Myosotis - work in progress

Myosotis

The first night I heard faint singing, not the sing-a-long kind of singing - no, an eerie opaque wailing. Distant yet uncomfortably close. As if I heard it in my head. I turned, stomped up the cushion and dismissed the singing. A radio in some farmhouse, or a car passing by. The wind must have distorted the music. My reasoning blocked the singing, I thought, but in a corner of my head I kept on hearing that sound. A chilling yet luring sound.

That morning I arrived at Myosotis, a lovely rural house in the middle of the country side. Quiet, far away from the hectic city, situated in a natural area - a charming little cottage in the park of a deserted manor. The weather was good. Sun peaking trough a deck of clouds, a slight breeze just enough to make the leaves on the trees stir. The cottage had a beautiful garden. The muted colours of perennials like asters and a late blooming rose, spiders making webs between the silvery stems of withered plants and a blackbird was enjoying berries in the shrubbery. The air was moist. Autumn.

I was happy to get away for a while. Think things over, get inspiration, reset, forget and forgive. Forgive. Easier said than done, I thought, being filled with anger and grief. The bastard. Cheating on me for a weak replica of myself. Bye, bye wedding bells. Not for this couple. The rat.

So that was it. Reason for me to pack my things and do what I had planned some time ago. Take a bit of  time for myself, do some sketching, start on that illustrated children's book I had wanted to make ever since I left art school.

While I was unpacking my drawing tools I looked out of the small window. I could just see the dreary, grey walls of that lonely manor. An old man in the village nearby told me, when I asked for directions to Myosotis cottage, that the manor had been deserted for centuries but still looked maintained - haunted, he said, the place is haunted.

I planned to check the manor out the following day. Make so photos perhaps.

After that first night of restless sleep caused by that ghostly singing I eat some cereal, take a refreshing shower, put on some warm and comfortable clothes and my wellies and close the door behind me to explore the surroundings.

It had rained a bit during the night which made the grass wet and the fallen leaves a bit slippery. The huge garden is neglected, the path hardly visible, the trees large and impressive and in the thicket one can see statues or pillars, overgrown with ivy.

I stumble upon an almost hidden pond. And when I bend down to look at the still water I see the branches of the trees reflected and the fallen leaves at the bottom and...a face!

I think I see a face for a moment. A pale face, with startling white dead eyes. with a gasp I step back. Almost trip and fall but for a hand holding me up under my arm and a deep voice speaking to me.

"I've got you."

It is a young man with long brown curling hair and Aviator shades. When I look up I see my scared face reflected in his sunglasses. An attractive smile makes dimples in his cheeks.

"Did a frog frighten you?" He asks.

"For a moment I thought..."

"Yes?"

"I..."

The young man looks down at me, a frown between his brows. He confuses me, and he is still holding me at my arm.

"It's...nothing...a reflection. Silly me." I laugh.

"You should be careful. These waters are deeper than you think." He warns, the smile back on his face.

"This pond reminds me of a painting. A John William Waterhouse painting. It is mythical somehow." I say, staring into his shades, trying to see his eyes through my own reflection.

"Mythical..." He repeats. The smile disappearing from his face again.

He let's go of me and takes a step back.

While looking at his hand he asks me.

"Why are you here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry...I was just sightseeing. I am staying at the Myosotis cottage and was just wondering around a bit. I didn't know it is not allowed. Do you live here?"

He takes a step towards me again. Stand really close. Lifts his glasses a bit and then does the strangest thing. With squinted eyes he seems to smell me. He inhales real deep. His chest filling with air. It makes me feel sensual and tingly, but it scares me also. When I take a step back he grabs my arm again and pulls me against him.

"Careful! As I said, these waters are dangerous."

With his shades back on again I can not see his eyes, but his skin looks smooth and he has a soul patch under his full, perfectly shaped bottom lip. He is horribly pale, thought. The guy must almost never get outside, in the sun.

I can feel he is scanning my face. He lifts his hand and softly touches me, tracing the curve of my brows with his fingers like a blind man. Nervously I lick my lips. As if bitten he jerks backward, turns around and walks away.

Astounded and shocked I see him disappear between the trees. I decide to go back to the cottage. I almost run.

Back inside I start to draw and soon I forget all about that strange encounter. The main character of my children's book starts to get shape. A chubby little mouse in a checkered pants with suspenders and boxing cloves.

