It has been over a year since Rose was found from the rotting cottage and warmly adopted into the Walter Manor, living her new life blissfully with the company of her four metal and six human friends. Life couldn't be better! However, amid the blit...
Peter sucks in a deep breath, his hypothesis is made. "Rose, may I have a word with you?"
The petite rose gold bot raises her head to Peter, allowing herself to move away from her metal company's protective circle. Little is she aware of the frightening realization Peter is about to share with her.
Rose's POV:
Peter's voice carries over the hushed whispers of Hatchworth, Rabbit, and The Jon. Shakily stepping away from Hatchworth's embrace, quietly tiptoeing to the chestnut-haired human. Raising my gaze to meet with his jade green eyes, his perturbance is palpable. Straight away I grow concern with what he has to say. Opening my mouth a release of steam, my voice is hoarse from the crying. "What is it, Peter?"
Peter briefly glances above my head before gesturing me to walk with him to the back, nodding quietly and attending to him. Leading me towards some larger wooden crates in the back of the shelter, where we are provided with privacy. Once away from the many ears who can hear, I inquire Peter sheepishly. "Peter?"
Third POV:
Peter stands facing Rose's tiny frame, his heart aching at the sight of Rose's dishevelment. For the one year she has spent in the manor, she has been nothing but content. Her normal upturned features and polished cheeks are coated with thick black oil, tears.
Even though she is an automaton, she never quite gave him the impression of being 'artificial'. Out of all the mechanical residents, she is the most human in nature. It is plain to see how much strain this turn of events has caused for the meek bot. Peter wishes that he had another solution, deeply hating himself for having to drop this onto her already burdened shoulders.
Peter began by revealing the small tattered journal from beneath his arm. "Do you recall the incident from last year?"
Peter asks faintly, watching as Rose takes a second to examine the thought. She looks up once more, replying. "Y-yes, how could I forget."
Peter is hesitant, Rose furrows her eyebrows at him. She tilts her head in poised curiosity, eyeing him in puzzlement.
Rose's POV:
Vivid memories recollecting in my mind, both beautiful and frightening. Not those that are fractured from within my own past but those that have been newly made. Yes, I do remember, how couldn't I?
Third POV:
Lastly finding his words, Peter spoke with intent. "Rose...I have something you need to see."
Peter hands out the small tattered journal, with signs of obvious water damage and mildew. In fading ink, the cover read 'Christopher Lannister, 1896'. Trepidatiously, Rose takes the journal from Peter's hands. Her rose gold and copper-plated fingers trace over its cover as she delicately opens it.
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The expression of recognition in Rose's cerulean irises proved only true to Peter's hypothesis. Rose flipping through the pages of the journal, taking in the information analytically before pausing over the twenty-second page where a sepia photo fell out. Taking notice, Rose kneels down on her heels and retrieves the square image. Her eyes grow wide, her lips parting in a mew.
Instantly she mutters in a hushed tone. "This was my Father's journal."
Peter confirms this, raising his index finger to hover over the photo of a young human girl no older than twelve. Her eyes ivy green but instead of dark locks are blond cascades of golden rye, a smile frozen in a perpetual time stares back at Rose.
"Your Father built you in place of a deceased child, a miscarried babe whose name would have been Rose Marie Lannister." Peter slowly whispered.
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Rose's POV:
The memory of my first awakening comes to mind, too fill a heart. My Father had built me to be a daughter he had lost. My thoughts revert back to the photograph. If my purpose was to be a daughter then who was this human girl, and why is her face amongst my Father's memoir?
Third POV:
Rose still staring at the photograph questions with soft intent. "Who was she?"
Peter silently braces himself for his answer, he sighs longingly before eluding. "Christine Abigale Thorpe, the woman who had been after you. Rose, she would have been your younger half-sister."
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Rose is silent all the while Peter relays his findings. Christine, the ghastly figure and beast from Rose's past was Christopher Lannister's biological daughter. At least one of them. Upon examination, Lannister's wife Amanda miscarried there would-have-been Rose.
Stricken with grief Lannister had an affair with Lisa Thorpe, daughter of a neighboring family. Lisa would come to conceive the now known Christine but Lannister would never show his fatherly care to the bastard child, thus creating a breeding ground for Christine's innate hatred towards Rose with only the green matter fueling it. Thus keeping her spirit here on this rock. Unable to move on, unable to find lasting peace.
It all made sense. The relentlessness of the mechanical beast from last year, Rose's fractured memories, everything. A long-rooted vengeance that surpassed the decades, and now it has resurfaced in the form of something so dear to Rose.
It means that The Spine never won the fight he ensued with Christine but unknowingly allowed her to fester inside his own being, slowly taking him over before the time was prime to act. Possession for a lack of a better word. And Peter hating the fact that he is using that word.
