𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

Cerritulus Amica

When she turned home, Monica was already there. She was cooking one of her veggie soups, which included broccoli and other vegetables. Regan didn't want to eat at all, but she didn't want to disappoint her aunt.

"Yes, aunt, I'm going to eat it," she said with a smile. Her mood was slightly better, not like it had been at Vesper's house.

She went upstairs to leave her bag in the room. The red bloody rose was laying there on her bed like a reminder to stop her from acting like she wasn't scared.

Regan went downstairs again, washed her hands and sat on the table, trying to forget what she saw at Vesper's house. They were talking about Monica's job, when Monica said something she hadn't noticed.

"There's a red strand in your hair," she said, her eyes narrowing in curiousity.

"Red strand?" Regan looked down at her hair, her eyebrows furrowing. She couldn't see it but it was confusing.

"Maybe ink fell on it?" Monica suggested.

"I don't know," Regan replied unsure, "I'll see it later."

"Okay."

After she finished, she went to the bathroom to see the red strand that her aunt mentioned. It was a small one, but still visible. Regan thought that it was ink and tried to wash it. But nothing changed.

That's were it started to get weird. The red color didn't wash out. Regan didn't want to think about it anymore. She thought to put her hair into a ponytail, but couldn't find her hair tie anywhere.

When she turned back, her eyes fell on the rose. It was like it was taunting, watching her, daring her to do something. With a furious move, she grabbed the rose, its thorns digging on her thin fingers, and tore away its petals, watching them fall gently on the floor like a broken soul. After she was done, she stomped on them and threw the stem outside.

But as she looked at the torn petals, she felt a wave of dread and guilt. It was just a flower. The deal was, who was doing that to her.

She collected the petals and let them fly out of the window, the wind carrying them away like a cloud of crimson silk.

After she did her homework, she ate and read. When it passed midnight, Regan was in her room and pretended to be asleep. She was scared to sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the cold eyes of the creature with the name of one of the most brightest stars in the sky.

But even if she forgot about that, the red roses were a constant concern. Someone was sneaking in her room, and here she was, trying to sleep. She should give in to her fear and cautiousness, not act like the roses have legs.

She had never been so scared before.

As her frustration and fear reached its peak, she went to the kitchen to drink coffee. She wanted to increase stamina and decrease fatigue. But it seemed like they didn't work, because she was still tired.

It was ironic. She had always had an insomnia state. She had passed countless nights of rolling and tossing, of trying to sleep. And now, when she didn't want to sleep, It was like something was trying to lure her to.

She played a game on the laptop but its battery died, then she used her phone, but her eyelids felt heavier and heavier until she drifted off.

The next morning, her aunt's voice woke her up. Regan sat up on the bed, rubbing her eyes, and realized she had seen the exact dream again. Her chest tightened with fear and she looked at her sides to be relieved there was no rose in sight.

"Dear, you look very unsettled," Monica remarked. "You were talking and shouting on your sleep."

"Yeah, aunt, nothing to worry," Regan said, as she sat higher.