> “He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, and we do not steal this novel from royalroad.com from the author Lara Zanatti Reis, is just rude tsk tsk
Nord's awakening was a slow ascent from the depths of slumber, accompanied by a throbbing ache in her head— as if reminiscent of a hangover's aftermath. Yet, her mouth held a lingering sweetness, as if kissed by the refreshing touch of mint and caressed by the subtle warmth of sun-soaked earth. The warmth of her bed contrasted with the eerie chill that permeated the room. As she blinked her eyes open and rubbed away the remnants of sleep, her surroundings greeted her with an emptiness that seemed to stretch into the void.
Sitting up, she cast her gaze around the room, searching for any sign of life beside her cat, stretching at the edge of the bed. The emptiness seemed to echo back at her. She couldn't understand what was missing.
With a yawn, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The cold floor sent a shiver up her spine, making her acutely aware of the room's unwelcome frigidity.
Why was it so cold?
As her eyes adjusted to the light filtering through the curtains, she scanned the room once again, her gaze pausing on the emptiness that seemed to hang in the air.
Making her way to the closet while her cat, Kirara, rubbed herself against her ankles, she opened its doors in search of her outfit for the day. But a strange disarray greeted her—half of her closet space stood bare, while the other side was crammed with clothes pushed to their limits.
Confusion knitted her brow. How could her belongings exist in such disarray?
It was then that she realized her state of undress, clad only in an oversized t-shirt that belonged to someone else. The disorienting reality left her momentarily stunned.
"Hello?" Her voice pierced the quiet, reverberating within the walls of the apartment, but the emptiness remained unbroken, a silent witness to her solitude.
Frustration crept in, her senses heightened by the bizarre circumstances that surrounded her. "Is anyone there?" But her words were met with the same unyielding silence.
A sudden, unpleasant sensation underfoot jolted her senses. She looked down to find herself stepping on something slimy—something that, upon closer inspection, revealed itself as a used condom.
Her shock was audible in her muttered exclamation. "What the fuck?"
The room seemed to close in on her, its emptiness taking on a sinister edge. Her gaze darted around once more, searching for any sign of an intruder or an explanation for the unsettling scene before her. "Hello? Is anyone there?”
The silence remained unbroken, a haunting reminder of her solitude in this bizarre reality. The soft hum of the kitchen lights greeted Nord as she stepped in, a sanctuary of familiarity and routine. The methodical process of making coffee – the aromatic grounds, the hiss of the kettle, the warm mug cradled between her hands – always brought a comforting cadence to her world. However, the sight of her packed suitcase and Kirara's travel box disrupted the ambience. The juxtaposition of the every day with the evident signs of an impending journey created a silent tension in the room. The odd thing was, she couldn't recall when she had packed. Had it been the night before in a bout of unexpected efficiency? Or perhaps in a dreamlike state, her subconscious preparing her for the journey ahead?
As she reached for a mug, the emptiness of her cabinets loomed at her. The shelves, which should have been a mosaic of cups and dishes, looked like they had been robbed of half their contents. Yet, as she mentally catalogued the items, everything seemed accounted for. There was no tangible absence, but the unsettling feeling persisted.
It was as if the shadows of objects once there lingered, a spectral memory hinting at a past event. The sensation was akin to stumbling upon an old photograph and struggling to recall the moment it captured. A haunting pang of déjà vu.
Nord shook her head, trying to dismiss the eerie feeling. Perhaps it was just pre-travel jitters or the early morning haze playing tricks on her. But the lingering unease, the inexplicable void, stayed with her, whispering of a forgotten memory or a moment lost in time.
At that moment, as she stood amidst the disarray of her belongings and the chilling emptiness of her apartment, Nord was left to grapple with the surreal and unnerving unknown that now enveloped her world until it was interrupted by the stubborn buzzing of her phone. South was calling her.
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The cool draft of the salon's air conditioning kissed the back of Nord's neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Little sounds filled the room: the soft hiss of a straightener, muted conversations, and the ever-present hum of hair dryers. Nord was beneath one of those hair dryers, her inky-black tattoos spiralling like stories around her limbs, the culmination of years of artistry. Her brown, dark eyes, halfway lost in another world, suddenly met her sister's, the reflections of two opposite worlds. South's bubbly voice broke through, "Nord? Why the gloom? Looks like you're attending my funeral rather than my birthday."
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Hearing her, Nord blinked and jerked away from her own maze of thoughts. "Oh, it's just… this trip," she shouted above the whirr of the hairdryer, the warmth fogging up her thoughts. "It's a big deal, you know? Just nervous... I guess"
South's eyes sparkled like twin suns, contrasting with her moonlit pale skin. "C'mon sis, you're a masterpiece. They will love you! I mean, look at you! Both the canvas and the artist. This world summit for tattoo artists? They'll be blown away. But today," said South with a singing voice, "Is all about me!"
”You are only eighteen once," a smirk edged onto Nord's face, looking at South, whose ethereal glow felt worlds apart from her own dark, artsy vibe. Their ten-year age difference often fooled people into thinking they weren't related. But here they were, bound by blood and an unbreakable bond.