Time passes quickly and when I fill the kettle to make myself some tea I can see it is getting dark already. The outlines of the manor against the darkening sky is a bit unsettling. I close the curtains.

There is more wind than earlier that day and the garden gate's squaking is starting to annoy me. So I go outside to do something about it. The remaining leaves on the trees are rustling and it sounds a bit like whispering. I shiver and pull my sweater around me.

From the corner of my eye I see a shadow moving. When I look there is nothing. I put the hinge more firmly in its place and return inside. The warm and the soft light is welcoming.

Later that evening I sit in a chair beside the hearth. I brought a knitting and it all feels snug as fuck. The radio is on and softly the music fills the small room. Suddenly there is static on the radio and the acoustic guitar play of Ben Harper makes way for that same wailing sound I heard the first night. I jump up and try to find another station, but the disturbing singing remains. With beating heart I turn the radio off. The sound stops.

I decide to go upstairs, read a bit in bed and then sleep.

Blood

That night I dream. I dream of the young man I saw in the garden of the manor. He is standing at the sloping lawn. Behind him the manor. He lifts his hand. As if inviting me to come to him. When I get closer I see he is not wearing his shades. He opens his arms and embraces me. He lifts my chin and his mouth covers mine. His soft lips make me long for more. But he ends the kiss and when I look up at his beautiful face his eyes are red and there is blood on his mouth.

With a jolt I wake and feel a horrible ache in my wrist. There is a small wound and I am bleeding. I get out of bed and put my hand under the cold water faucet. The bleeding stops and I press a clean towel against the mysterious wound. Puzzled I go back to bed and almost immediately fall back to sleep again. This time dreamless until the morning.

I open my eyes at the first light. Rested and happy. When I remember my dream I look at my wrist but there is no wound. I must have imagined it. But when I go to the bathroom I can see there is some blood on the towel. I put it in the laundry basket and get dressed.

After a magnificent breakfast I continue with my drawings of the adventurous little mouse. The sun is shining, the blackbird in the garden is singing and I love being on my own.

I hear the garden gate and then there is a knock on the door.

When I open I see it is the young man I saw in the park and...well, and in my dream.

The thought his soft lips on mine makes the blood stream to my head.

 I feel very awkward, say hello and stare at my feet.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you." He says. "I wanted to see if everything's alright and if you maybe needed anything."

"Oh. How nice of you. Ehm. No. Everything is fine."

"Must be awfully quiet here for you."

I look up at his face. He is not wearing his shades. And his eyes are not red. They are blue. The violet kind of blue. Rather pretty. And my cheeks turn red again.

"I love the quiet." I say.

"Is that why you are here?" A curious look on his handsome face.

"Yes."

"Well. I'd best be going then."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. How impolite of me. I didn't invite you inside. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make some."

His blue eyes seem to look right through me as he says; "You shouldn't invite just anyone inside in this place."

I laugh. "Why not?"

"There are unsound creatures in these surroundings."

"Unsound?"

"Just don't."

"I have a black belt karate." I say.

Now he laughs.

"As I said; just don't. But I would love a cup of tea. It has been ages since I have been in the cottage. I'm Edward, by the way." He goes inside as I step aside.

"I'm Rebeca." I say as I hold out my hand.

He turns my hand, bows over it, and kisses my wrist.

"Rebeca." He whispers. Looking up from under his beautiful brows.

His lips linger. The feeling makes me shiver.

Such an old fashioned gesture. I withdraw my hand and hide it behind my back.

He smiles. He has the most wonderful dimples suddenly. Makes his face look so young. And that long soft hair. He resembles an elf. And yet, his smile makes me uncomfortable.

I turn and walk to the kitchen to put a kettle on. I get two cups from the cupboard.

"Edward?"

"Yes?"

His voice comes from right behind me. I didn't know he had followed me. With a start I drop one of the cups on the ground. It splinters all over.

"Oh fuck, you shouldn't do that."

"Woa. Did I frighten you?"

We both bend down to gather the pieces. His hair strokes my face. When we both want to pick up the same shard our fingers touch and a shock goes through me. I pull my hand back and in the sudden movement I cut my finger on the piece of porcelain.

"Oh, how clumsy of me." I say. A drop of blood falls on the floor. As if in slow motion.

"Let me have a look." He says.

He takes my hand and examines the cut.

