Trembling gasps for air.
Troubled eyes.
Clammy Skins.
Then the husky voice blurted 'Owen’.
A long groan sailed out of Lyn’s mouth as she whammed her head against the propped pillows, the Midwife ranting orders to several Nurses at a time; words that barely made sense to her ears.
Her heaving breaths filled the room as the events of her surroundings whizz past her eyes in distortions; Nurses on white dresses and gloves loitering the space, footsteps thumping against the floorboard, and hot air upsetting despite the open windows.
Lyn shut her eyes and pressed the back of her head into the doubled pillows as tears made to her ears from the sides of her eyes. She felt the pain gorging below her belly, her chest tightening and her body feeling as if she was being consumed by fire.
Yet, she could recall, despite her pain, that there were a million times when she thought it easy to become a mother.
She was told the tasty words of motherhood’s sweetness, and though she had a few times viewed that there was pain accompanying anything, she did not think of it to this.
Her breath hitched with loud gasps, and she gritted her teeth as she raised her head to look at the Midwife who in turn smiled while speaking subtly. “Let your head down, milady. You need to relax and—“
“No. I said to get Owen!” Lyn gritted, just before her husband pushed his way in closely behind two Nurses. He leaned down beside her bed and cupped her jaws, his thumbs caressing her glistening cheeks as his indexes stroke her ears with fervor while wiping her tears.
Lyn looked into his glassy, blue eyes, a warm smile pressed against his lips as he placed a wet kiss on her cheek, traveling down to her plumb upper lip before taking it in his greedy mouth.
His closing eyes gave way to the tear that longed to fall—a lone trail that represented the ache that abode in his heart.
The pain was a brutal reminder that he should have been more cautious during intimacy with Lyn. He should not have ignored precautions, seeing that Lyn was just six and ten, and he was not even far from that.
He felt her grasp his wrist, almost digging in her sharp nails as she pushed her body up toward him.
“Owen…” Lyn whispered, just before her other hand grabbed his jaw. “Tell me you would not leave me here. I need you.” She breathed out her words just as sharp pain stung her guts, her hand shaking despite her firm hold.
Tears slid down her eyes again, and Owen had no choice than to kiss them away.
“I am always here, beloved, and I am sorry for bringing you this—” His voice was tender, one that was enough to melt Lyn’s heart to nothing.
She felt his love for her— his burning affection for her whole being.
If a vow was strictly a person, she had the feeling that it would be Owen. His actions, his words… the kind of look he gave her; they were all proof that Owen’s devotion to her was for eternity—one that can never dissolve no matter the situation.
Lyn understood that all she needed to do now was bring their blood into this world; the one person who would be theirs forever, who would unite them, make them a family—her first child.
She would make Owen a father by becoming a mother herself, and then they will be a happy, satisfied family.
Sliding his left hand down her shoulders, Owen reached across for her arm and took the hand that seized his jaw. He then placed his own warm palm against hers and entwined their fingers while holding tight.
Lyn took this as a motivation, and she needed no one to tell her what to do. She held onto Owen’s hand, her upper body pushing from the bed before a scream ripped through her lungs.
She sensed pressure build up in her groin as a tremendous heartache hit her, ceasing her breath for a moment, and while her eyes longed to close, Owen watched sweat roll down in rivulets on her body.
He observed her supple breast heave on top her chest, and caught a sight of her mouth hanging open as she let breaths out of it.
Then an acquainted force drove him down once again, and he captured Lyn’s lips in her stance.
His tongue pried into her mouth, ignorant of the people surrounding them, while Lyn caught the rhythm by pressing her chest against Owen’s arm, her skin turning rapidly sensitive to his touch.
His other hand left her jaw and caressed her shoulder, trailing down to grasp her breast before a yelp pushed into his mouth from hers.
Everything seemed to stop as Lyn’s mind gradually zoned out of the actual world. Yet, how could she miss that moment when the cry of a baby slit through the deadly silence in the room?
She had to be the first to break the kiss even if Owen was hesitant. Then again, she was too weak for her push to have an effect on him. All she took notice of was her numbing body, joyful shrieks, and Owen’s gentle grasp of her weakening hand.
The Midwife came forward with the bloody little life in her arms, a smile dotting her expression as she handed the baby to its father. Owen was a little tentative to let go of Lyn, but he took the child in his arms anyway, a moment before the Midwife’s hands flew to her own throat.
With horror, the rest of the Nurses watched as the Midwife collapsed stiffly to the ground, her bloodstained hands withering to nothing before their very eyes.
They all looked to Owen for help even as the Latter’s expressionless eyes were hooked on the bright, hazel ones of his child; a pair of lovely eyes similar to that of his wife. Except that to him, Lyn’s was preferable.
