Chapter 1: The Monster
This story will have romance that is age-gap and elements of bdsm later in the story.
I haven’t finished the story, and I’m also discovering what’s happening as I write. (I have vague ideas what happens, but things can change according to whatever happens)
So there can be boring/dull meandering things happening cause I want explore the characters, or time skips cos idk what to put some places or just cause I just want to move on.
I’d appreciate if you notice some things/chapters that seem boring/unimportant/slow or whatever leave a comment, even a “.” is enough to bookmark it for me lol. So whenever I’m finished I can go and check out what’s up, and if they’re important to plot or not. I don’t know how much I will be cutting out whenever I finish and decide to rewrite it in some distant future.
That said, I’m still doing my best to edit and cut long meandering garbo to keep it tight.
“Those cursed eyes.”
Mother’s bony fingers clamped around Rose’s throat. Tight. Too tight. Her nails dug in like claws.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop it?” she hissed, her voice sharp and strange. Her pretty face was all wrong now—twisted and mean like the monsters in Rose’s books. “Nobody can see. Nobody can find out what you are. Nobody can know you’re a monster.”
Rose’s hands scrabbled at Mother’s wrists, her fingers too small to stop her. She kicked her legs, but she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
She didn’t mean to mess up.
She just liked the pictures.
It had only been a book—Reddick’s book. The one with drawings of big creatures with wings and teeth and claws. She loved them. They made her heart beat fast and her chest feel full.
But feelings were bad. Feelings made her eyes wrong. Made them change.
“Do you want to die?” Mother’s grip didn’t loosen. Her voice cracked, tears sliding down her cheeks, but her eyes didn’t look sad. They looked scared. Angry-scared. “Mhulduge saw it—he saw what you are! You’ll die with them, do you understand? You will die!”
Rose tried to shake her head, but her vision was going dark. Her chest hurt. Her fingers dug into Mother’s arms, begging, please, please—
“Stop looking at me like that!”
The slap came fast.
Crack.
Rose’s head whipped sideways. She didn’t even feel it at first. Then her cheek burned and her eyes blurred.
“Stop feeling!” Mother shouted, turning and snatching the flat stick from the table. “Don’t be a freak! Don’t feel anything!”
The stick hit her cheekbone with a thwack. Sharp. Sudden. Like lightning under her skin.
Rose jerked away, her breath coming in short, hiccupping gasps. She curled in on herself, hands over her eyes.
They were probably purple. Fear made them purple.
Mother hated purple.
“I told you,” Mother whispered now, low and breathless. “You’ll die at twenty. Your brother will kill you. They’ll find your body in the barn.”
Rose’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She just nodded. Her head felt floaty. She remembered those words. She always remembered them.
Mother had dragged her to the blind man again last month. The one with the white eyes and the cracked fingernails. He’d touched her wrist and said those words like they were nothing. Like they didn’t hurt.
She didn’t have a brother. Maybe he hadn’t been born yet. Maybe he didn’t need to exist for the curse to be true.
She hadn’t dared ask.
Asking made things worse.
Mother’s mood changed again, like wind. “Get the rope,” she snapped. “I have a client soon.”
Rose scrambled to her feet, her throat aching. Her legs shook a little. She didn’t say anything. Just moved fast. Fast was safer.
She didn’t want to make Mother angrier.
The jute ropes hung in the corner, long and limp. They smelled like smoke and old hands. Rose reached for one, fingers brushing the rough fibers. It was one of theirs—one they made together. Dyed red, but it had faded.
That was the only time Mother ever smiled.
When they worked.
She liked when Rose helped.
Rose turned back and handed it to Mother, careful not to meet her gaze.
Mother took it gently. Smoothed Rose’s cheek with her palm. Her touch was soft now, warm.
“Good girl,” she said, almost like a lullaby. “You know Mommy gets anxious when her little Rose is in danger.” She adjusted Rose’s cloak, brushed her hair forward to hide her face. “We’re both at risk if someone sees what you really are.”
Rose nodded. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
“Go wash the jute we picked. And stay hidden near the wheel. You remember, right?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re good, I’ll tell you a story tonight.”
Rose nodded, her chest tightening. Mother always told her the same story. Reddick told better ones, new and exciting.
She gathered her books from the table—her only treasures. One from a client who never came back. The other from old Reddick. Her only friend. Her favorite friend.
She tucked them into her green jute bag—the one Mother gave her for her birthday. The seams were scratchy, but strong.
As she moved to the door, she tried to smile. “I’m ready.”
But Mother’s eyes narrowed, her smile vanishing.
Rose looked down again. “Sorry.”
Mother didn’t say anything as she opened the door.
The hallway smelled like smoke, sweat, and old wood. Laughter and shouting came from downstairs. The bar of the tavern.
Rose walked quickly, her feet nearly silent. In the morning there weren’t many patrons, but she still kept near the walls.
The matron spotted her from behind the counter and waved. Rose hesitated. She wasn’t mean—but she wasn’t warm, either.
“Rose,” the matron said, kneeling down.
Rose kept her head low as she walked over, hands tight on her bag.
“She will not lead astray,” she said, a prayer for Neth, and waited for her response.
“So follow her, I shall,” Rose mumbled a reply.
“I have something for you.” She reached under the shelf and pulled out a small cloth-wrapped box. It felt soft and strange. Fancier than anything Rose had ever touched.
“Reddick left it.”
Her heart jumped.
“For me?” she whispered.
The matron nodded. “He said he won’t be back. Told me to give you this. Said goodbye.”
Goodbye.
Her throat clenched. “He didn’t say goodbye to me.”
“No,” the matron said, her voice low. “But he left you this. That counts.”
Rose hugged the box to her chest, her whole body shaking.
She didn’t cry. Not in front of the matron.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The matron handed her a warm potato. “Take this too.”
Rose clutched it, nodding quickly, and turned. The sun outside was too bright. The light stabbed at her eyes. She ducked her head and ran.
He hadn’t said goodbye.
Just left a box.
And still that was more than anyone else ever gave her.
Excellent work! i have some constructive feedback that might help refine your book's performance. would you like to hear my thoughts?
Hello, Your efforts are incredibly motivating. I have some suggestions that might help it shine even more. Do you want to listen to them?