"It's not so bad."

He then brings my finger to his mouth and slowly moves his tongue over the wound.

With big eyes of disbelieve I stare.

His lips close over my finger in a kiss.

I can hardly breath.

"There." He says. "Over."

I look at my finger and the wound is gone.

"How did you..."

"As I said. It was not so bad. How about that tea you promised?"

There is still a little blood visible on his lip.

We sit in the cosy little living room, drinking tea in the autumn sun falling through the small cottage windows. He is enjoying the cakes I baked earlier that day. And our conversation is lively and cultured. That awkward scene seems all forgotten. He is very interested in my work. And when I show him the sketches of the mouse he has to laugh at the toughness of that little creature.

"He resembles you in a way." He says.

"What." I feign indignation.

"You are also tough but cute."

"Am I fat too?"

He looks me up and down, raised eyebrow, crooked smile.

"You are lovely."

Oh my god, I realise we are flirting.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you actually live at the manor house?"

"Not all the time. I...I am away a lot."

"People in the village say it is deserted."

"Well. It might seem that way."

"They say it is haunted."

"It is." He laughs.

"What haunts it?"

He looks uncomfortably outside.
"Oh, it is getting dark. I really have to go. May I?"

He bends forward and gives me a small peck on my lips. Small but it burns.

"Thank you for your hospitality. And again; don't invite anyone inside. Specially not when it's dark."

"You scare me." I chuckle.

He frowns at me. "You should be scared, Rebeca."

And then he opens the door and leaves.

Dove

I go into the garden. Collect some wood logs that are piled against the wall.

Same as yesterday I see something moving in the half-light, but when I look there is nothing. Shivering I rush inside and make a fire in the hearth.

When I am preparing a light diner I hear a loud bang against one of the windows.

Hardly visible in the twilight I see a person clad in a dark robe crouching in the garden. It is holding something. Then it looks up. That face!

I've seen that face at the bottom of the pond!

Its dead, white eyes look at me. That face is familiar. It is the face of a young man. It is Edward's face. And yet it is not. Thinner, even more pale and the eyes, those lifeless eyes.

He looks back at something in his hands.

I swallow.

I straighten my shoulders and go outside.

"What are you doing here?"

The man says nothing but holds out his hands.

It is a pigeon. A dead pigeon, I think. Looks like it has broken its neck.

The man softly strokes the dead pigeon. I can see a tear falling on his cheek. Edward's cheek. The same.

"What happened?" I ask.

He points at the window. I can see a stain. A blood stain. The poor dove must have flown against the window and the collision broke its neck.

"Poor thing." I say.

The man says nothing, but opens his mouth and a soft but melodious wailing comes out, tears streaming from his blind eyes.

I recognize the sound.

The sound that keeps me awake at night.

The young man makes a pile of leaves and lays the dove on that autumn bed.

Then he stands up and looks at me. Wipes away the tears from his face. And smiles.

His smile takes my breath away. He is beautiful in the most haunting way.

He stares at his hands, there is some blood on it and he also smeared some of that blood in his face.

"Would you like to wash yourself?" I ask.

He nods.

"Come inside. I'll get you some soap and a towel."

He follows me and in the warm cosiness of the house he looks strangely out of place.

In that long dark robe and with his greenish pale face he seems like something from a horror movie. But there was a tenderness in his gesture when caressing that pigeon which reassured me.

I open the tab. Luke warm water comes streaming. I soak a towel and softly dab his face with it. Wash away the stains. After that I rinse his hands. He feels as cold as stone.

But he smells like the forest. Honeysuckle and moss. Like morning dew. I guess I am strangely enchanted by the whole situation.

So there are two of these gorgeous, but unearthly young men in this park.

I turn around and cough, then take a deep breath.

"Let me get you something warm to drink." I say.

But when I return from the kitchen with a glass of hot hazelnut milk he is gone.

The door still ajar.

Woa, this is so gothic, I say to myself.

Inamorata

After a surprisingly good night's sleep, without the wailing song, I decide to explore the park and take pictures. It is a good day. The sun is shinning, there are some clouds but no wind. I don't even have to wear a coat.

