Rosalia sat up, Braydon's arm slipping from her and she looked at him. He was starting to fade. The shadows that formed his body were starting to slip away and when she touched his hood, to pull it back, she couldn't feel it, couldn't take hold of it.
Like he was already long dead and gone and nothing but a ghost of a memory lay beside her.
She slid away from him, off the bed and picked up the matches as she passed, striking one and lighting a candle on her vanity table before taking a seat and looking down at the parchment in her hand.
It was the poem.
The one she had seen in her dream.
It had somehow followed her out of the dream.
How? Did it have something to do with Cliffwood? Had he really taken her out of the dream when Lucinda had noticed her? In a way, had he saved her? And then somehow got the parchment to her?
Impossible.
It seemed too helpful and kind for the type of man that he was.
She pulled the candle towards her so it illuminated the paper and looked at the poem.
Painted finest black and gold
Key to freedom I do hold
Yet you would run and ruin me
Thus such freedom cannot be
We are four abandoned youth
We know we shall not know the truth
But I see you step towards the door
I ask you ask leave us nevermore
The world. The world. It bows to you
And yet you be the traitor fool
Run and flee and leave us be
And coward is all I ever see
Protect our court. Protect your throne
Or one day it shall be mine own
See you live. See you dead
Your fate; it sits upon your head
Live within the deepest well
Where stuff of nightmare is said to dwell
Take a breath, a life and kiss
From the lady you shan't be missed
She keep you safe with painted smile
And with false word, the court you wile
Should you vanish without trace
Know I'll not miss the painted face
Choose you lady, be her own
And I know that you may then come home
But be it in your nature run
You're merely but the vermin son
So lock away that brush-stroke eye
Where your secret is said to lie
And come the day you run away
Within the castle, play nor stay
He who abandoned kith and kin,
YOU ARE READING
Painted Roses
FantasyRosalia is used to enchantment. With a brother who freed a beast and a friend who slept for over a hundred years, coming across enchantment doesn't phase her much. At least, it doesn't phase her when she's not directly dealing with it. But...
