The Sixty-Fifth Chapter
“It was a pity for a person…” Rozelyn spoke, eyes fixed on the blazing body of Grainne Perkins, “…to die, while knowing that you did everything to live—including the fact that you exchange your freedom for immortality granted by the Blood Rose only to be murdered by a psychotic witch that, heaven knows, how the hell she did that.”
Cyrill patted her back, “The Heathens are hiding something, a secret weapon I suppose.”
“Grainne was a cancer patient, and had lived for a decade more thanks to the blood rose.”
She wiped her face, and then fixed her hair.
“Just like Rosette,” said Cyrill.
“Yes. Just like Rosette Richards…”
“You have done everything you could to protect us, Roz. If only we’ve known earlier about Rom—”
“I don’t want to hear her name again.”
He nodded, entirely agreeing with her. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry for me,” Rozelyn then smiled at him, in a bland manner.
“No, I must be sorry for not being able to protect you. I am the man of this family and—”
“Your adoptive mother had been a snake. You don’t need to apologize for her.”
Silence echoed between them. It was quiet, the vampires and werewolves encircling around Grainne’s pyre. Mourning silently, counting how many more days they had until Maebh finished all of them—until they become like Grainne.
“The gifts of the Blood Rose and Moonflowers had been useless then…” That same old werewolf earlier—Peter Blythe—declared.
“We will not be cowered by them,” Rozelyn said, silencing Peter and among others. “Let’s just pay respect to our fallen sister.”
And so they did. With silent winds and the burning fire and their steady gaze.
Cyrill, with his curiosity driving him crazy, turned to Rozelyn and asked. “How did you know of Romaine’s real identity?”
Rozelyn took a deep breath first, then her mind drifted to three days ago—the day she found out that Romaine Eastwood had never been alive. For a hundred years.
***
She couldn’t sleep.
Her journal atop the table facing her, seemingly inviting her to write more. “Gosh, it was already tiring having a daily journal log. But this notebook craves for more!”
And then she remembered.
Rozelyn remembered that her father had six other journals, waiting to be opened and visited and read—despite the pool of dust covering them already.
“Fine. I’ll go get dad’s journal then!”
When she was about to open the door, she caught something in the corner of her eyes.
There, atop her book shelf, was her father’s journals. All six of them.
“Great! Now my father seems to be guiding his journals into my hands!”
Pouting, she grabbed the journal on the topmost and opened at a random page.
“Spell for a Dream,” she read.
‘Perhaps this will help me sleep,’ Rozelyn said to her mind.
Without any doubt, she followed the instructions in her father’s journal. Rozelyn even debated if her father was truly a botanist or a secret spell practitioner.
“Or probably both,” she said.
And in less than a minute, her body unwittingly fell into her bed.
Without even knowing that the spell isn’t really for a dream spell.
***
Rozelyn opened her eyes and she saw the two of them. She saw Romaine hugging Maebh.
She covered her mouth with her two hands. But it seems they cannot see her—nor hear her—as she now stood in front of them, each of them on her either side.
“My daughter…” Romaine muttered.
Rozelyn seemed to freeze, unable to blink or breathe.
“Maebh is her daughter?!” Those words are more to herself.
“Since when will you pretend to be Romaine Eastwood, Mary Bathory? That bitch Romaine had been dead for a century now!” Maebh then sobbed, “I may be the Blood Mistress but you as the former one is more indomitable, more intimidating, more—”
“Hush, dear child. Good things happen to those who wait…” She watched Romaine stroke Maebh’s silky auburn hair.
Rozelyn could no longer stomach them, stomach this. She ran away even before she could hear more words from the woman who her father married after her mother died.
“This is a dream, Rozelyn!” She shrieked to herself, “This is one hell of a dream!”
After repeating those words several times, Rozelyn woke up. Inside her room.
She took a few moments to grab a glass of water and breathe. Rozelyn just breathes, reiterating to herself that it is just a dream spell.
She sat at the edge of her bed and grabbed her father’s journal.
Rozelyn gaped. There, at the end of the dream spell instruction, are the words that made her realize that there is more to it than being just a dream.
“This dream spell is also known as Astral Projection, separating your body and spirit temporarily and venturing into the real world…”
Those words echoed in her room. That means that….
“It is not a dream,” she declared.
Romaine said she’ll be going out to take care of business—in the middle of the night. It seems she is taking care of another ‘business’ then.
But the conversation she heard….“No. That can’t be true!”
“That can’t be true! That can’t be true! That can’t be true!”
Rozelyn’s tears have now wiped the innocence in her entire being. “How could Romaine do this?”
Sadness turned to anger. Her fists turned to fire. Tears turned to the thunderstorm that is now echoing in the dark night skies.
“I will kill you, Mary Bathory.” It was a promise, to the night. To the winds. To herself. “I WILL KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”
Romaine is not Romaine Eastwood. The real Romaine has been below the ground for ages.
Isla Ivane was right. The Blood Mistress is the one whose hair is the color of autumn and she sees the world through color brown—through russet eyes.
And since both of them—Maebh and Romaine—possessed those, the two of them are the enemies that she had been looking for. Her enemy had been on her side all along, and had been close to her ever since she had known this world—the world where the creatures of the night lurk.
The so-called Romaine Eastwood is Mary Bathory, the former Blood Mistress before she passed the title to her daughter. The blood of being the Blood Mistress still ran in her veins though, nevertheless the fact that she already passed her title.
The woman she called her stepmother has been their fucking enemy all along. She had been the bitch that she’d been longing to end.
With the truth she unwittingly uncovered, Rozelyn sank to her knees; the floor was further wet with the rain coming from the windows of her soul.