“It is a girl,” he whispered to himself, while the Nurses took it that he talked to them. All nine of them were withdrawn to themselves, each buried in her own thoughts that they failed to notice Lyn’s withdrawing soul.
“Her blood is unclean, My Lord,” one of them warned.
Then Owen cast a long look at Lyn’s seemingly sleeping figure before glancing toward them. “Take care of my wife while I wash the child, will you?”
The Nurses nodded with curtsey as Owen turned to the door, though he was not a step away from the threshold when he heard their gasp of terror...
ALLEGRA There is a woman standing above me. She shows off caramel smooth skin, a shimmering red stud on her nose, and most importantly, a pair of cheerful, hazel eyes. I would think she was I if I did not already know—my mother; the woman I never met. She might have been the only person who truly loved me. When she stoops to my sitting level, her long hair hangs down from her shoulders, almost patting my bruised forehead. I look down with quick reflexes. I always do. The fact that I cannot bear to look at her still haunts me. It became my major weakness and a tool Owen uses to torment me. Katelyn once told me to accept my birth. In her words, ‘Unless you embrace your worst nightmare, it’ll only crave to become your shadow.’ But there certainly is no way I will listen to her. She says so many words at a time that she even forgets their essence. “You have to kill me!” Mother blurts. Her index reaches under my chin before she lifts my face to hers. My eyes burn, my lips twitching do
I cannot help but imagine that there are children with the privilege to attend lessons: those who at least have the honour to see daylight every single day, or do not have to live beneath a servant’s status in their Father’s homes. Then, there are also those who are treated as I am, but only a few—or none—receive the kind of hate my own Father gives me. Sometimes, I find myself wishing that I come from a poor home, and perhaps it would have been a sugary kind of story. Other times I wondered if my mother would treat me better if she were alive. I do not know her personally because she died right on the spot of delivery. All I know about her is her subtle beauty; her mixed silky hair, and her caramel skin that glowed with the gold she was arrayed in a portrait as she smiled happily into the lenses, posing with Lord Owen. “I do not want to get married,” I murmur as I stride back to the room while Lord Owen glances back at me and says nothing. My tap did not run; I never washed my han
I blacked out for a long time; I can tell that when I feel sunrays casting on my face. It has always been like this whenever I awake on sunny mornings in my room. However, my body weighs as if it is set on warmth and softness. Feels awkward, not like any sensation I have had when I wake in the morning. For a moment, I wonder if I have transitioned to a new world like in some stories that Katelyn read to me. They tell the warm tale of an ill-luck girl who somehow finds herself in a safe haven. Although the tales sometimes ended well, most times it did not. “Does he frequently treat you this way?” My eyes flutter open when I hear the old Japanese’s low-pitched voice, my mind running through thoughts of why he is here—and right beside me. “Get up to eat,” he mutters as he moves across to a table. I crane my neck to watch him while he draws out a chair and leans against it, facing me. He raises a brow and cocks his head as I still stare at him wide-eyed. A few seconds ago, I lost it.
Birds’ chirpings meet my ears along with winds whispering through the light, flowery curtains, a figure standing tall beside the king-sized bed. I turn to my side to behold the redhead who has a facial appearance that is quite far from normal. I do not know how he knows that I am awake and thinking of the old man all these while. He may have missed the part where the only detail I know about Xaulfur is his half-Asian, half-Australian insane nature, and this person by my side does not look Asian at all. “You are Xaulfur?” I ask while sitting up, my head tilting to check if I can see the rest of the man speaking to me, albeit he moves back to give me a better view; strong hands dipped into the pockets of his dark pair of pants, broad chests snatching a white top and legs lost in matching boots. He looks like a great catch amongst women, especially with the fact that the sides of his shoulder-length hair has a number of tiny zig zag braids that complements the look of his dreamy eyes.
