Lucian

“In utter despair, relinquish crown, septa and shaul Deputes in my head, with no time to spareThe question, do you believe in the supernatural?” “Why do you insist on reading that to me every day?” Clara chuckled to Evander, her gaze moving from the book in his hands to his beautiful, clear ocean eyes. He was a beautiful man, the most beautiful she had ever seen. He had the most crooked smile and a jaw so sharp it could cut her heart in half. It had been three years since she met Evander at a friend’s beach cookout in San Francisco. She had been on tour and was persuaded, well forced, to make a detour before continuing on her tour. She was promised numerous moments she would never forget, endless fields of nature with the sun to constantly illuminate her pictures and of course, a whirlwind romance. The rest she was willing to believe but the last had her doubts rising from zero to hundred. Isn’t Paris known to be the birthplace of romance itself? If she could not find love in Paris

Evander paced the living room, scotch in hand. It had been a while since he’d had a drink. He usually didn’t need it, but he needed it now. A message from Thomas at a time like this could only mean one thing. He opened up his laptop, logged into his mail also accessible on his phone, opened up the message, and once again read through Thomas’s message. Knowing Thomas, the message would be deeply encrypted, that was his specialty. Thomas has always been highly cryptic and clandestine. He definitely never trusted the mundane messaging system. He would have to start decrypting the message as soon as he activated ‘the first shifter' since Thomas’s messages always had a time limit to them before they would self-delete. Who was the first shifter he was supposed to refer to? Evander thought to himself. Knowing Thomas, it was somewhere in the message plain as day. He looked through the curtains separating the master bedroom from the living room. Clara was still fast asleep. Perfect, he th

Lucian had just finished a class and was headed in the opposite direction of the classrooms. He passed various lecture rooms on his way out. Some too colorful for a lecture room, he thought to himself. Everything about this school was too colorful, the fresh paint on the walls and the smiles on the students faces like being in this dreadful world was something to be happy about. He caught a glimpse of a short blond with thin straight hair held back in a brutal bun and immediately increased his pace. Mrs Hudson was not someone he wanted to see him on his little escape for a breather. He did not realize he had started walking two steps per second until he was out the double doors that provided an escape from the crowded halls. “Mr Storme, may I have a minute of your time?” The woman found her way to where he currently stood trying to catch his breath. The hairs at the back of his neck stood at attention as she drew closer. He plastered the best inconspicuous smile on his face and

“Dad?!” She screamed in surprise. “Mum? What are you both doing here? How did you even know I was here?” She questioned narrowing her eyes at them. She was not at ease with their presence here because she had deliberately not told them she was coming here with Evander. She had also not even mentioned the fact that she finally decided to go with the pressure and attend Easton University after all. Evander chuckled nervously not meeting her eyes and whispered, “Sorry.” He ran into the bathroom, screaming something about taking a shower, leaving her to deal with the two angry parents seated on the second bed in the massive room they had been lucky enough to get last minute. “Well?” Her father asked, pulling a frown at her which only added to the wrinkles on his face. Add that to his graying hair and brows which he tries to keep black like Mom's by dyeing. There were still streaks of grey and you have the adorable old man she hated and loved at the same time. “Are you just going to k

Clara inserted the stuffed chicken in the oven which sat on a mantel piece right next to a four-head gas cooker set. She shut the tinted oven door as she went to work with the gas cooker, making the ramen she had been craving since the opening ceremony of ‘La Casa de Arte Unimaginable’. That was the name Jensen had decided to give the studio. She waited for the noodles to boil properly taking a quick scan of the kitchen. Jensen has never felt the need for privacy and neither had her husband which was why they had as few doors as possible. The only doors in their little apartment here in San Francisco were the ones to the rooms and of course, the front and back doors. The entire house was covered in colors of different shades and tones. The kitchen alone had about ten different colored tiles -some red, some pink, maroon, burgundy, orange- all of which were arranged in form of a gradient of the color red. After a minute, she dished her meal into a ceramic plate close by and took the