"No secret has ever left Eternia." He said, his hot breath burning against my skin.
I wanted to run away but there was something that rendered me unable to move.
"... And you're my little secret too, Ilsa."
••••••••••
Who is Vincent Rivera?
Nothi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
And she runs through her days with a smile on her face And she runs, and she waits, and I wait ♪ Tyler by Toadies ♪
The golden rays of the setting sun transformed into a pinkish sparkle as they dueled with tiny raindrops falling freely from the tormenting hold of dark clouds. I wondered what it must feel like to be so free.
I tried not to think about how I spent my entire day confined in this room and instead focused on the alluring view before me. I would prefer the royal gardens, but I was stuck with the dark forest view. So I learned to appreciate what I had with me.
It looked nothing less than some sort of mystic forest hiding a secret that runs back a million years. I was convinced it really did. It lied right there, in the place where I believe the entire forest was designed to hide. Ombre House.
My eyes fell over the dirt path leading up to the house, muddy because of the rain. It was just about a hundred meters path to the secret. The dirty little patch seemed to attract me a little too much.
No. I shook my head before any kind of thoughts entered my head and closed the window, the wooden patch blocking the sight before me.
Ignorance is bliss, Ilsa!
I tried diverting my mind somewhere else and blamed my state of absolute boredom for having me thinking about destructive things like these. I didn't have to do much as the door burst open all of a sudden, carrying a fuming Mr. Rivera in.
He wasn't home the entire day and this was how he returned at night— with messy hair, white shirt half tucked out, burning red eyes and blood on his knuckles.
It was devil I was seeing in front of me.
He laid those devastating eyes on me, and just like that, the temperature in this room began to rise. The air felt humid and I struggled to breathe. Taking calculated steps like a predator, he slinked towards me until I could feel the nicotine in his breath right over my face. I shut my eyes tight, fearing the outcome of even so much as moving a muscle.
"Open your eyes," the velvety voice commanded.
I opened my eyes in a flash and what I witnessed was the most deliciously destructive sight. He was so close that I could even make out the tiny little receding scars over his perfectly chiseled face. I had never noticed them before, but there were many. One over his left brow, one under his right eye, a few of them over his forehead, concealed below his silky strands and some of them-
"Thirteen," he said, his eyes following mine as I traced all the marks on his face.
"Thirteen," I found myself whispering back, lost in my own thoughts.
That was way too many. If his face had thirteen scars, I wondered how many of them would be present on his body. I wondered what painful memories he must've gone through. Did the stories still haunt him like they did to me? Could we have something in common, even if it was just trauma?