There is a magnificent building in front of my eyes. It looks like a glass house… a glass castle rather. It has a good number of leeches shooting out from the ground beneath it, trailing against its walls up to the peak.Now I know why it felt familiar. I have seen it most times in my dreams. It usually comes in the manner of crawling warmth, giving me the illusion that I belong with it. However, there always seems to be a lurking feeling of unease whenever I see it.I always knew that the castle has its story, a tale of mystery interweaving the cause of its constantly slamming windows or the rapid banging against its door of abyss. It has no clouds and no grounds, just fog and snow―the very snow that swallows it.I cannot help the chill… the fear. It reels through my veins, mingling with my blood. Then it comes back out in the form of cold breaths and Goosebumps. Even as my vision fades, I still feel the reality of the Castle. I now know part of the cause of its fate, and I am beginn
There is a magnificent building in front of my eyes. It looks like a glass house… a glass castle rather. It has a good number of leeches shooting out from the ground beneath it, trailing against its walls up to the peak.Now I know why it felt familiar. I have seen it most times in my dreams. It usually comes in the manner of crawling warmth, giving me the illusion that I belong with it. However, there always seems to be a lurking feeling of unease whenever I see it.I always knew that the castle has its story, a tale of mystery interweaving the cause of its constantly slamming windows or the rapid banging against its door of abyss. It has no clouds and no grounds, just fog and snow―the very snow that swallows it.I cannot help the chill… the fear. It reels through my veins, mingling with my blood. Then it comes back out in the form of cold breaths and Goosebumps. Even as my vision fades, I still feel the reality of the Castle. I now know part of the cause of its fate, and I am beginn
Birds’ chirpings meet my ears along with winds whispering through the light, flowery curtains, a figure standing tall beside the king-sized bed. I turn to my side to behold the redhead who has a facial appearance that is quite far from normal. I do not know how he knows that I am awake and thinking of the old man all these while. He may have missed the part where the only detail I know about Xaulfur is his half-Asian, half-Australian insane nature, and this person by my side does not look Asian at all. “You are Xaulfur?” I ask while sitting up, my head tilting to check if I can see the rest of the man speaking to me, albeit he moves back to give me a better view; strong hands dipped into the pockets of his dark pair of pants, broad chests snatching a white top and legs lost in matching boots. He looks like a great catch amongst women, especially with the fact that the sides of his shoulder-length hair has a number of tiny zig zag braids that complements the look of his dreamy eyes.
I blacked out for a long time; I can tell that when I feel sunrays casting on my face. It has always been like this whenever I awake on sunny mornings in my room. However, my body weighs as if it is set on warmth and softness. Feels awkward, not like any sensation I have had when I wake in the morning. For a moment, I wonder if I have transitioned to a new world like in some stories that Katelyn read to me. They tell the warm tale of an ill-luck girl who somehow finds herself in a safe haven. Although the tales sometimes ended well, most times it did not. “Does he frequently treat you this way?” My eyes flutter open when I hear the old Japanese’s low-pitched voice, my mind running through thoughts of why he is here—and right beside me. “Get up to eat,” he mutters as he moves across to a table. I crane my neck to watch him while he draws out a chair and leans against it, facing me. He raises a brow and cocks his head as I still stare at him wide-eyed. A few seconds ago, I lost it.
I cannot help but imagine that there are children with the privilege to attend lessons: those who at least have the honour to see daylight every single day, or do not have to live beneath a servant’s status in their Father’s homes. Then, there are also those who are treated as I am, but only a few—or none—receive the kind of hate my own Father gives me. Sometimes, I find myself wishing that I come from a poor home, and perhaps it would have been a sugary kind of story. Other times I wondered if my mother would treat me better if she were alive. I do not know her personally because she died right on the spot of delivery. All I know about her is her subtle beauty; her mixed silky hair, and her caramel skin that glowed with the gold she was arrayed in a portrait as she smiled happily into the lenses, posing with Lord Owen. “I do not want to get married,” I murmur as I stride back to the room while Lord Owen glances back at me and says nothing. My tap did not run; I never washed my han
ALLEGRA There is a woman standing above me. She shows off caramel smooth skin, a shimmering red stud on her nose, and most importantly, a pair of cheerful, hazel eyes. I would think she was I if I did not already know—my mother; the woman I never met. She might have been the only person who truly loved me. When she stoops to my sitting level, her long hair hangs down from her shoulders, almost patting my bruised forehead. I look down with quick reflexes. I always do. The fact that I cannot bear to look at her still haunts me. It became my major weakness and a tool Owen uses to torment me. Katelyn once told me to accept my birth. In her words, ‘Unless you embrace your worst nightmare, it’ll only crave to become your shadow.’ But there certainly is no way I will listen to her. She says so many words at a time that she even forgets their essence. “You have to kill me!” Mother blurts. Her index reaches under my chin before she lifts my face to hers. My eyes burn, my lips twitching do
Trembling gasps for air. Troubled eyes. Clammy Skins. Then the husky voice blurted 'Owen’. A long groan sailed out of Lyn’s mouth as she whammed her head against the propped pillows, the Midwife ranting orders to several Nurses at a time; words that barely made sense to her ears. Her heaving breaths filled the room as the events of her surroundings whizz past her eyes in distortions; Nurses on white dresses and gloves loitering the space, footsteps thumping against the floorboard, and hot air upsetting despite the open windows. Lyn shut her eyes and pressed the back of her head into the doubled pillows as tears made to her ears from the sides of her eyes. She felt the pain gorging below her belly, her chest tightening and her body feeling as if she was being consumed by fire. Yet, she could recall, despite her pain, that there were a million times when she thought it easy to become a mother. She was told the tasty words of motherhood’s sweetness, and though she had a few times