The Rising Dawn Series- Ch. 1 (First half)

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Chapter 1

5:32 PM, October 21, 2019.

Ten thousand meters above the Atlantic Ocean.

I gazed out of the polished window, staring blankly into the edgeless blue sky. It was clear, except for the occasional cloudy outlines far away.

What a good birthday gift.

My hand glided over the marble surface of the seat lining, back and forth in a repetitive motion; the coolness was soothing to my calloused finger. With the other, I squeezed the fringes of the gold-threaded cushion and watched it mold obediently under my grasp. I rested my head on it contently.

The lavender scented air swirled and blew softly in my face, as gentle as a mother caressing her child. I sunk further into the comfort of the seat and dozed off into a deep slumber.

I dreamed of nothing. It is that moment of blissful silence where nothing but warmth surrounds your body and soul. Time seems to go on and on until an airport attendant tapped me gently on the shoulder.

“Miss. Dawn, the plane is about to land, please secure your seatbelt.” She bowed like a perfect usherette, pulling her cheekbones into a bright smile while not making any effort to hide her distaste at my messy hair and shaggy shirt.

I nodded drowsily. I picked up a bottle of cranberry juice, lifting the cold glass until it pressed against my lips.

To my chagrin the airplane shuddered, and the juice spilled all over my shirt. I dabbed it with a napkin and threw it aside.

Great, now I look like I have blood all over me.

The plane shook a few more times and I felt my ears pop as it began to descend. The pilot’s calm voice sounded through the radio. We have reached the London Heathrow airport.

As soon as the seatbelt light went off, I rushed up to get my luggage, which had its special little area on the side of the plane. The attendant hurried towards me and asked if I need any assistance. I shook my head and yawned loudly.

Still, she reached her hand out expectantly, palm up, head bowed. I raised an eyebrow, and walked passed her without a second glance.

I heard the attendant grumble something about cheap people, good fortune, and no tips. I shrugged and walked out of the plane.First impression: Very rare weather for London.

The chauffeur was already there when I arrived. The weather was beautiful, unlike the foggy city I left eight years ago. I looked out the dark window with reminiscence. The ageless architectures were as grand as always, perhaps a few more stains here and there, but nothing much.

The traffic was slow. My eyebrows furrowed at the cacophony of impatient car horns. I forced my ears to shut out the noise, but it didn't work. Soon, the sound dragged into an unrecognizable drone as I dozed off into a small nap. When I woke, the golden sun had begun to descend down the horizon.

London was so different, yet its beauty was the same. The spires of distant churches were a lovely shade of red, and their glass windows became a beautiful rainbow in the setting sun.

Then, my wondering eyes froze.

Right there, in front of the St.Paul’s Cathedral, stood an elegant couple who were about to get on a fancy, black limousine. I couldn't see their faces clearly, but the woman was probably in her thirties, with flowing brunette hair and a dazzling white fox-fur overcoat. The man was very handsome with a look of maturity and intelligence. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder gently, both of them gazing at the fading sunset before disappearing into the car. This image would’ve looked beautiful to anyone.

The man was my father; rather, he resembled my father.

No, there was no way. I haven’t seen him for eight years, there is no way he would still look the same as he did when I was young. After all, it could be a random man hugging a random woman whom I don’t even know. I forced my eyes away.

Ten minutes passed by in silence and then I am here. The place of my childhood; the cache of my memories, my mother, my home. It was a grand, Roman-styled mansion with high white arches, majestic spiraling pillars, and ornate wooden doors. Though it was first built in the 19^th century, it has gone through so many furnishings since then that it remained an awe-inspiring infrastructure composed of modern convenience and entrancing antiquity.

The structure was incredibly detailed. Images and abstruse symbols were carved into its walls. No one knew what they meant, but they had a unique charm. I recalled Mother telling me a story about a worker who tried to paint over the symbols. Somehow, the paint always disappeared by the following morning.

Greeneries surrounded the three-story house, ranging from a well-tended vegetable garden to a beautiful Chinese-styled garden.

A paved pathway with overhanging wisteria branched into various routes throughout the gardens. Occasional pavilions were intermittently placed for guests to enjoy the views. The mansion was surrounded by thick walls with tactically installed electric wires on the top. There were four steel gates in total, the larger two as the main and back entrances, while the other two more concealed ones are used for more trivial purposes like grocery shopping.

It was beautiful, but it seemed so…foreign. The sadness I had hoped to suppress surged out no where. Of course, nothing is the same anymore. The two stone lions guarding the front gate sighed in unison with me.

I walked up to the gate, and before I could push the door bell, the steels bars creaked open.

That was weird.

I pushed open the grand gate swiftly and stepped in. The wisteria caressed my face as my hair flew behind me in the twilight breeze. I inhaled deeply, indulging in the untainted scent of nature. It took a minute of walking before I came to an intersection that split into four smaller routes. To the left was the old water garden, dotted with white and pink lotus in full bloom. A Chinese water wheel was churning softly in the miniature lake. Vibrant, frisky koi darted from here to there, hiding between large stones that surrounded the water.

To the right was a completely different view. It was a paradise consisting of oceans of beautiful flowers planted in intricate terraces. There were lavender, lilies, and dahlias…. Even though I have seen those flowers countless times before, they looked different somehow. I laughed at my stupidity; of course, there is no way those flowers could be the same after so many years. Then, I noticed something different. The center of the garden was originally filled with my mother’s favourite flowers: peonies, calla lilies, and lilacs. But those were gone. Instead, a heart-shaped patch of regal roses waved their thorns at me.

I hurried towards the main door, mentally preparing myself to scold the person that made the changes. I looked down at my faded jeans and fumbled in my pockets for the right key. I inserted it into the silver socket and turned.

It opened.

The first thing I saw in the entrance hall was a girl in a flowing white dress, lolling dreamily on the leather sofa opposite to a glossy grand piano. She had flowing dark brown hair that cascaded down to her waist, and her perfectly milky complexion contrasted nicely with her onyx necklace. My eyes widened in surprise, and as my sneakers clicked clumsily on the marble floor, she twisted her head toward me.

She had a light, diamond-shaped birthmark on her forehead. Her features were not perfect; in fact, they gave her an unwelcoming, fierce expression that undoubtedly made her socially unwelcomed. Her eyes, though, made her beautiful. They were as bright and lively as glittering stars on a moonless night, yet were paradoxically full of maturity—eyes that have seen too much. But the face meant more than that to me, it is the most familiar but strangest face a person can ever see.

I saw me.