Prolog
“When the daughter of Archangel Samael come of age, She shall lose control over her powers and ends the world.” The old wrinkly fortune teller lady told me as she looked into her little magical glass globe. “her presents is within your child.” with her crooked witch fingers, she pointed at me; the small new born child in my mother’s arm.
“hey, old lady.” My father who was a rather misbehaving high school student said, “Isn’t the Archangel Samael the devil?”
“Shush, my child!” She exclaimed. “the prophecy hasn’t ended yet. Ophelia, my daughter,.” As if the present of the devil had come into this very room, a relentless wind started taking the pieces of paper, scattering it around like a spiral rollercoaster ride, the floorboards shook like someone with Parkinson and the fortune teller lady herself, looked like she was possessed by the devil, her eyes glowed bright red, her body jerked inhumanely, the cracking of each bone heard clearly like someone was snapping a twig and with a distorted voice somewhat resembling to someone who is a seriously heavy smoker, she screamed.
“COME TO ME MY CHILD!”
Then everything came to a stop. Everything was as calm as a hot summer day out in sea, where it’s just you floating aimlessly across the ocean; as if nothing had ever happened. Other than the facts that shards of broken clutter covered the floor like the first snow along with the pieces of paper making their way down through a ballroom dance, swaying elegantly side to side until they come to a stop when in contact with the cold hard creaky wooden floor.
Father started laughing, with his hands hugging on to his stomach. “Honey!” he addressed my mother. “This is by far the fakest fortune teller I had ever seen in my life.” Tears started to form on the corner of his eyes from laughing too much. He was in a world of his own, neither did the old lady nor my mother laughed at all, they both just looked at the laughing boy baffled at the situation. I on the other hand was looking at the pictures in the Orbuculum. Not that I understood or remembered anything that was flashing through the funny looking crystal ball, I don’t even remember this happening. Well to be honest you would be surprise if a new born baby remembers what happened to them when they were 7 months old and they wouldn’t be living without this story untold, because let’s face it, How often do you hear this? Not being stereotypical, but actually some kid in Asia might.
“I am so sorry,” mother broke the silence haunting the room, “Harvey! Would you stop laughing!” she exclaimed with her posh accent.
“O! Please don’t tell me you are believing these make belief this old hag is telling.” Emphasising on the word “old hag”.
Both my parents met each other in an unstuck private school full of pretentious elites of the country, hence the rudeness from my father. The people attending there are either grandchildren of someone noble, the children of someone noble or the children of someone filthily rich, you would never find anyone that coming from the lower class attending there, as they would not last a week with all the constant bullying happening in school. The elites makes it their mission to keep the school free of these servants from “contaminating” the environment of their school. “how could I possibly learn when there is this servant looking thing sitting next to me? Does she even know what deodorant or perfume is?” as my mother’s best friend, Celine would put it. In my opinion, I much prefer the lower class as most of them are nice people, they don’t own much yet they are always willing to share, however the so called elites? Well, they only care about themselves and are often spoiled as fuck. But at the end of the day you can’t blame them for how they turned out, their parents are to blame.
“You must killed this child!” the women said frantically, fearing that I would actually help with bringing the end of the world upon earth. “When she comes of age, SHE WILL LOSE CONTROL AND KILL US ALL.”
“Steph! You surely can’t be serious about this right now.” but the serious face portraying on my mother’s says otherwise. “This old hag obviously is just making up ridiculous bull for money. How can our little angel Ophelia be the devil’s child? She is our child. WE gave birth to this, we are her parents! Accidental or not!” My father profusely argued, “ On top of that! This is our child you are talking about! How can we possible murder her! Don’t you love her?” And it’s this very prophecy that drove my mother mad, she started doubting if she was the devil’s version of virgin Mary despite she is definitely not a virgin herself or whether was my father actually the devil in disguised.
Father told me that it was best that I didn’t remember any of my first 5 years of my childhood. Mother was arrested with attempt murder when she tried to kill father and I by suffocating us with carbon monoxide in our nap together at home after a long day at the park . We were saved by the neighbours next door when she suspecting something was wrong as my mum was running away from the house with her bags packed. It took the police 2 years to find my mother , she is known to the local police as the chameleon, as she kept changing her appearance, name and address. It was like chasing a ghost. On the day I turned 4 years old, she was finally arrested and is serving sentence in the world’s most heavily guarded mental institution far away from this country. Far away from people we know, Far away from me. Although it breaks his heart having to lock away the women whom he loves away, but he knew this was for the best to keep their child safe. He held little Ophelia in his arms and thought “How can sweet little Ophelia be the devil’s child? Like look at her innocently looking up at him with her big blue eyes, whilst stuffing her very first chocolate bar in her mouth like it’s the best thing she ever tasted in her life?”
But if only he knew he should had listened to his wife and the fortune teller all those years ago.
