Y/N was furious, absolutely furious. She was so mad that she couldn't sleep, despite rolling around in bed for hours. She eventually came to rest curled on her side, sulking. How could he? She bitterly thought. He claims to care for me but keeps me locked up for weeks. He claims to be telling me the truth but doesn't answer any of my questions.
She took several deep breaths, trying to lull herself to sleep, but moments later her mind was filled with all the memories she had shared with the Archduke. The strangeness of their first meeting, the way he had diligently tried to help her regain her memories, how he had saved her life that dark and stormy night, and the genuine connection they had felt before he had suddenly decided that she should be confined to a single room.
Ugghh! I hate him! She buried her face into her pillow and screamed, anger once again filling her and chasing all drowsiness from her mind. It's no use, I'm not sleeping tonight, she thought despairingly as she rolled onto her back and looked around the bedroom for something to pass the time.
The dying coals in the hearth offered little light, but the extravagance of the room was still on display. A massive wardrobe stood against one wallpapered wall, holding an array of beautiful dresses that all fit Y/N perfectly. A vanity with hair brushes, perfume, and decorative combs sat next to the fireplace. A cozy reading chair sat on the other side of the fireplace, a small bookshelf at its side.
Turning to the nightstand, her eyes lit up when she saw a scuffed and ragged leather-bound book. "Oh, right," she murmured as she leaned closer to inspect it, recalling that she had found it in the temple when she had first awoken. Perhaps I will find some answers in here?
She took the matches from the drawer and lit the candle at her bedside, the single flame providing just enough light for the content of the journal to be legible.
Y/N settled back into the warmth of her blankets before she opened the cover. My, their handwriting is terrible, she thought as she squinted to make out the scrawling waterlogged text. they must not be very well-born, the phrase vehemently crossed her mind, but she had no clue why she had thought of it.
Even though some words were so blotchy and faded they were unintelligible, Y/N still tried her best to read the first hand-written entry.
Ten years since my journey began, ten years and I remember the first night like it were only last night. Cold. It was cold. My bare feet bled, leaving a trail. I had to rescue her. I walked until I collapsed, wolves howling. I was sure I would die.
She quickly turned the page, intrigued.
I awoke next by a fire, two men sitting by, drinking booze. I tried to leave, but I was chained to four other children. They were thin, with matted hair and caked in dirt. I wasn't better. One of the men beat me for trying to escape, I stayed still after that. They were slavers, I overheard them talking. I was going to be sold in Bocio.
She chewed her lip anxiously as she flipped the page, hoping for some kind of resolution.
They forced us through the mountains. It was hard, no food, no water, no rest other than when the slavers did. If we didn't move fast enough, they would beat us. One of us, a girl with pale hair shackled in front of me, fell down. She didn't move, even when they kicked her. Removing her chains, they left her body without a second glance. I wondered if I'd be the next to die. I didn't let myself die, I still had to save her. I promised.
What a harrowing story! Y/N thought, more curious than before whose life was recorded in those pages. I wonder who wrote it... Could it be mine?
Sudden inspiration striking her, she set the book aside and walked over to her vanity. She dug around in the drawer until she withdrew an unopened bottle of indigo ink, a quill, and a sheath of yellowed paper.
Her hand shook as she hesitated, holding the quill above the paper as she wondered what to write to compare handwriting. I-I have to know if I wrote this-
"Good morning Y/N!" A chipper voice called from the other side of the door, startling Y/N so badly that she dropped the quill, splattering ink all over the paper. "May I come in?" The feminine voice asked.
"Don't bother asking, the Archduke locked me in," Y/N responded moodily "he'd never give you the key."
"You sure about that?" A click was heard as the door opened, allowing a pretty blonde head to poke inside.
"How-how did you get the key?!" Y/N stumbled back in surprise. "Did you steal it?" She covered her mouth with her hands as she envisioned how furious the Archduke would be if that were the case.
"Maybe~," she said with a mischievous smile, skipping across the bedroom and throwing open the curtains to reveal that it had already been light for some time. "That's not important, come on, let's go for a walk. You need the fresh air!" She approached Y/N eagerly, smiling as brightly as ever.
"I'm sorry but, I don't know you," she mumbled uncertainty, taking a cautious step backward. "have we... Met before?" She asked shyly, her eyes full of hesitation.
"Yes, but it was a long time ago, so it's no biggie if you don't remember who I am," The woman responded with a relaxed laugh. "I am lady Abela Biustanini it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again," she curtsied before extending her hand again, a welcoming smile on her lips.
A/N
Awwww, Y/N and Abela are making friends again!
Do you have any idea who the mysterious author of the journal is? ^~^
Until next time I'll see you on the other side
~J. C. Coltt.~
YOU ARE READING
Street Mouse 2
Romansa"Don't cry Y/N. I-I know you don't remember, but I deserve this. Please, just forget all about me and... be happy." . . . [Yandere Archduke x Female Reader] [Sequel to Street Mouse] One hundred years have passed and the Archduke Frosino de Crivell...
