Rozelyn.
That was the name my Irish mother Visenna gave me before her very last breath. My father said in his journal— the one I’ve found in that God-forsaken room and recently read minutes ago— that he can still recall her last moments after she gave birth to me. He declared that it was indeed haunting to a person even up to this day. Haunting because being able to witness with your eyes the moment your loved one took their last breath will forever be marked in your memories.
After my Irish mother closed her very eyes, my African father gave me my second name. He told me that the name was derived from a Japanese flower, kind of resembling a tulip but more elegant compared to a usual one.
Nadeshiko.
He told me it had a silent “I” when you pronounce it. He told me that he named me after a flower because, despite my mixed races, my Irish side is still dominant. I don’t know but I kind of have this funny feeling that I sounded like a daughter of a boutique owner since my two names are both flowers.
Well, nevertheless, it kind of has chemistry to my last name: Zadzisai
Yes, I know. It sounds peculiar but it’s actually common to African surnames. Wait ‘till you hear my uncle Imani Onai on how he pronounced my last name.
As I’ve been saying, my name is pretty much well-combined, don’t you think?
Rozelyn Nadeshiko Zadzisai.
Yes, it has a lot of Zs in it but what else do you expect? I was born from two different races and cultures, naming is one of their challenges but they named me impressively despite their varied origins.
By the way, if you’ve been thinking, let me introduce my parents.
My mother was born as Visenna Caoimhe Byrnes
I know you’ve been wondering how to pronounce her second name but it’s pronounced as Kee-va. It’s actually a very popular name here in Ireland that means “the noble one”.
My father is Eku Mazari Zadzisai.He’s quite renowned because he was one of the lucky ones who married a westerner. I mean, it’s considered lucky for an African—according to him.
My father nicknamed me Little Rose. But, my uncle insisted on calling me in a much more unique way. He said that I should have a moniker that would let every head turn around as soon as I have been called.
It was Christmas and I was wearing a bloody red dress that day. My father, my uncle, and our neighbor Thalia Turner unintentionally called me Little Bloody. But, out of nowhere, my uncle called me Bloody Rosie. My uncle Onai nicknamed me eventually as Blood Rose and eventually people know me by that nickname, instead of calling me by my birth name. I don’t know but I kind of like that people call me Blood Rose instead of my real name. It kind of gives me this enthusiastic vibe when they call me Blood Rose.
I also have this feeling that I feel unique in this world since a blood rose is very rare. Red roses, yes. But Blood Roses are one in a million. My father told me once when he was still alive that he found the legendary Blood Rose in a remote land in Tanzania. It is also known as the Blood Tanzanian Rose or Ambrosia for the Greeks.
The Greeks called it Ambrosia since a Blood Rose has quite identical properties to the food of the Gods—both grant immortality to anyone who consumes it. My father also stated in his diary that its petals’ are redder and more vibrant than the reddest blood. Its smell resembles the rusty aroma of fresh blood. And its thorns…its thorns can bleed any finger in a single prick.
Yes, it originates in Tanzania since Tanzanians used this rose in ancient times to prolong the elites’ existence. It is the equivalent to the mythical Fountain of Youth.
As the saying goes, “Legends are once based on truth.” But, due to it being passed from generation to generation, legends eventually became stories—a work of fiction, as they say. Stories that are only told during campfire or bedtime.
But, my father eventually proved the existence and powers of the Blood Tanzanian Rose—with an immensely fatal price. In fact, I am the tangible evidence.
Well, it just makes sense anyway to have that kind of nickname since I am an aspiring psychologist and I mostly take part in “bloody” patients. You know what I mean?
Anyway, I guess this is it for now my Dear Journal.
My stepmom has just popped in in the midst of Sunday morning when the sun was just about to crept into the sky.
Please remind me that I still have to start writing for my English essay that’s to be passed tomorrow. You know that I’m quite forgetful when it comes to essays.
Truly Yours,
Rozelyn
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A Poem from Rozelyn
My name is Rozelyn
And people say that I am a Queen
What they don't know is I am a creature of the night
The moment you see me is the moment you'll never see again the light
I may have green eyes but I seek blood
Once a month, I drink that red liquid like I always had
Beware of me and my family
We lurk the night and lure the weakly
We have powers you have never seen
We have eyes that are so keen
We are three in the family
One who's a mind-reader, the other a duplicator, and the other the most powerful
Amidst of our deadly side, we are also helpful
Because just like every person in the world
Just like every cyclone that whirled
We nightly creatures still have a heart
We still have to play our part
Because just like a bloody red rose that has prickly thorns
A monster has also a heart that is used to adorn and to mourn.
