The Blood Rose Lady

Rozelyn is definitely bad at deciphering cryptic messages-especially one that is through a poem.

That voice...it seems to be very familiar. The voice sounds like from someone she already met.

The mystical voice that seems to come from far, far away reiterated for three times before the rooster cried for the third time.

"Of course, that is Isla Ivane's voice. Why didn't I recognize it at first?" She asked herself as she grabbed her pillow to hug it and ponder for what the message's meaning.

Even though she repeated it several times, it's too complex and difficult for her to decipher. Fiona's text message last night made her excited and anxious at the same time as Anaztasia and Avril's 'secret' wedding shall be in the fourth week of November or the first week of December. Rozelyn hopes it will be sooner as she could no longer wait to see her bestfriend wed, especially during these upheaval times that chaos in Shamrock prevails.

"She sees the world through the color brown. Her hair is adorned with a luscious red crown. She smiles like a wolf and cries like a sheep. She is the Blood Mistress even if everyone sleeps," she repeated Isla's words as she lay on her purple- colored bed and stared at her starless ceiling.

"What the freak does that mean!" She shrieked, but not too loud. In frustration, she threw her pillow at the top of her wooden cabinet and knocked down a family picture of her, Cyrill, and Romaine.

She recalled that Thalia and Rosette warned her about Romaine. But Cyrill...he's the only man in her life-probably the first and the last man. There's no way she wouldn't trust her secret beloved. "I'll go to Cyrill's room," she stood and walked to the door but remembered it's only three in the morning.

"Shit!" She cursed softly. "Wait. I am a goddamn Thaumaturge."

And before her subconscious could protest, she teleported to Cyrill Emerson Clarke's room. Without knowing that the young lad actually sleeps with no clothes on.

***

His bare body is glinting in sweat. His entirety was just covered by his rich milky white skin. Cyrill's groin was even standing upright, beckoning her to dive into it. She looked away, brushing away that temptation. He seems to be in a peaceful, sound sleep. Rozelyn even debated whether she will wake him up or just leave him be.

She decided to just tell him first thing in the morning. Rozelyn slowly walked to the wall in order to vanish in her own room when

"Don't you want to use the door?"

'Gosh, how could he perfectly pretend to be asleep?' She randomly thought as she slowly turned her body to face her naked adoptive brother-or at least in that way.

"I was going to tell you that Isla, the Winnower Healer, had sent me a cryptic message about who the Blood Mistress is."

Cyrill immediately crawled at the edge of his bed and sat up; his whole and unclothed body facing her. "Tell me the message then. Perhaps I can decode it." "But-"

"But what?"

Rozelyn inhaled to remind herself that this is real. "Aren't you in league with her?"

"If I am, I should have been spilling your throat in my room's carpet already while you were facing your back on me."

Well, he has a point anyway. Rozelyn took a deep breath before uttering Isla's words.

"She sees the world through the color brown. Her hair is adorned with a luscious red crown. She smiles like a wolf and cries like a sheep. She is the Blood Mistress even if everyone sleeps." Cyrill stood without bothering to put clothes on. "What is that?"

"It is what Isla told me. The exact words she told me," she tried to just look Cyrill at his face, holding her stare so that it may not slide into the lower part of his body to where his bare skin was shimmering in her eyes.

"I see. It seems she knows who the Blood Mistress is without bothering to tell us before they left. And just send us this cryptic message when she can just divulge the bitch's name."

She watched him put his two hands in his waist and plunged into deep thoughts, trying to crack the meaning of that decoded message.

"Perhaps someone or something is listening, that's why she put it through a coded poem. And I also have a hunch that Isla didn't tell us that time when we are having a picnic at the orchard is because" "Because what?"

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"Because the Blood Mistress is there, too."

Cyrill abruptly whipped his head to her and scowled. No, not scowl. It was anger, a furious face. "Are you saying that Romaine is the Blood Mistress?"

Rozelyn froze, shooked. "No! I meant Maebh Mullin. Remember, she's only an adopted child of the wealthy family and that the Mullins' original daughter died mysteriously. I think she did that on purpose so she may surround herself with wealth and influence because these two are power to this contemporary world."

His face shifted from enraged to softness. A man who knows how to understand and listen-like how an open-minded creature of the night reacts. "You seem to be a profiler now, Roz."

A jovial grin brightened her face. "You're a delight, Cyrill. That's why I trust you with my life-and heart."

He's face is now more serious, as if the topic of hearts and the likes made him shift into a serious man in an instant.

"What do you mean by that?" His voice is very much hoarse and in a cold tone.

"Please don't tell anyone else. Not even to Romaine or Anaztasia." She turned the door knob now when his thundering voice halted her.

"What do you mean by that?!"

She inhaled and exhaled first before shifting to her feet and faced him. "My heart is sure enough that I trust you because my heart is never wrong-for choosing you."

And Cyrill was still gaping even when Rozelyn vanished into that door. A tear fell from his face and plummeted to the ground even when the slamming of her room's door resonated in his ears.