The park is very atmospheric with some threads of fog hanging between the bushes and beams of sunlight filtered through the trees. I am looking for the pond I had seen, the one with the face-phantom and where I first met Edward, but I can not find it. I find another pond instead. A beautiful little pond, with a bench and the overgrown statue of a naked young woman. She is a beauty, although a plump figure, her features are delicate and fair.  When I take pictures of her I spot a fresh bouquet of autumn flowers and berries. I wonder who she was and why someone is wooing a statue of her. She looks familiar. Her face, the nose, the breasts, the boyish little butt, the long braid. I'm sure I have seen her before. The statue is timeless. I can not tell how old it is.

"Admiring my inamorata?"

I jump and clutch my heart.

"Oh my! You make a habit of scaring me."

It is Edward. His hair is moist and more curly then the other day. He is wearing a white shirt with long sleeves, hanging over his pants. Casual but archaic. As if he just walked from the set of a Jane Austen film. His face is unsmiling. As if he is cross at me somehow.

He grabs my arm. Looks at it frowning.

"You've met Jerome." He says accusingly.

"Who?"

"You let him inside."

"How do you know?"

"You made a grave mistake."

"Why? What's wrong with him? Who is he anyway? Or should I say what?" I begin to sound hysterical.

He suddenly yanks at my arm.

"Look." He says, pushing my arm up to my face. "See that?"

On my arm is a scratch. A wound, almost healed. I didn't know I had hurt myself.

He drops my arm and turns around.

"You should go."

He paces away.

"What is it, Edward? What the fuck is going on?" I run after him.

"Go, go back to the city! It is not safe for you here."

"Jesus, Eddie, calm down. What is going on? Why are you so melodramatic? Is this a prank? Freaking out a city girl?"

He stops. Clutches his fists. Then turns around. He inhales deeply.

"Rebeca." He breaths out my name. It never sounded so good.

His hand folds behind my neck, pulling me towards him. He drapes his arm around my waist. His lips nearly touch mine. Our breaths blend and I can feel his hesitation, but then his mouth covers mine.

It is a desperate kiss. He bites my lip and pushed his hips against mine. His devastating sensuality, enters my bloodstream, I can hear his inner roar.

His hands are restlessly hovering over my body. I feel his growing need.

Then I hear a loud shriek and Edward tumbles over, clutching the back of his head with his hands. A dark shadow runs away. Its robe flapping behind him.

"Jerome." I call. But he is gone.

I crouch beside Edward who is still holding his head.

"Are you alright?" I ask. "What did he do to you?"

Edward just moans and when I look at his head I see it is bleeding. There is a stone lying next to him. Blood on the stone. The creature named Jerome must have hit him with it. But why?

I tear of a piece of fabric from my t-shirt. Press it against the wound to stop the bleeding, but he pushes my hand away. Tries to stand up and walks to the pond. Silently muttering. He dips his head in the cold water. Stays like that for a while. The statue looking down at him in silence.

His inamorata he called her. His beloved.

Gasping for breath he throws his head in his neck, shakes it. His wonderful hair splashing water like rain.

"Everything's fine. Let me take you back to the cottage."

I sit in front of my drawing board. Just staring. Wondering what I should do.

After that kiss and what happened next, Edward took me back to the cottage. I felt like a naughty child being reprimanded. I have no idea what I did wrong or why I am in such immediate danger. He was so cold suddenly.

I am scared, but determined to find out what is going on.

But the first thing I have to do is go to the village. My fridge is almost empty. I have to do groceries.

It is a friendly little village. Lots of hanging baskets everywhere, a creek streaming through it, a picturesque church, cobblestones. There is a small supermarket, a bakery, a flower shop, a pub and a post office. That's all. I buy a bread and a flap jack at the bakery. The woman behind the counter is curious. Asks where I am staying. Behind me an older woman says she used to play hide and seek in the park of the manor house. She says strange things happened in that house. She says I shouldn't be alone in that cottage.

"He might take you."

When I ask her what she is talking about she looks meaningful at the woman behind the counter. She just nods in silence.

I pay and leave the shop. I feel their stares in my back.

It is very quiet in the supermarket. I put the stuff I need in my basket and when I pay I see an old man and woman standing together, whispering and pointing in my direction.

I ask the shop assistant if Edward ever comes here. She looks at me blank.

"I don't know any Edward." she says.

"The man that lives at the manor."

"As far as I know nobody lives there."

When I go back to my car the old man I saw in the supermarket passes me on his bike.

"Go back to your home in the city, lassie. Before it's too late."

