P R O L O G U E

~EVE~

Modern day

 

I sat in the back seat of my convertible, right in an insufferable dress that held me to the point of suffocation, my face palmed with frustration.

Pamela knocked on the tinted glass window as I rolled it down for her. “Hello everyone,” Pamela greeted with  a sharp smile. Looking in my direction, I could see the bizarre look on her face, staring deeply at my black dress and fascinator on my head as the net covered my entire face. She sank in her breath, not hiding her dislike that I was dressed up for a funeral rather than my long awaited book signing. “Eve,” she called with gritted teeth, “You look wonderful; I am sure you are as excited for your book fair as we are.”

I was unperturbed by her brightness as I replied in a strained tone, “I am drowning in misery, Pamela; the corset I am wearing is like a bone meant to break through my rib cage; my lungs are screaming and want out; my feet hurt like a bunch of nails piercing me on them, so yay, you can guess I am excited.”

Pamela took in a deep sigh as she tried not to let her smile fade away.

“Great! We have a lot of kids with their parents waiting for you in there, so I need you to lighten up and put on a good smile for the kids.” She exclaimed, and I feigned a smile, trying to make her think I was optimistic about the whole thing before she left.

“I can’t wait to quit,” I grumbled, leaning back on the car seat, instantly regretting my decision as my whole body tightened. “Can we get down and get this over with Ragul before I die?” I say.

Ragul, who is my generational assistant and has followed me down for several years, rushed to open the door for me. For a much clearer explanation, Ragul is the son of about six to ten generations of Raghul's. Honestly, I stopped keeping count after the second Raghul died. His father, the first Raghul, had gotten into a generational contract from the moment I realized I was immortal with the inability to age any further than I already am.

The contract had involved him serving me for the rest of his life as well as his coming generations. At least a son will be given the name Raghul who will serve me after Raghul dies. I made sure they were all named Raghul because I didn’t want to have the time to memorize their names each time.

“On it!” Raghul exclaimed, jumped out of the car quickly, and opened my side of it. “You don’t seem excited, Eva.” Raghul offered his hand to let me out.

I grabbed it and held it tightly. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Always a pleasure, Eva,” Raghul said with a smile, and I groaned, feeling irritated by his positivity. Nothing grosses me out more than seeing humans happy; they don’t deserve it. Good thing that they have numerous bills, social trauma, and all that sort to keep them depressed their whole lives. I am well pleased.

I snatched my glove covered hand away from his hold and wiped off his sweaty hand on his suit jacket, heaved another heavy sigh, and said, “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

I walked into the mall alone, where a section of it had been booked for the book signing event. I looked around to see so many kids, as Pamela claimed, and almost felt like I was about to lose my mind.

I was able to hold myself and breathe in and out repeatedly before I came to the acceptance that this wouldn’t work and it was best I flee. As I turned to leave, a little boy ran in my direction, falling face flat on the ground as he came into contact with me. He got up quickly as if that hadn’t happened, and he wasn’t hurt in any way, and tugged on my garment.

“I am not letting you go until you free Princess Blueberry,” the boy proclaimed while tugging on my dress.

Without a single care in mind, I flung my dress to the other side, trying to get rid of the little pest that stain my dress with his filthy hand without touching him, but this boy is relentless!

I frowned when he continued to fuss around with his demands and began calling me a witch, to the point where it began getting more attention. I finally lost it and pushed the boy to the ground, bent lower to him, and said, “That is what you deserve.” I said in a firm tone, and with a pleasing smile, I stood up with pride, seeing as tears covered the boy’s face.

“That is not how to treat a child.” A woman holding the hand of a girl and standing on the line like the others waiting to get their kid’s book signed scowled at me. She let go of her child's hand and picked up the boy I had pushed to the floor. “You are such an evil person if this is how you behave with a child; he is obviously playing with you.”

“And do I wear a look on my face that says I am interested?” I retorted back, “I also didn’t push him; he simply fell when I tried to remove his hand from the dress.” I defended, showing no single remorse for what I had done.

“Such disgusting behavior you have; I saw you push him, and yet here you are denying it.” The woman, unwilling to let this case rest, went on to say she was pulling even more reactors, who clearly now side with the kid who first looked for my trouble.

It was like all mothers against one, ME.

And this boy just won’t stop crying.

“What is going on? Eva?” Pamela came up, asking as she struggled to reach me.

I glared sternly at the boy, whose tears continued like he enjoyed that all these self righteous mothers were against me. “Shut up!” I screamed at the boy. All the mothers around, even those on the line waiting for me who had chosen not to be involved, gasped. I knew all was ruined at that moment.

“Eva.” Pamela tried to hold me back as she saw the amount of damage control she would have to do if any of these women recognized me. Oh nevermind.

“Is that her?” The woman who has chosen to stay on my neck sees a poster of me smiling. I was forced to smile by the way, which was about to be placed in front of my event area. “It is her,” the woman confirmed.

"No, it is not,” Pamela tries to convince, but so many of the women confirming that it is clearly me made it a whole lot worse.

“How can a woman who writes children's books be so cruel to a child? Can we even entrust our kids to her?” The woman, still holding the boy, said.

“No one is forcing you to buy my books,” I bluntly said, fed up that she was starting to make it seem like she was doing me a favor or that they all were. I rolled my eyes as they all murmured. I could see the hate on Pamela’s face; clearly, she knows she has lost her job after this whole situation, but who cares? Human suffering is my medicine.

“Gabriel, Gabriel,” Another woman in a pink fluffy gown and a tired face walking alongside a police officer called out. The boy, whose hatred had grown since he stopped crying, soon reacted, “Mummy.” He wiped his eyes as he tried to get off of that woman’s hold, who was now an advocate for kids’s safety.

“Gabriel,” Gabriel’s mother’s face lightened up as she saw her son rum to hug her. How I wanted her to know the trouble her son had caused me.