Stained Rose: Chapter 1 - Part 2

Rosalie sits on the chaise in her boudoir, massaging her temples and sipping her tea, a mixture of lemon balm and peppermint. She stretches her bones until they crack and gets up, then picks up her paintbrush and palette. On the canvas was a forest landscape of a doe trapped between a group of hunters and a pack of wolves, light green coloring wet on the dark bush. A touch of highlight in the doe’s frightened eyes and light brown on her coat. Each stroke a balm to the mind, she nibbles on the thin wooden end and dips the brush into the thinner, then switches to the next color.

“There is a flower within my heart, Daisy, Daisy!

Planted one day by a glancing dart,

Planted by Daisy Bell!”

A soft angelic voice streams into her ear, carrying her to a private ballroom dancing in a waltz guided by velvet. Bringing her back to Marie draping herself on the cushion, singing and waving her arm like a conductor’s baton, accompanying her dulcet tune with a zither. Rosalie beams with excitement and tilts to one side, but unfortunately the seat was still vacant. She sighs heavily, a slight bent in her knees and a tear trickling down her smooth cheek. The rattling of a doorknob perks her ears, quickly cleaning herself and scrambles back to the canvas, continuing her latest piece as footsteps grow closer.

“Less dreary than your last one.” He looks over her with hands tucked behind his back, glancing at the long white sheet, a thick rectangular outline resting on the bookshelf’s side.

Rosalie rolls her eyes and releases a huff, “Is that all you wanted to say? I’d like to get back to work.” She places a hand on her waist and points her brush at him, still fresh with oil.

“Oh right!” Elias clears his throat, “Tomorrow, I’ll be away on a business trip to Vermont for a couple of months.” He fiddles his fingers, “Are you going to be alright while I’m away?”

Rosalie lays the gnawed brush in a jar of thinner, “Oh, I won’t get bored. Besides, Lawrence and Laura visit once in a while.” She saunters back to the chaise lounge and reclines on her back, an uneven smile sweeps her features, remarking, “You think I can’t hold down the fort all by my lonesome?”

Elias quickens his pace, “No, no, no! I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he lifts her legs and sets them on his lap. His voice lowers, "especially after last year’s accident.”

Rosalie’s gaze shifts to her sleeve’s cuff, running her thumb along it. The silence almost suffocating, she bites her bottom lip and fiddles with the silver ring. “I heard it's beautiful at this time of month over there,”

A chuckle escapes him, “So my colleagues told, especially in the winter.” He closed his eyes, “A nice warm cup of hot chocolate and butternut squash soup, paired with apple pie and topped with –.” A loud growl erupts his train of thought.

She snorts, “Are you sure that was you, or your close friend,” lightly poking his stomach. Elias wipes away saliva from his mouth, immediately pink strikes his cheeks. “I’m getting a tad peckish myself. Perhaps we could find something in the kitchen.” She gets up and pulls Elias by the hand, guiding him out. Rosalie locks the door with the completed fresh painting.

***

Two youths run across the Austrian Central Alps, as butterflies flutter through the breeze and bees get drunk off of pollen. Little Rosalie holds up her skirt in one hand, while a young Marie huffs and puffs from behind with sweat beading her forehead. Her hand stretches closer and closer to her back, but she picks up pace at the last minute. Marie groans and quickens her pace.

Rosalie turns her head, shouting, “You’re gonna have to run faster than that!”

She smirks, “Perhaps you should focus on what’s ahead rather than behind.”

She turns around to a steep slope and an expansive forest sweeping across the field. Rosalie flails her arms and halts her legs, but trips over them. She flies through the air and soon after falls back on the grass; vision blurring between green, blue, and black. The tumble goes on with halting, becoming a hapless ragdoll unable to stop itself, and at the mercy of gravity. After a while, her body finally stopped rolling, leaving bruises on the skin, her hair out of place, and green streaks on her clothes.

A finger touches the tip of her nose, “Tag, you’re it,” Marie covers her mouth, emitting a small giggle.

She tightly crosses her arms, exclaiming “You looked at me funny!”

“Ahah, did you forget? ‘A good hunter must take every opening she can get, even their prey’s own flaws.’” A knowing smile pulls at the corner.

She drags her hands down her face, groaning, “I curse myself for teaching you that.”