I yell after him. "What do you mean?"

But he is already gone.

Back at the cottage I take a shower. I comb my hair and braid it. I stand in front of the mirror and look at my naked body. I lift my arms. My breast look better that way. I turn. Little boy's buns. Too feminine at the front and too boyish at the back. I should do some squads, I pat my round little belly. Then I remember something.

I rush downstairs. Grab my camera and look for the photos I made today.

The inamorata.

I stare.

I run upstairs again. My camera with me. The mirror and the photos I took. The photos and the mirror. It is me. The statue and I are the same.

OK. That's it. I have never been a coward and even now, being scared shitless, I will face the challenge and find out what the fuck is going on here - I think to myself.

I get dressed, warmly, take my flashlight because it is already dark, and go outside.

The path I took this morning, which led me to the small pond with the statue, is dimly lit by the moon. It is awfully quiet in the park. Not even a leave rustles.

The water in the pond is like a mirror. It reflects the inamorata as if she is looking at herself.

As if I am looking at myself. I trace the cold skin of the statue. Look at her marble face. The familiar features. Who is she. How can it even be me. I am standing right here.
Then I hear a sound. A twig breaking, the soft imprint of feet through the fallen leaves.

Someone is coming.

I hide behind the bench and see a sombre figure approaching.

The dark robe, the pale skin, the beautiful wavy hair, the blind eyes - it is Jerome.

He kneels in front of the statue. Places his offering at her feet. A branch with beechnuts on it.

Such a touching gesture.

Then he clasps her legs. Presses his face against her cold, hard knees and starts singing. That melodious but chilling, wailing song.

I hold my breath, hardly dare to move. I feel like such an intruder. Witnessing this intimate utterance of lost love.
But then I see something far more chilling and emotional. There is a tear glistering in the eye of the inamorata. Slowly it falls on her cheek of stone.

I must have made a sound because suddenly Jerome looks in my direction. His dramatic face distorted in an angry frown. I gasp with fear. In two steps he stands before me. Looking down at me crouching behind the bench, in a poor attempt to hide myself.

He stretches his hand towards me and grabs my braid and pulls me up.

With his inhumane white eyes he stares into mine from under his brows.

I whimper. "Please, don't hurt me. Jerome, please."

But then his gaze becomes soft. The frown disappears and a gentle smile touches the corners of his mouth. With delicate fingers he now caresses my face, my brows, the curve of my lips. Follows the line of my jaw. Strokes the skin on my throat. Then bends his head and with his ice cold lips he kisses my neck.

A cloud of sadness comes over me. This creature, this ghostly figure, this young man, this beautiful haunted young man oozes a despair I can not comprehend - but I can feel it never the less. I am no longer afraid. I lift my hand and stroke his beautiful hair then put my arms around his rigid body and hug him. Like I would a child.

The manor

"Jerome. Have you not done enough." I hear a snarling deep voice behind me.

"Must you have her too?" The voice continues.

Slowly Jerome lets go of me and I turn around. It is Edward. His handsome face almost unrecognizably distorted by an angry frown and his perfect lips pressed together in a vicious thin line. And his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes are red. A ferocious red.

Jerome positions himself in front of me. Protective.

A low growling sounds seems to come from Edwards throat.
He takes a step forward. Ready to attack Jerome.

"Edward, stop it. You scare me." I whisper with a trembling voice.
I cower behind Jerome, clinging to his robe.

Edward laughs scornfully. "I scare you? I? Have you ever looked at him?"

A hissing sound escapes Jerome.

"You wailing monster, go back to the dark mud were you belong." Edward threatens.

Jerome takes a step towards Edward. I feel his tension.

I let go of him and at the same moment Edward jumps forward and grabs Jerome. Like two fighting cougars, snarling and roaring they tumble and in their fall push me over.

I stumble and loose my balance. My head hits a stone pillar and as I drop into consciousness I feel the cold water of the pond embracing me. I can see the inamorata looking down at me. Her face seems to express endless sorrow, and then there is only blackness.

The last sound I hear is a desperate but distorted cry.

Then. Nothing.

I'm cold.

Shivering.

It is so dark.

Where am I.

I hear a clanging sound. Far, far away.

With a start I get up. But my arms seem to be attached to something and dizzy I fall back on the bed. Is it a bed?

I can feel the soft sheets I seem to be lying on. Soft. And yes, definitely a pillow under my head.

