time has looped back upon itself—like a twisted reincarnation."
Oh, the irony.
Her eyes widen, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind—processing, computing, and reevaluating. “So, you just walk around wearing your Great Grandfather’s clothes?”
“What are you implying, dove?” I can see that only the truth will work for her—she will continue to pry until the facts are all that's left.
She is too smart for her own good.
"Fine, what I need to tell you is..." Pausing, I try to find a way to continue, ideas clouding my better judgment, “What I need to tell you is tied to your family's legacy. A secret that has been guarded for generations. A truth that would shape our destinies in ways you can scarcely imagine."
The storm rages outside, casting eerie shadows through the room—I fight myself on the fact that the time for half-truths and evasions is over. I know in my heart she deserves to know everything so that hopefully we can overcome it together. We can face the ghosts of the past and build pathways of hope for our future.
I am going to do it—I am going to tell her the truth.
I walk over to the bed, patting the space beside me. All the confidence in me is fading as she takes it, sinking further into my gut with the caving of the mattress from her presence. So, I did what any ‘Love-sick’ man would have done… I began to tell her a story. “I will start by saying this—I will be changing names for the sake of some characters’ reputations. Also, you must listen carefully, because it hides the truth about who I am.” She gives me a look—raised eyebrow and all. I smile back before I continue:
There was a man who fell in love, and she happened to be the talk of the town—one of the most sought-after women in England. Her hair was blacker than a raven’s feather. Lips as red as blood. However, the most interesting, well-known feature she possessed... was her name. It was only fitting that someone so beautiful, so forbidden, would be named after one of the rarest, most expensive flowers. Unfortunately, she was engaged to the man's worst enemy.
The reason they were enemies was, at this moment, unknown. The man knew the kind of monster his precious Petal was engaged to.He swore, by the gods—old and new—he had a plan to free her. To rescue her from him and the arranged marriage her father put her in.
The man never longed to be a hero—he only wanted to behersavior. He knew that his demons were far scarier and more feared than those that the Monster of a man could ever possess. One evening, the man heard screams—in following them, he found the Monster and his beloved. The Monster was attacking the woman, causing bruises and little pools of blood to form. The man could take the abuse no longer—so he intervened, pummeling the Monster within an inch of his life.
After that night, the man and his beloved were free to live and love one another, so long as the man promised her father that no harm would ever befall his princess again.
As my story draws to its end, I realize she has fallen asleep. Glancing at the grandfather clock, “Only five in the morning?” I shuffle out from underneath her, allowing the weight of her body to fall into my arms. With one swift motion, I pull her to the top of the bed and cover her up.
I look at the previous note I left and decide instead I'll leave something better. I make haste, running to the garden in a hurry. I pluck a Juliet Rose from its stem and press it to my nose.
Please, if you can hear me now, let her choose me.
Back in her room, I place it on her nightstand, this time leaving the words:
Find me in the garden, where for centuries I will stay. There you’ll find a clue to where I am today. Read the plaque, but don't delay—Come, find me at the dress display.
Smiling to myself, I exit the room. Making it back to the library in record time to find Niven pacing. Before I can open my mouth to say anything, she speaks. “Please forgive me, sir.”
“For what, Mam?” Confusion contorts my face. “You’ve done nothing—as far as I know.”
Liquid forms in her eyes until the tears jet down her cheeks. “The girl who showed up with the red head...” Her pause was concerning. “She is sick, and I don’t think I can help her.” She wipes the sweat from her brow, “It looks like she is reacting to a high one that doesn’t agree with her, I might add.” I can see she is saddened, as she continues, “Who are they, Ollie?” I glare at her, not ready to give her that answer—she backs down. “Fine, but there is something off about the guy’s aura. I also saw a scar on his neck...”