Marie rests next to her sprawled form, “I had wonderful time,” lacing her finger through Rosalie’s, “not just today, but with your presence as well,”

She closes her eyes, nuzzling her back hand. The warm breeze carrying the two into slumber and birds singing their tweeting melody.

A couple hours later. Rosalie yawns and cracks her eyes, Marie gently snoring and still holding her hand. The shadows cast over their bodies, mimicking the swaying of mountain-ash. Carefully, she pries off each of her fingers, stopping on occasion when she stirred. She looked charming in her slumber, free of troubles and at peace with herself, it was almost tempting to stay by her side. After slipping off the last digit, she slinks towards the foot of the hill on her toes stepping over debris in a feline fashion.

“Why did you curse me? Do you despise me that much?”

Her body freezes, not even setting a foot on the slop. “Pardon?” She raised her brow, processing the frigid question.

A prickling sensation wraps around her legs in a tense grip, and before long a sharp pain radiates on her ankle and collapses on the hillside. She lifts the hem of her skirt to a giant centipede, its mandibles latched onto her skin. Long gangly hands take hold of her wrist, digging their nails into her skin leaving red marks. Anytime she jerks her arm out of its grasp, two more take their place and bruises her skin. The boney hands drag her into the earth. Marie looks down, eyes filled with pure disdain, not even a tiny hint of mercy.

“This wouldn’t have happened, if you had JUST waited!” Her voice becomes distorted and throws a bauble at her head, blood pouring out of the wound. “It should have been you!”

Rosalie jolts up in a cold sweat, running her hands all over her white gown. The bedroom bathed in the light of the full moon; Elias sound asleep across her own bed, a grand dark wood wardrobe sits next to the door, and a three-folded mirror sitting on the dressing table. She looks at the clock – 2:50 in the morning – she pinches between her red-brows and gets out of bed, slipping on her robe and lighting a kerosene lamp.

Long shadows cast behind the furnishing, retreating from the feeble glow. Her eyes follow the light ahead, a framed flower crown hanging on one side of the green wall. She holds her breath and hastily steps back, a hand over her racing heart. Rosalie raises the lamp and squints, the blurred vision regaining its focus. A boreal owl sneers at her from its perch and wings spread out. She shakes her head and continues on through the pitch black corridor.

The light catches a copper sign reading “Bathroom” framed on the door. The sterile room holds no style or embellishments except the nearest of essentials. She sets the lamp on the counter, filling the basin and dousing her face with cold water, then burying it with a towel. She catches her exhausted counterpart in the reflection, dark circles around the eyes and wearing a haggard expression; a deep sigh leaves her lips. Rosalie closes her tired eyes and leans her forehead on the fragile mirror.

(Knock, knock, knock…knock, knock, knock…)

She jumps off the rug and puts a hand to her ear, the rhythm continues to beat. Rosalie rolls her eyes and descends to the first floor, pivoting around a corner to the front door. She takes a breath and twists the knob, an herbaceous yet earthy scent mixed with the cool air wafts through the open crack.

“Couldn’t this wait until–,” She stops, eyes wide enough to fall out of their socket, “You!”

The lady in black stands outside the threshold, luminous blue eyes pierce the dark veil, and the scent permeating off her person. She didn’t twitch or even sway in her posture, almost like a statue. Gathering the hem of her veil, raising the silk cloth from her face. Rosalie was unable to move, her peepers wide and mouth agape.

“Bonsoir, Soleil,” Marie’s pallid lips curled soft at the corners, matching her bright blue gaze. The moonlight shines behind her outline, like a specter.

She drops to the hard flooring, never breaking contact with Marie. The woman standing before her was the same one before that dreadful fate, even down to her beauty mark. So many things she wanted to say, but the words eluded her, not even a modicum of cohesion; nothing but a hodgepodge of garbled noises. Rosalie’s mouth shifts between smiling and frowning, her hand balls into a fist, taking some fabric along with it. During that moment, her other hand stretches towards her dress, yet pulls back at the last second and clutches the column of pearl buttons on her chest.

She cries out, “Please, let this madness end!”

Marie crouches down to eye level, still wearing that gentle smile but brows slightly pulled together, “Soleil, s'il te plaît! I’m as real as that moon,” she points to the bright orb hanging in the heavens, “What about this?” She raises her throat and taps on the onyx brooch, maroon roses and light-purple forget-me-nots weaving their stems in union.

