Superawesomemegafoxyhawt CI by Rina (VermillionDream) @ TDA!<3
Chapter 1: Roses
I am trapped.
A thick mess of vines grows all around me, ganging up on me, choking me. It’s dark all around. I can only see two steps in front of me. Neither the sun nor moon can reach here. I’m alone and afraid.
“You are unwelcome here,” the vines seem to hiss.
Thorns appear on them, scratching and poking me. Black roses bloom all over the vines. They have a menacing, eerie quality that grips at my soul. I think I’m dying.
They grow faster now, and I’m tangled within the beast. I let out a blood-curdling shriek as the vines choke me and slither into my mouth. The roses are spitting out venom. My skin turns a nasty red as it burns. My throat is on fire, the thorns scratching against my insides. I try to scream, but I can’t. I reach out frantically for something, anything, but my hands get caught in a mess of thorns.
This is it, I think to myself. This is what death is like.
Then, I see a pretty yellow rose blooming above me. I feel the vines shudder in disgust, but they keep on killing me. I pull my right arm out of their entanglements, filled with new strength by this rose. I reach up and pluck the rose from above, and the vines shriek and retreat. I feel myself falling through darkness. I hold onto the rose for dear life. When I land in a soft bed of leaves, I get up and look down at the rose. The petals shiver, and I’m afraid it’s going to die. But, instead, it sheds its petals and blossoms with new, vibrant, beautiful red petals.
I awake, kicking and flailing. My eyes snap open, and I can hear the rain pouring rhythmically on the roof above. I look around, my room concealed in darkness. I can make out the shapes of my bedroom—my desk, my bookshelves, my chest of drawers—and I relax a little. I wrap my blanket around myself more tightly and slowly drift into dreamless sleep.
Later that day, I’m woken up by the sound of my father messing around in the kitchen. Pans clatter against countertops, utensils are shaken up in their drawers, and swears are muttered. The rain is still lightly pattering on the roof. I close my eyes for a moment and make out two pretty hazel eyes. Then, a pale heart-shaped face. A pair of full, pink lips follow and a small nose forms above it. A head of shiny, wavy dark hair frames the face and I’m picturing my mother. I sniffle and press the heels of my palms into my closed eyes. Today’s the fourteenth anniversary of her death, hence the ruckus downstairs. Mom always tried to teach Dad how to cook, but he was a hopeless case. On her anniversary day, though, he tries to make breakfast. It usually ends in smoke and black pancakes, but last year, he pulled off some decent-tasting eggs.
I slowly slip out of bed and make my way across my room to my bathroom. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and frown at how red my hazel eyes are. I wet a small towel with cold water and press it against my eyes, hoping that the puffiness recedes. I release the towel, and I look slightly better. I force a smile, but my eyes still look sad. I sigh and push a strand of curly brown hair behind my ear. I brush my teeth and comb my hair. I then reenter my bedroom and pull on a pair of jeans and a plain t-shirt. I open my door and I immediately smell the pungent scent of burning food.
“Shit!” Dad exclaims. “Fuck!”
Pinching my nose, I run down the wooden staircase and into the kitchen. Fortunately, it’s clean. Unfortunately, Dad’s ruined a good pan by forgetting to melt butter on it before pouring the pancake mix.
Dad slaps a flour-stained hand to his forehead. It leaves a white handprint on his already pale skin. “Dammit!” he curses. “I knew I was forgetting something!”
“Daddy,” I say, prying his fingers off the panhandle. “I’ll fix it, okay?”
“No, no, no,” he says like always. “I can fix it myself.”
I sigh and cross the small kitchen over to the dining area. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
His blue eyes shoot daggers at me. “Don’t get smart with me, Angelina.”
I sit down in a wooden chair at our small table and fold my hands in my lap. “Sorry.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s all right. I’m not some broken toy, Angie. I can do things myself. I’m the father and you’re the kid, remember?”
Any other day, I would be goofing off and letting him screw up food, but today is the one day out of the year that he’s completely vulnerable. When I was little, I remember looking at him and thinking of a lost puppy. He didn’t know what to do with himself. At one point, for just a year, I was living with my Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus because my dad was just…not there. Then, with the help of my aunt and uncle, he picked himself up and went back to work as an Auror. He joined the Order of the Phoenix. He wanted revenge on the ones who caused his lover’s death. Sometimes, the rage and fire that burned in his eyes when he spoke about You-Know-Who and his followers scared me.
“They’ll pay,” he would tell me. “They’ll pay for what they did to us. We’re supposedly their equals—purebloods—and yet they went after her. Just because of something she wrote in the
Prophet. They weren’t even at large then. But they will pay, Angie, do you hear me?”
“Angie?” my dad asks, snapping me back to the present. “Angie, did you hear me? You’re the kid, okay? I take care of you.”
I nod and hug my knees to my chest. “Okay.”
We arrive at the cemetery. The rain is falling lightly, but the clouds grow darker. We’ll have to be quick if we don’t want to get soaked.
Dad and I walk through the cemetery, passing rows of weathered headstones. The condition of the grave markers gets worse as we head deeper into the graveyard. Thunder claps overhead and I jump. Dad seems unfazed or oblivious. We reach Mum’s gravestone, a tall, well-kept stone. It says, “Here lies Kate Thorneberry-Potter. Mother. Wife. Sister. She died a noble death. May 28, 1940 – August 31, 1962.”
Dad gently places the bouquet of red roses in front of her headstone. Closing his eyes, he kneels and clasps his hands together in prayer. I wipe a tear from my cheek. I don’t want to kneel. I would be kneeling over an empty grave. That’s right. Empty. When You-Know-Who’s followers were done with her, they left nothing for us to bury. She was gone, only living through our memories and the few photos she left behind.
I feel something wet hit my shoulder. I look up at the dark sky and it begins to rain heavily. Thunder claps again. I pull my now-soaked jacket around myself tightly and shiver violently. I look down at my mother’s wet, empty grave. It’s depressing.
“Daddy,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his wet shoulder.
“Let me feel something,” he prays aloud, unbeknownst to him.
I take a step back, shocked by what he just uttered. I look up at the sky again and feel the rain douse my cheeks, mixing with my tears. It was sick, what he had said. Like Mum’s grave, Dad was wet and empty. The person he was before her death was gone, just like her body. Poof.
Mum, if you’re up there listening, I pray,
send help. Please. We need help.
Author's Note:
Hey, you lot! So welcomed to the revised edition of Let's Play a Love Game. Spot any differences? I hope you did! I changed the plot around a bit and mapped it better this time, so I should have more for you at a good rate. I hope you enjoyed! I'm sorry it was short, but I felt like I needed to address Angie's mom's issue a little more this time around. Anyways, shoot me a review! I'd love to hear what you think! Until the next update...bye!
x Isabel
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