But why is it so dark?

I move my head. Rub my shoulder against my temple. A blindfold. I am blindfolded.

Panic stricken I pull my ties.

"Help me." I cry out. "Let me go."

Then I feel a cold breeze touch my body. I realise I'm naked.

I start whimpering. But I hear a shushing sound.

Somebody is in the room with me!

"Let me go. Please don't hurt me."

A hand strokes my cheek. Gentle. The hand moves from my face to my neck, brushes a breast, over my ribs and belly to my hips. Strokes my leg, lifts my knee, squeezes my calf.

Then I feel hair tickling my face, and I can smell him. It is a man, it is...

I'm not sure. I smell the scent of the forest, dew, honeysuckle, moss, wet leaves, but also something more spicy. Stronger, like iron and fire.
A strange combination of scents. conflicted somehow.

I can hear breathing. Inhaling.

Something wet falls on my face. A drop. It rolls to the corner of my mouth. I taste it with the tip of my tongue. Salt.

A whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Suddenly his mouth brushes my chin and then his lips force upon mine. Prying my lips apart with his tongue, begging for the kiss to be answered. He whispers on my mouth, words I can not understand. But the sound is beautiful yet love-lorn.

"Moj inamorata, po vseh teh letih."

His hand caresses my belly when he lays himself next to me. His breathing goes faster.

He is naked as well.

He lifts my hips with one arm under me, massaging my butt and softly pushes my legs apart with his free hand. Stroking me. Touching me.

Despite of my fear I feel my arousal growing. Softly I start panting.

"Dragi moj, ti si mokra in topla." He moans.

Then he rolls over and as he plunges into me he groans my name.

"R-r-ebeca."

With deep thrusts he moves in and out. I can't help but follow his rhythm.

His scent and his lean body on me drives me wild with lust.

I can hear his breathing going faster and deeper, moaning. Whispering incomprehensible words.
He fits me so perfectly. The friction of his lust is almost unbearable. I feel my womb squeeze.

He starts to shiver.

His mouth brakes free from mine and makes a trail from my mouth to my neck. Then I feel a horrible pain followed by total bliss.

"Good morning, my love."

I wake up disoriented.

The silhouette of a young man opens the heavy curtains. A stroke of sunlight falls on the big bed I am lying on. The young man lifts a tray and walks toward the bed. On it is food. I smell toast, I can see jam, fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs. My stomach rumbles. I am starved.

The young man laughs. Between his beautiful white teeth he holds a rose. A wonderful smelling pink tea rose. He himself is of unearthly beauty. His long wavy brown hair has a reddish shimmer. His skin is very pale, but not unhealthy. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes an enchanting violet. His mouth has a perfect shape. He is wearing a loose hanging shirt, open so I can see his chest and belly with a trail of manly hair starting under his navel and disappearing under the rim of his pants.

He is lean but muscled.

And I have no idea who he is.

He takes the rose and gently caresses my lips with the petals. I close my eyes and inhale deep.

The smell is intoxicating.

His lips replace the rose and I can smell him too. He smells like morning dew, the forest on a sunny day.

"I love you," he whispers on my lips.

"Who are you." I ask him, while I breathe in his scent as I would a lover.

"Surely you know your spouse, my beloved."

He takes my hand, turns the wrist towards his mouth and softly traces the blue veins on the inside of my arm with his tongue. I stroke his hair with my free hand. It feels like silk.

"Eat your breakfast. You need to revive from last night. I must have spend you. I have to do some errands. But we will meet later."

He gets up and walk to the door.

"Wait." I say.

He turns and I feel a flash of memory squeezing my womb, seeing his beautiful appearance.

He lifts one brow. Quizzical.

"Who am I?" I ask.

"You, my loved one, are my reason for living." His gaze on me is intent, he smiles and then he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I jump out of the bed. Run to the window. A beautiful English landscape garden unrolls before my eyes. The park seems to call me and I decide to explore it as soon as I have had something to eat.

After I ate I look at myself in the big mirror standing in the corner of the large bedroom.