"Oh, by the way, did you already pack for the trip?" South inquired, teasingly tossing her freshly styled hair.
"Everything's set. Kirara will stay with Mum after your Initiation, and then I'm off to the airport and will sleep on the plane, I guess. My dress is safe in the trunk, but still smells like the dry cleaner's," she leaned to South's ear and whispered, "I will not embarrass you, don't worry."
As South twirled in her chair, showing off her newly coiffed blonde tresses, Nord whispered in awe, "You look like a new-born witch, fresh out of a legend." But there was an undercurrent of bitterness, a silent storm, threatening to drown the joy of the moment.
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The Morningstar Manor was a grand structure, carrying centuries of history within its cold stone walls. Its high ceilings and echoing hallways spoke of family legacies of powerful guarded witches and whispered secrets from bygone eras of powerful spells and rituals. In one of the manor's opulent rooms, adorned with intricately designed wallpapers and golden accents, Nord stood gazing into an ornate, full-length mirror framed with dark mahogany. The soft glow from the chandeliers overhead cast shimmering highlights upon the dress she wore.
The reflection staring back was of a woman dressed not just in clothes but in history, intrigue, and sheer elegance. But amidst the vintage allure, the edgy undertone of her makeup and combat boots added a note of savage defiance.
As she was lost in admiration of her ensemble, the sudden creak of the door jarred her from her reverie. The silhouette of her entrance brought a quickening of her heart, her radiant smile revealing an anticipation for someone specifically but unknown. Yet, as the figure stepped into the light, it was just her mother. The twinge of disappointment in Nord's eyes was unmistakable. Her mother took a moment to absorb Nord's appearance. “Too much?” Nord playfully questioned, seeking her Mother validation.
“Never too much,” her mother replied, moving closer, the rich black fabric of her own gown rustling with every step. “You’re a vision. You have your father’s spirit, that same fierce, undeniable presence and his magic.”
Nord smirked, eyeing her mother's reflection. The striking platinum blonde hair, neatly tied in a bun, contrasted starkly against Nord’s olive skin. "That doesn't necessarily sound flattering." Her mother chuckled, "Your father was a force to be reckoned with, just like you. As for the boots...” she hesitated, glancing at the rugged footwear peeping beneath the dress. “They’re for the trip, mum,” Nord quickly defended, sensing the brewing critique. "I have a long twelve-hour flight ahead."
With a fond smile, her mother conceded, "Regardless, you’re every bit the Morningstar heiress I would expect. You wear our legacy proudly with beauty and defiance.”
“But no witchy thingy,” Nord's gaze shifted, her mind momentarily wandering to the guests awaiting her presence downstairs, her pet Kirara, and her yearning for a glass of the manor's finest vintage. "I should head down, greet everyone, see Kirara, and maybe get some wine." “It will come, Nord, be patient, you used to…”
“I was a kid mother. I saw and heard nothing. It was all in my head. I’m not a witch."
"Ah well, someone spoke about wine," her mother sighed dreamily, linking her arm with Nord's, "Always a Morningstar favourite. Let’s descend together." And with that, the mother and daughter made their grand entrance, ready to take on the evening's festivities.
The vast ballroom of the Morningstar Manor was abuzz with chatter, laughter, and the soft hum of a distant orchestra. The room was bathed in a golden glow from the magnificent chandeliers overhead. The grandeur of the occasion was palpable, with guests dressed in opulent blacks, each garment a testament to wealth and power.
Yet, amidst the sea of dark elegance, South Morningstar stood out like a beacon. The brilliance of her white gown made her seem otherworldly, a serene angel amidst mortals. The orange leaves crowning her head shimmered with every tilt and turn, symbolizing her rite of passage. She looked regal, every inch deserving of the attention she garnered.
Nord watched from a distance, sipping her wine. She should have been swelling with pride, watching her younger sister shine and ascend in the covenant’s hierarchy. Yet, an unfamiliar weight bore down on her heart, a shadow she couldn’t shake off.
The haunting strains of Devil's Trill Sonata began to play, each note reaching deep into her soul, magnifying her emotions. The beauty and sorrow of the composition threatened to break the dam of tears she had held at bay. Desperate not to cause a scene, Nord quickly refilled her glass, using the action as a brief respite from the overwhelming emotions.
The chatter and laughter around her became a distant hum as she lost herself in her thoughts. But her introspection was short-lived. The authoritative voice of the Morningstar Matriarch echoed through the ballroom, its tone signalling the commencement of something sacred.
“It is time,” announced the Matriarch, her voice demanding attention.
The crowd began to move in a synchronized manner, heading towards the ritual room, an area of the manor reserved for the most occult of Morningstar ceremonies. Nord took a deep breath, steadying herself. The Initiation, a ceremony as old as time itself within their family, was about to begin. She hoped that whatever was weighing on her heart wouldn’t overshadow the significance of the evening for South, but still, there was a whisper in her ear - Brace yourself, get ready!