Rozelyn just finished her first week of being a freshman. Psychology was the major subject she chose and Philosophy was the minor one. She currently studies at St. Patrick’s College, located only five minutes from their abode in the heart of Shamrock, Ireland. Her raven-black hair was in a tight bun, causing her nape to be wholly exposed as she walked by the streets of the city. The sky was already enveloped by the tawny sunset when she arrived home. Their house was not that grandiose, but it can already be called home due to its cozy ambiance and serene atmosphere. Romaine was cooking an Irish stew and some anchovies. Rozelyn’s appetite suddenly dropped from being famished to being forcefully full. She hasn't liked anchovies or Irish stew since she was five years ol
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Cyrill’s voice was as loud as an ambulance’ siren. It was his voice that woke her up from her seemingly surreal dream. He turned around to face the thick burgundy curtains that hinder the sunlight from entering the chilled room by the glass window. He then grasped the hems and swiftly split it open. Rozelyn looked to her left. Her alarm clock reads 6:15 in the morning; too early for a Saturday birthday celebration. The sunlight swept the darkness; filling her entire room with beaming light that glared at her emerald green eyes, causing her to slip away from her vivid thoughts—courtesy of last night’s nightmare. She groaned as she covered her eyes with the ‘Avengers’ pillow from the blinding rays of the sun while suddenly realizing the presence of her stepmom’s adoptive son.
Her violet-colored bed remained empty even when the morning star began to climb in the vast heavenly blanket. Rozelyn continued reading her father’s journal that she found in that revolting room. She didn’t know how to process her father’s words and messages. She doesn’t even want to continue reading, if not for the awestrucking revelation her parent have divulged. So, she talked with her journal in order to calm herself. She always does that when she’s anxious or perturbed. Her father even told her the origins of her name in his diary—causing her to reminisce about her childhood experience with him and her uncle Imani Onai. As she was
It tastes like sticky sweet red wine. She never knew that the taste of blood was just like drinking refreshing cool water. Nevertheless, she enjoyed her orchard visit with her stepmom. Lush nature really makes one serene and cheerful and in a soothing mood. Romaine said that Cyrill wasn’t with them because he had a musical invitation from the local orchestra. It’s kind of disappointing for Rozelyn that her stepmom’s pup wasn’t with them to witness the paradise of the orchard. Anyway, she’s happy for him—what makes Cyrill happy, makes her happy. At least, he’s spending time with music again after his departure from England. Music always calms one’s soul since the dawn of time.
Her stepmom said that she’s an Elemental Vampire. According to her, it is one of the nine supernatural abilities that a vampire and werewolf can possess. An Elemental can spark flames in a snap and summon vicious storms in a single glance and can even break windows via the Elemental’s wind abilities. Nonetheless, she liked it anyway. She felt identical to X-men’s Storm and Beautiful Creatures’ Lena Duchannes. Romaine said that she’s still a “baby vampire”, which means that her abilities are not that vivid yet. It can be triggered mostly by extreme emotions like anger or fury. It takes three long months to fully prosper one’s powers, sometimes longer depending on the entity’s constant feeding. *** It’s a miracle that she’s already awake at four in the morning. Well, s
Silence seems to be the family’s emblem. Even though the three are not blood related, it still seems that they’re blood relatives due to the fact that a problem of one becomes the dilemma of everybody. Cyrill was the one driving the car this time. Romaine was in absolute quietude—probably because of anger and enigma, or both. Anger because of her step daughter accidentally setting Maebh’s dress on fire and Enigma because of her recent discovery of Rozelyn’s profound abilities. Rozelyn, on the other hand, seems to be in apparent ire and bereavement due to Maebh mentioning and insulting her late mother. Rozelyn is a kind of person that never wants to hear insults and mockery from people, especially when it concerns herself and her family. Maebh was lucky that it
Eku was somehow anxious. He has made Visenna drink the Blood Rose by boiling its petals by the beginning of the latter’s final trimester. The blood rose water was no doubt identical to an oozing vibrant red blood. He doesn’t give a damn to the consequences for now. The only important thing in this instant is the survival of both his daughter and his Irish wife. He was still peering by the delivery room when Romaine, his wife’s best friend, approached him in a violet-fitting dress. “I’ve already told you Mazari,” Romaine addressed the botanist by his second name. “I’ve told you even before you ventured into that cursed blood rose that one flower will only save and immortalize one ind
Cooking seems to despise Rozelyn. She remembered the time she went for a sleepover at Anaztasia’s house. She was quite embarrassed to herself because she doesn’t even know how to cook a pancake whereas Anaztasia can proficiently cook even a roasted turkey and chicken cordon bleu. I’ve already woken up as early as I can to just cook a spanish omelette but my cooking skills seem to not cooperate at all. She thought annoyingly to herself. “Perhaps you can just wait for Romaine to wake up and let her be the one to administer the kitchen, Rosie girl.” Rozelyn then looks around but sees no one at all. At the corner of her eye, she spotted a huge white Persian cat sitting solemnly on the cupboard. In a blink of an eye, the cat shifted from paws and tail into a handsome tall man. This made Rozelyn suddenly gape and utterly flabbergasted. “You’re...You’re a shapeshifter too, Cyrill? How long have you been