My skin is very pale, my brown eyes seem to big for my face, my lips are as red as cherries. They feel swollen. My long dark blond hair is hanging on my back in a thick braid. I am small but shapely and I am wearing a strange dressing gown. It feels wrong somehow, archaic, not of this age. It is white, it covers me from my neck to my toes. Lace, silk. The bodice is tight, knotted just under my breasts. And it flares out wide till my ankles. On my shoulder, just below the neckline I see some dried drops of blood. I look closer. Yes. It looks like blood. I push the thin fabric down, but I have no wound in my neck or collarbone.
I have no wound, but the skin hurts in a way. A slight throbbing pain.
Strange.

I turn to see if there is something I can wear to go outside. I open a closet. Filled with dresses. But also a blouse, a tailored jacket and riding pants. Leather boots too. All in my size but also very old-fashioned.

Quickly I change and leave the room.

I see a gallery, paintings, men and women with faintly familiar faces. I walk down a broad stairs. A hall, opening doors. I am outside. I run. I run till the lush lawn makes place for big beech trees surrounded by a carpet of red brown leaves. I lean against one of the trees. Look back at the manor house I left behind me.

Its grim windows seem to resent me for something.

Grave

I walk through the enchanting park. Beautiful views everywhere, adventurous in a way, but also peaceful. Until I stumble upon a small open space with in the middle a curved Japanese maple. The tree has not lost all its leaves. The colours are gorgeous. Warm. Reds. The shapes of the leaves were delicate. Under the Acer is a grave covered with moss. Carefully I scrape away some of the green layer to read the words engraved on the cold grey stone.

Here lies my beloved brother

Jerome Zlatan Severson,

count of Triglav do Savinje.

Husband of Rebeca Antoinette Nathalie Severson,

baronesse of  Teče Potok.

May his soul find peace.

A Robin lands on a lower branch of the Acer and begins the sing. I stare at the little solitaire bird while I feel teardrops running down my cheeks. I sink to my knees and start to weep. I clutch my arms around me and rock back and forth. I cry and I cry, till it seems I have no more tears left.

I become silent and trace the letters that form the name 'Jerome'.

Who is he and why do I feel so broken?

I whisper to myself. "What is wrong with me? Why can't I remember?"

A sob wells in my throat and I lay my head on the cold stone.

"Jerome. I'm here."

A violent shiver runs through me. I must have fallen asleep. My clothes are damp and I am cold, a crow caws and it is softly drizzling. My fingers hurt and when I look at my hands I see that my nails are dirty, bloodied and torn. I don't recall scratching the gravestone, but the trails in the green moss speak for themselves. I rub my eyes with clutched fists, stroke the hair -that has come lose from my braid- behind my ears and stiff kneed I get up.

I take a last look at the grave and walk away.

The sky is grey and the soft drizzle has turned into a pouring rain. I have no idea where I am or where to go.  When I see a familiar spot my heart jumps and I rush to get there, but when I do there is no point in continuing because I am lost, I am lost inside.

Then I hear someone calling my name. In the distance. I walk in the direction of the caller. A thunder clap. A lighting bolt. Heavy rainfall follows.

"Rebeca."

"I am here!"

The calling gets closer and I run towards it.

"Rebeca!"

I stumble over a tree root and strain my ankle. Before I fall into the mud two strong arms catch me and I am pulled into a warm embrace.

"My little creature. I looked everywhere for you." The young man holding me says, my spouse.

Shivering I clutch his lean body. He comforts me. Strokes my hair. Takes of his coat and drapes it around me.

"Come, my love, let me take you home." Effortless he lifts me up.

I lay my head against his shoulder, my face in the crook of his neck, breathing his scent.

Forest and fire.

He carries me back to the manor, up the terrace stairs into the house, to a big room -what seems to be the library- that has a large hearth, the fire is giving off a comforting warmth.

"Wait here." He says as he puts me in a chair in front of the fire, wraps a throw around me and kisses me lightly between my brows. He smiles and dashes out of the room.

With chattering teeth I stare into the flames.

I feel desolate and empty, thinking of the name I saw on the grave.

Jerome.

Jerome, husband of Rebeca.

The beautiful young man who says he is my spouse calls me Rebeca. Yet I do not know his name.

"Don't frown, my love, don't be unhappy."

He is back. He sits in front of me. With difficulty I shift my focus from the hypnotising flames to his concerned violet eyes.

"Where have you been." He wonders. "You're so dirty. Come, little wood nymph, I made you a bath."

He puts one arm around my waist and the other under the crook of my knees and lifts me up again. The look on his face gives me a tingling feeling in my stomach.