Irina Taylor, a girl who lives in the 1940s with the gift to see any human's soul, goes from a social outcast to a prophecy come true. But there is a realm that coexists with ours, invisible to the majority of mankind; only a select few can see thro...
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"𝓘ʀɪɴᴀ, ᴡᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘ."
A long whine escaped my lips as I rolled over and hid my face from view.
"Irina."
"No," I groaned.
Anthony shook my shoulder gently and said, "You have been asleep for over a day."
"A day?" This made me peel my eyelids open. It took a moment to remember where I was. I turned my head to look at Anthony's tall form standing beside the mattress.
"You must have needed the sleep. He chuckled softly. Then, he strode to the other side of the room, grabbed a tin can, and brought it to me in bed.
"Here," he said, offering me a can of sweet peas. "You must be hungry."
I hesitantly accepted the can from him, with a question gleaming in my eyes. He smiled and clarified, "Since the souls here don't require food, it is tricky to stumble upon, especially food that has not gone bad. While you were sleeping, I searched nearly every nook and cranny of the Cataclysm for preserved food items, and," he retrieved something else and plopped it on my lap as I spilled a few peas into my mouth, "some clothing for you."
My brows raised heavenward. "I am not wearing this," I sneered.
"You would rather wear your nightclothes everywhere?" he asked pointedly. I hadn't thought about it before, but now, I was all too aware of being in my short-sleeved nightgown and thin silk robe in front of a new acquaintance. My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
"Fine," I huffed, unfolding the clothing to examine it closer. He had found a floor-length grey-blue and white plaid dress with long puffy sleeves, buttons on the anterior bodice whose color matched the black ribbon resting around the midriff, and a white collar that composed the neckline. Under the dress was a dark indigo hooded cloak neatly folded into a rectangle.
"I do not understand why you are upset," Anthony said innocently, his brows knitted together. "Is this not what women usually wear?"
I suppose there was no good way to tell him, so now was as good of a time as ever. I swung my legs out from under the blanket and dangled them over the bed's edge to face him directly. "Anthony. . . I believe you have been in the Cataclysm longer than you think."
His eyes cast downward. "How long?" he asked softly. I think part of him did not want to hear the truth.
"Close to, if not more than, a century." I winced when he sucked in a long breath and took a seat in his rocking chair. "I'm sorry."
"One hundred years," he sighed heavily.
I got up to put my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me with those miserable yet captivating eyes of his. I said, "I don't know if I am the girl from the prophecy, and I cannot see the future, so I don't know how this will end, but I will fight with everything I've got until you and every soul here get their rightful freedom."
