Bitter Rose [Diabolik Lovers]

Chapter One: A Meeting To Preferably Forget (Maybe With Drugs)

Translations:

Merde - Shit

Je m'appelle - My name is

Va te faire foutre, enculé - Fuck you, bastard

Le Château de L'Horreur - The Castle of Horror

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There's no such thing as paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment.

Hunter S. Thompson

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Shivering slightly in the cold air blowing from the vents of the inky taxi that had picked her up from the airport, Rose shifted nervously, skipping through songs on her phone haphazardly as she stared out the window. Her insides felt as though they were going to war, and her anxiety made it hard to focus on anything, even a fantasy world, so she just watched the lovely scenery blur past in silence.

It was anxiety-inducing, not being in control of her future. Damien could pull the rug out from under her with dizzying speed, sending her crashing to the ground with no way to predict where she'd fall.

Though, Rose guessed that she wouldn't mind his manipulation of her life as much if it didn't involve Ash, Miri, and Alaine. The fact that their heads could end up at her doorstep with no consequence was what made her gut turn. There was nothing she loved enough otherwise, not even her health to be frank.

As part of a wall came into view in the distance, Rose braced herself for the worst. Damien wouldn't send her here if it weren't bad. And as they pulled up, she wasn't disappointed. The wrought iron gates looked like they could easily be the entrance to Hell. "Oh, fantastic. I'm being dropped off at Murder Lane and being sent to live in Serial Killer Mansion, home of all the horror movie tropes," she muttered, earning a chuckle from the driver as he came around to help her heave her suitcase out of the trunk.

Sarcasm and dry humor were her shields against the jittery panic that told her to run, to fling herself into the forest and pretend she'd died on a roadway in Japan. But what would happen to her siblings if she did that? It would be too selfish, and Rose wouldn't be able to live the rest of her life with the ignorant guilt.

The driver opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then shut it reluctantly as he caught sight of her curious stare. Getting back into his taxi, he gestured at her fox patterned suitcase like he wanted her to do something with it before driving off.

Rose bent down to study it and noticed the business card sticking out of the small pocket she'd been too lazy to close. On it was the taximan's info and the scribbled words 'Good luck.' She was indeed going to need it, she thought grimly as she slid the card back into the pocket and zipped it.

Taking a deep breath, Rose pushed through the gates just as the grey clouds that had been hanging low in the sky all day took that as a cue to unleash the water they had caged within them. That or God had decided to spit on her to show his displeasure at her living situation. Whichever was more believable to you. After all, you are the reader.

"At least it hasn't begun to thunder. That would be even more clich-" Flash. Boom! A bolt of lightning shot through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. "Merde!" Rose cursed, jumping a little at the plot convenient noises that drove her towards the foreboding house at the end of the long, neat path.

Yanking her poor, battered suitcase along with her, Rose darted up the path, sadly not fast enough to escape getting soaked. When she finally made it to the doorstep, she was shivering, dripping wet, and gasping for breath. "Merde, I need to exercise more if a small sprint can make me breathe so heavily," Rose muttered to herself. Then, she looked down at the rather long way to the gate and grimaced. "On second thought, it's perfectly fine that you're winded." She possibly had a slight problem with talking to herself. Possibly.