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,

“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.

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.

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

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