She covers her mouth, eyes glistens, then shakes her head, “But these aren’t enough. Tell me something only Sternenlicht knows, and only her.”

Marie taps on her chin and glances upwards, silence stretching on forever to no end in sight. “When we were younger, you tried to teach me German through Lenore. By hiding the French translation, cackling like a witch as I butchered every syllable in the known language.”

Rosalie sighs, “And three weeks later, you made me read Les Fleur du Mal. The whole time you were laughing and kicking your feet in the air, while I turned into a ripe beet from translating each verse.” She covers her visage and shakes her head.

“The look on your face was truly unforgettable,” Marie rests her hand on her cheek. “May I come in?”

She nods. Immediately, Marie clutches her biceps and lifts her with ease, like picking up a kitten with one hand. Though she wore gloves, an icy touch sends shivers down her spine, even sprouting bumps on her skin. When her feet touched the wooden floor, she dared not move. Marie caresses her plush cheek and gives a bright smile. She glides past her without making a single sound, bringing in a gust of wind. Rosalie’s brain tries to process what had just transpired before her eyes. Was it truly a dream or is it real?

A tap on the shoulder snaps her out, turning to find matching ocean orbs staring into her very soul. Rosalie follows her, being guided away by some unseen thread away from the door. The two made their way to the living room, Marie reclines on the leather sofa with a fox pelt blanket dangling her shoulders.

Rosalie joins her, shoulders straight and back stiff. Marie bends towards her, draping the afghan over her.

“Danke,” the lines softens on her forehead. “Do you want any tea, coffee, or perhaps a snack?”

“Neither dear, I ate not too long ago. But I appreciate the gesture.”

Silence falls upon the witching hour, only the heavy ticks of the grandfather clock pervade the space. Marie weaves her fingers through the white fur while Rosalie fidgets her fingers.

“Last week at the cemetery, why didn’t you tell me you were there? It could’ve saved us both the trouble.”

She went mute, opening and closing her mouth a few times, “I… thought you might be frightened of me.”

Rosalie bends towards her, arms wrapping her petit physique and blanket soaked in warm tears. Despite her body shaking to the bones, she refuses to relinquish. The combined aroma of poppy and lavender cast a spell over her weary visage, falling back on the throw pillow, whilst the ticking clock ferries her further into Morpheus’ domain. Marie’s head nestles above her breast, tuning in to the pulsing heart.

Half an hour later, Rosalie yawns and stretches her arms, opening to Marie observing the moon through the window.

Marie turns to her, whispering, “I must go now.” She strokes her face, “May I see you again?”

Rosalie becomes misty eyed, “Darling, my door is always open year-round. The twins will be away tomorrow. Aside from the servants, it’ll just be the two of us,”

She brightens her face, “Until then, Fais de beaux rêves Soleil,” giving a peck on her knuckles.

The goosebumps return to her skin, “Y-you as well, Sternenlicht.”

She disappears in a blink, leaving only a breeze in its wake. Rosalie retraces her step to the ingress, the door left ajar. She surveys the front porch for any trace of her, even a shadowy outline. But Marie was nowhere to be found. A ghost dissipating from the mortal realm with no proof of its existence, just a paved path connected to the main road and the dark expanse over the horizon.

“Who’s at the door mama?”

She turns around to Vivian in her nightgown, holding a stuffed rabbit with long floppy ears and rubbing her eye.

“No one, pumpkin,” Rosalie yawns and stretches her arm, “just taking in the crisp air, keeps the old windpipe alive.” She hoisted her up to her chest, legs shaking as they aligned themselves. “If you and Victor keep growing, I can’t pick you up anymore.”

“But you can still hug us.”

She chuckles and pats her curls, tapping the door shut with her foot and carrying her up the flight of stairs. The door opens to Victor beneath his blankets, his breathing steady. Vivian tucks herself into the blanket, still clinging to her rabbit. Rosalie kisses her forehead and sneaks out of their room. When she returns back to the master bedroom, Elias remains asleep with spittle seeping out his open maw. She slips under the cold blankets and steadily drifts off, as numerous thoughts seep into her mind.

Though she was over the moon to see Marie, even embrace her once more. But something was amiss; she couldn’t tell if it was her colorless complexion, the core temperature, or her unusual movement, but one question dominated the rest: How did she come back?