Glamour [Book 1] (Completed)

Chapter 25 | Gently Stained

Chapter 25

Two months. That's how long I had to live in the same house and go to school for me to see the changes occurring.

My training increased over time, and my mental capabilities skyrocketed. I haven't used magic in a long while, until the night I woke screaming from my purple-decorated bedroom.

Green eyes flickered and pranced around my room, and as soon as I flipped the light on, they blinked from existence. Bruises, almost deep purple, pulsed around my arms and shoulders. My legs shook and my hair tangled around my breasts. For some time I thought that I was safe from the Dead King, that 'Oliver' couldn't touch me. But he corrupted my sleep, but instead of blue eyes: he has green ones to mirror my own.

Was he mocking me? Was that what this was? To tell me that I can't run from my fate? That no matter how hard I train, I will always fail? Likely.

The rest of my Friday night was with my newest spell book. I flipped through the pages, and stopped to read interesting passages till the sun turned it's early morning gaze upon me. Saturday: at last.

"Eris?" A soft knock at my door brought my attention to order. Natalie was on the other side: distressed.

"Come in." I sigh, pulling my legs up to a criss-cross on my twin bed. This house makes me feel like a young southern girl from the past.

Natalie clicks open my rickety bedroom door and tip-toes around the little corner. Her little bunny slippers and baby pink pajamas make her look much younger than she really was. If I didn't know any better, she could be sucking her thumb and have bows in her hair and she would still look like she does now. "Eris, can I talk to you about something?"

I purse my lips, wondering if I wanted a deep conversation at 5 in the morning. I nod anyway, and pat the bed next to me.

As soon as she sits down I close my spellbook, and slide it aside and under my pillow. "What's up?"

Her face drops and her ankles cross over one another. "I sort of like someone."

"Okay... and?" I push, knowing this isn't exactly a sad topic, "does he not like you back?"

Her auburn hair, almost charcoal, runs in greasy streaks down her face. Her head shakes from side to side and all my attempts to comfort her are futile: I'm not the most caring person in the world, but I did try at the very least. "I just want him to look at me the way he looks at her."

Oh, so that's it. He likes someone else then?

"She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and is really tall. I'm just a short, tan, brown-eyed freshman with no life ahead of me."

I bring her to my chest, resting her flushed cheek to my collarbone. She snuggles into my shoulder and lets the tears soak into my satin attire. The sun soon rises over the windowsill, and bright light engulfs my bedroom.

At least I wasn't alone in my grief, my subconscious pokes at the back of my mind. I had just as bad of a night as she did.

After consoling to my cousin, we made our way down the hall and to the kitchen. The first thing I smelt was blood: fresh brewed smashed-from thick bones blood. My skin shivered, and the hairs rose on my arms. Maybe it was instinct but my body was disturbed and my fingers itching.

Natalie, noticing the irritation and pause in my step, stopped walking to watch my fanatic phase. Her brown eyes drifted to my lowering stance when I knelt down and sniffed.

The blood was pungent and consumed my nasal cavities with delight.

"Where's your father?" I ask, my uncle didn't appear to be home. But we both know he didn't have work on Saturday's.

Natalie's face skewers, and immediately she panics. "Maybe he's in the living room..." She pokes head around the corner of the kitchen. Her expression denotes that no one was in the living room.

My nose was starting to burn from the scent and my head swam uneasily. It was nearing closer and closer till the blood was all my mind could process. My back arched and my joints snapped until I wasn't me and the blood morphed into my persona.

Natalie scurried away from me and into the kitchen where she flounders around for a knife. I pay no mind to her and instead I follow my nose. It was much easier to track as a full-blown wolf. Werewolf.

There is a difference.

My nails scamper through the wooden frame of the house, right to the back door. My body bursts, without effort, through the door. Then, I race across the porch and to the hunk of meat lying still in the middle of the grassy field.

My hackles raised high.