The World's Aftermath [ON MAJOR EDIT]

Chapter 15 [Cleo]

As soon as we reach into a final stop, an all hail relieving breath had stopped our stressed minds off from the on-going traffic jam. It's past eight o'clock in the dark night, and as I was so sure that the ride home would become less... hasty and slow, I came to realize that aftermaths of traffic takes longer than expected. Aunt Rosie had complained within every stop we made. Well, that was until she shouted–actually shouted, louder than any of the horns,"Finally!"

I was just done answering and nodding my head, listening politely with every rule she listed of coming into her home. Not the best two hour ride, but it was only that little sparkle of hope–maybe not hope, but miracle–telling me of how much happiness healed me because of Eric's existence hovering right beside me. However he got back from those awful men is still a mystery to me. Plus, Aunt Rosie loves to glare in unexpected moments, I know well enough for that to be her special trademark.

In the waking presence, the trees picture a hollowing night of dark mystery, bending in awkward directions, perching like giant sticks of crawling wood. Shivering from the cold, I land my foot on the first step off the car. Rich, heavy soil takes notice of my shoes, following my every move as I watch Aunt Rosie park her car on the driveway. The fresh smell of a new lawn jolts me awake, even in the dark, Aunt Rosie's place still manages to picture a house of beautiful rustling plants and colorful petals filling inches of the wooden walls. Tiny lights are placed in the few corners of the lawn, not much to show, but from the size and silhouettes of those plants, I can tell it's all in the real deal for a new kind of nature. Unlike those trees outlining the rest of the roadway.

Eric follows my gaze to where most of the vines and ivies hang, on the far corner of the backyard's door, perching high up like a barrier of dark shadows. Creepy, but still such beautiful creatures. He signals a tilt of the head and I quickly move towards his direction. Unlike my house rules, I take my shoes off first, setting it into the fancy wooden rack near the front door. The smell of jasmine and lavender hits me first, then the soft coating of carpet beneath my foot comes next. To where all the books and old ornaments are displayed, I still remember of the exact area where I shattered an old and rather expensive plate. A very young me that was. 'Naive and irritating', as both mom and her sister had thought of.

And they stand until today, the cabinets and fragile things spread across the whole side of the first wall I see, they look older than aunt Rosie herself. The lights aren't like anyone else's, not in Asphrone, at least. They are hung with an enormous strength, candles standing on the tip of shiny glass curving elegantly. 'Chandeliers' they called it. It's something no one sees every day. In this room, hovering under it makes me small but special in a way, surrounded with rare objects.

"Don't touch any of 'em," Eric says–not as a command, but a careful reminder.

"Where's the mustang?" I ask, apparently whispering.

He shakes his head in a caution manner. The door slams and Aunt Rosie eyes both of us with wide curiosity. With her sharp keen of senses around, I would never be able to hear what Eric's witnessed when he was away.

By the time I realize there is nowhere to go, I find myself searching for Eric. But, surprisingly, he's already gone, rushing to whatever room he is about to be trapped in. Leaving me with her.

"I was expecting more of a 'hello'," she raises an eyebrow, key chains dangling from her fingers as she moves around swiftly.

"Oh-I'm sorry, where are my manners?" I reply with a slow-hopefully inviting laugh.

"No need to apologize," She sets her bag down on the elegant couch. The soft looking cushion makes it hard to resist wanting to lay my body flat on it. Aunt Rosie has no idea how much of the things she owned in this room could cost more than an actual house. I know not one person except me would think so, but, old things? They've got to be more valuable sometimes. A rich man cannot simply ignore an old artifact dug up beneath the rich soil. Same thought goes for these.. Objects.