Of Roses & Angels

Chapter 1: Where Rose discovers the magic roses

"Rose! Rose!"

My father's voice bolted me out of bed, the book on my chest falling open on my lap. I had spent the previous night studying the astronomy tome, one of the few in our possession, which claimed that music could transcend through the universe and connect destined souls.

Either the book was too romantic or I was becoming one.

"Rose!"

"I'm coming Papa!" I called back quickly getting up and smoothing my dress.

I had forgotten to change into my nightdress and the corset felt painfully tight around my ribs. Smoothing quickly my brown hair into a bun, and wearing my slippers, I descended the stairs which led from my small attic room onto the living room and connected kitchen below.

Our house consisted of the ground floor where the living room, the kitchen and my father's room were, and the attic had been transformed –by yours truly- into a small room with a small bed, a writing desk and I had recently just transformed the alcove into a comfortable reading space.

I could still hear my father complaining good-naturedly about the plies of books I had organized around the room.

My father stood next to the table as I finally descended, his small spectacles glinting in the sunlight of the window behind him. His short grey hair stood up as if he had rubbed his head continuously and the cravat was untied around his neck.

"Papa? What wrong?" my words were gentle as I stepped in front of him tying his cravat properly.

"The Storytellers have come into town." His voice quivered with fear.

My hands stilled and I felt my breathing stop as I looked up into my father's grey eyes, the same color as mine.

The Storytellers.

"No." I stepped back, fingers trembling as I looked around our kitchen and living room wildly as if trying to find an exit.

"Rose, my child." Papa's calloused hands grasped mine. "Look at me."

I looked up at him, feeling small and afraid despite my nineteen winters of life. He rubbed circles around my palms the calluses feeling rough. My father's work never left us starving; our table was always full because everyone needed a woodworker, a carpenter in the town.

"Maybe they won't choose you. Maybe it's someone else's time." My father placated, with soothing words. And the sick part inside me felt relieved because I didn't want to be chosen. It was selfish to wish for someone else to go into your place.

Because the Storytellers were not to be defied.

Because the Storytellers had already taken so much from us.

Mama.

Cassia.

Evanthe.

And I feared that I would be the next.

Papa hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead. He stepped back and went to the kettle, preparing more tea. He moved quickly trying to hide his trembling hands, hoping that I wouldn't notice.

"Go and freshen up Rose. The gathering will be in one hour."

I nodded at his back and turned around heading towards the door across the kitchen, to the backyard. Closing it gently behind me I pulled the water lever to the left, activating the new water system my father had installed last year, pouring water in the basin in front of me. The coldness sent prickles in my palms and as I washed my face from sleep, I let my tears silently fall.