The Twenty-Eighth Chapter

Romaine, Cyrill, and Rozelyn were just staring at the scarlet letter—the letter that contained an invitation from Maebh Mullin’s soiree to their luxurious estate. They just arrived from the Zadzisai residence when the scarlet-colored letter flabbergasted them by their doorstep.

The three were, of course, somewhat bothered. They just witnessed one hell of an incident. Then now, they were invited for a luscious gathering, particularly from one of the people that the family was not-in-so-good-terms.

“What now?” asked Rozelyn.

“We’re invited for a reason. We will attend…for the sake of respect to the Mullin family as well,” Romaine replied in such a plain tone.

Her reply propels Cyrill to go inside—straight into the four walls of his room.

The two ladies couldn’t do anything but watch him climb the stairs and towards his room.

“What happened to you two?” Romaine bravely asked. Well, she’s the matriarch of the family. It is her job to know the reason for Cyrill and Rozelyn’s apparent quarrel.

“H-He just tried to drill me…”

“And?”

“It turns out he was just testing me after all…”

Romaine just stared at Eku’s daughter. She then shook her head in dismay and clicked her tongue.

“It must have something to do with me. I mean I was the one who suggested to Dorrien and Cyrill to have a lap dance with you anyway,” she revealed.

“I’m okay with Dorrien. It was to Cyrill I was worried. It seems there is something he was not telling me. It seems he has these hidden feelings, which I cannot decipher or even discern, that he wanted to badly say to me…reveal to me,” Rozelyn sadly stated. Her tears were already flowing into the dry ground below.

Romaine just smiled—a mysterious smile. She then cleared her throat, and then beckoned her to go inside as the world started to be covered by the starry heavenly blanket.

Romaine closed the door and whispered to the raven-haired Thaumaturge, “Get rest, darling. We’ll be crashing a party tomorrow.”

***

Rozelyn was right on Romaine’s own definition of ‘crashing a party’.

She was just sitting in this lonely chair while watching Anaztasia and Avril dancing to the reggae music. Her stepmom was apparently crashing Dorrien inside their Navy blue Sedan. Cyrill was nowhere to be found, which she didn’t pay much attention to as she knows he will just receive a second season of him scolding her due to her bitchy lifestyle.

She was just casually sipping champagne as the music shifted from reggae to Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You”. Avril and Anaztasia were somehow now showing off their dancing skills on the dance floor despite the fact that this is a soiree and not just an ordinary disco party. Yet, they seem to not care. A party is a party for them, regardless if it’s a soiree or a banquet or whatsoever.

The Mullin’s ballroom was wholly spacious like that of a ballroom in Windsor Castle. The room was ornamented with huge chandeliers hovering above and some silky fabric decorations in the color of crimson and ebony black.

To get away from the crowd, she went outside—into the veranda behind the enormous crimson curtains. There, she continued sipping her champagne despite the sound of a couple French-kissing and necking behind the curtains.

‘Thank God I’m not craving for blood. ‘Cause if I am, their necks would probably now be drained of blood and life…’ she mused as she decided to take another sip of her champagne to which she found was already empty.

“Here,” offered a woman from behind her.

The woman was dressed in an off-shoulder dress. Its color was cream and was adorned with pearls along its hem. Its slit reaches her buttocks. Perhaps if she bends, her lace underwear would definitely be seen even a hundred miles away.

The woman poured her champagne from the bottle she was holding in just one hand. The beverage’s fizzing sound was music to Rozelyn’s ears. The woman then put the bottle away on a tiny table situated beside her.

“Thank you,” Rozelyn muttered.

“You’re welcome,” replied the woman. Her smile reaches her ears, illuminating her already beautiful face.

Rozelyn took a glimpse of the woman as the latter took a sip from the champagne glass.

Her hair was the color of a red wine. Her skin was definitely of an English or Irish complexion—or probably both. And her eyes…her eyes were identical to her. It was emerald green eyes that sparkled as the woman faced her again.

‘She could be identical to my mother Visenna if not for the fading scar in her neck…’ Rozelyn thought.

The woman tightened her black choker that has triquetra as its lavaliere before speaking, “I am Rosette Richards. The supreme of the English coven.” She then extended her right hand for a gesture of a handshake—a respectful way of introducing one’s self to a fellow vampire.

Rozelyn straightened her back. The mentioning of the word “coven” and “supreme” made her eyes wholly wide…as well as the shimmering fangs that beamed under the waxing moon’s light that she just noticed now as she saw a clearer view of the woman’s face.

To be frank, she wouldn’t notice those fangs if the woman didn’t face her.

The woman chuckled when Rozelyn was still stupefied, still gaping.

“I know…I know…Vesta already told me earlier that you will be surprised. Well, my cousin is indeed not wrong, darling!” Rosette then laughed again in a boisterous manner, causing the couple who were kissing earlier moved out and occupied the nearest room.

Rozelyn could vividly see the two from this view. The couple didn’t even bother to close the curtains as they undressed themselves and made fondue.

Rosette clicked her fingers across her face, drawing back her attention.

“Oh!” Rozelyn exclaimed, trying to remember what the woman just said to her.

“I was indeed not expecting that you were Vesta’s cousin, though the hair could really tell your blood relationship anyway.”

Rosette flicked her braided wine-red hair to her back then said, “I suppose Romaine didn’t tell you that I will be visiting, eh?”

Rozelyn nodded, still processing the fact that this woman—who happens to be Vesta’s cousin and vampire—just gave her champagne minutes ago.

Rosette put her elbows by the ledge of the ivory veranda and moved her body towards the western horizon; to where Rozelyn was still seeing the couple earlier now fucking by the curtainless window.

Silence shrouded between the two. It was Rosette who broke the deafening quietude.

“Would you like to hear a story?”

Rozelyn nodded again. Maybe because it was the only motion her head could do, or she just needed to hear a story to amuse her—to eliminate her boredom.

Her eyes still focused on the couple earlier whose moans are definitely flooding her Thaumaturge hearing senses—a cacophony to her ears.

“I was a woman suffering from an illness called progeria back then. Despite my illness, I still have a man who cared for me, dressed me, fed me, and most importantly, a man who loved me.”

Rosette took another sip, as did Rozelyn. Her attention was now drifting away from the couple who were having a lap dance by the arched curtainless window.

“Even how rich I am, money seems to be useless in battling my illness; my illness is slowly and gradually killing me.

One day, my doctor told me that I only have a month to live. I was, of course, sad. As well as my man—my only man that refused to leave my side even though I have only a month to live.

As soon as my man went to the front desk to pay for the consultation, a woman approached me. She was beautiful and voluptuous. I thought she was only in her early twenties. She then invited me for a talk. I was skeptical at first but I then nodded as soon as she mentioned that she can help me—that there is a cure for my illness. Of course I didn’t believe her as my doctor said that there is no cure for my illness up until that time. It was around the 1980s, you see.

I thought that she was some sort of an agent of a pyramid scam or a young woman just finding someone to talk to so I eventually agreed.

She then told me that there is a flower—a magical flower that could grant anyone immortality. She then said that she was already eighty-five years old but she just looks like a twenty-two-year-old lady. I didn’t believe her at first because, where on earth could you find a flower that grants immortality. Obviously, it was only through folktales and legends. ”

“Who is she?” Rozelyn finally asked.

Rosette sighed through her nose. She took another sip of the champagne that she almost forgot she was holding and answered, “She was the former vampire supreme before me…”

Rozelyn was relieved. She thought it was Romaine at first. But then, she remembered that she mentioned that it was during the 1980s and Romaine was still living in Romania at that time.

“What’s her name?” she asked again.

“Nyra Ravenwood.”

Rozelyn didn’t remember hearing or reading that name.

“What happened then?” The raven-haired Thaumaturge asked.

“I was eager to prove that the so-called immortality-giving flower is a phony. So, I tried it; drank it. And the rest is history,” Rosette continued, tears silently flowing from her sorrowful emerald eyes.

“Of course the day I became a freaking blood-sucker, I left home quietly—in the middle of the night. The day I left had already been two weeks since I became a Pasiphae Vampire. He noticed drastic changes from me and began to wonder and bombarded me with questions that I don’t answer—cannot answer due to the Vampire Code. My skin became flawless and white. My lips and body and face were now full of color—as if I never had progeria before. Out of fear and trepidation, I left him…left him behind. Because it was the safest thing to do; the only thing I can do to protect him from my fangs and claws. It was the only thing I could do for him to prevent him being my meal, my dessert.

I left him in the very walls of our house—my former home. Every week and every day, I visit him secretly. And decades pass by, he never remarried. He hasn't even bedded any other woman since I left him. I was gleefully living on the roof of the English coven for vampires while he suffered from my apparent leaving—my sudden lifetime absence.

I couldn't return to him—I didn't want to return to him. Despite our marriage vows to love and to hold, ‘till death do us part. I was named Nyra’s successor as the supreme. Yet, that was not enough to bring joy deep within me. I know that the title of a Supreme is the most sought title for a vampire, but the only thing I seek is none other than his scent—his presence.

Despite me conquering death and defeating my progeria, I realized that there are still things that you cannot contend. There are still things that you cannot have all at once. There are still things that…that are never meant to be yours forever as soon as you choose another thing. I was wrong to choose immortality over him. What else could I do? I thought that it was just too good to be true so I tried to debunk the myth of the Blood Rose. But it turns out, I was the one untrue—untrue to my words to my man.

I saw him grow into an elderly man throughout the years. I saw him age throughout the days. I saw his hair turn to white and his skin wrinkled and withered. I saw him always looking to the road, as if he was waiting for something—for someone. Our love story began on the road, and so it seems it does end on the same road.

Years passed by, just like every living creature in this world that wasn't cursed by the Blood Rose, he died. I looked for his body after he died. But, it seems he was burned into ashes. I wasn’t able to keep our promises—that we will be buried next to each other. How am I going to be buried when I was the one buried into regret, to frustration? I am now immortal and perhaps the only thing that could bury me six feet below the ground is when I find a way to terminate my lifetime contract to the Blood Rose.

Nevertheless, even if he is already gone with the wind, I never ceased loving him. Even after thirty years, it seems that the only thing that the Blood Rose couldn’t take away from me is my ability to love—my ability to remember our happy days. It just proves that…that even a monster can love, even a vampire has the ability to feel the only thing that makes the world go round.”

Rosette then wiped away her tears as soon as finishing her story. Rozelyn spotted on her ring finger a shimmering trinket—a wedding ring. Still on Rosette’s finger is her ever-gorgeous sapphire wedding ring.

Rozelyn was indeed touched by her story. After all these times, every one of them have their own tragic backstories before being immortal—before being a cursed vampire and cursed werewolf.

She now contemplates her life being a gifted immortal and cursed vampire. Truly, there are two sides to everything: the good and the bad, the beneficial and the destructive, the best and the worst.

And Rozelyn was somehow enigmatic if it is possible to ‘terminate the contract’ between her and the Blood Rose or is she eternally bound into the devastating essence of the Blood Rose—which means she is never meant to find true love again, much like the case of Rosette Richards.