Epilogue: The Secrecy
Everything around was an empty shield and nothing was set ablaze but the darkness. Only the sunlight behind the vertical window had stroke across her porcelain face. Sylvia Elle breathed out against it and immensely forgot any tragic moment as she closed her eyes. The darkness contrasted on her velvet blazer while her oblique bangs stayed still with a red clip. She got a blank expression.
The chamber wasn’t felt desolate anymore when the sound of heels knocked on the ground. The silence came undone. Elle deliberately ignored someone behind her, even though she instantly knew who that was. The place should be for those who enjoyed the silence, where no ordinary men and women could come in and out without authority. This was the basement of the antique shop, one of the oldest buildings that established near the longest park in the world, around Manhattan.
Elle swayed her cheeks to peek from her peripheral vision when the old woman greeted, “Breathing the sun like usual.”
She wore a red suit and black scarf coiled in her neck. Precisely this angel had recognized her figure. The old woman never changed the way she up-do her blonde hair as a bouffant—her style had represented a higher prestige.
When she stepped closer, her gold spike earrings moved lightly like sharp needles. “Why don’t you take a visit to our mansion, for a hot tea?”
“I’m not taking a pleasure,” Elle was being keen.
“Oh, of course not,” she giggled. “I’m inviting you to see my granddaughter.”
Elle observed the old woman’s red-blooded lips while she was talking. It moved elegantly since she had a wise charisma.
“I’d like to emphasize to you that I’m not working for human.”
“Of course I never admit you as a worker either,” she corrected. “You are my granddaughter’s guardian angel.”
There was a few seconds of silence between them, while the eeriness feeling radiated from among the royal paintings that were hung against the brick walls.
Elle had her body stagnated still, soon after, she closed her eyes. The vision was clear inside her inner sight, for a few seconds her eyes moved rapidly. She didn’t want to be worried with a motion picture of a grown up girl, now that she remembered it, the girl was the same age with Cathy Charlotte, but her worriment over this human girl was intense and marvelous since she caught a glimpse of destruction vision. But it was still scattered like broken images. It was a momentary future of this old woman’s granddaughter.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. The old woman waited patiently.
“No wonder why she becomes such a brat, since she is being raised by you,” her tone was sarcastic. “She might turn just like you—or even brutal.”
“Why did you choose to go?” The old woman asked instead.
“For the truth—I went ahead.”
“I knew where have you been,” she smiled so calm. “The long lost royal has been found—Catherine Charlotte. That’ll make a history for the family. Also, the child is looking fragile as a replica of one princess,” she endured her annoyance. “Is that why she become more important rather than staying with us?”
Elle chuckled. “We choose what’s right. Seems likely you couldn’t tolerate a phrase of don’t judge a book by its cover,” she stepped closer against her white face. “You never know the possibility.”
“Your disappearance for such a child has making me perplexed, then what is it?” she started crossing arms while kept on talking to her. “Doesn’t Eleanor have any qualification for becoming a Puissant?”
Elle noticed this old woman’s temper had emerged. “That is something natural to be born with. But who knows if she would betray everything in the future—for the runway witch.”
“What?” The old woman astonished. “She still alive?”
“You sound very welcoming rather than worry,” Elle muttered.
Afterward, the old woman showed a cold smile. “No mercy.”
The angel gazed keenly at her bright blue eyes. Like a grandest cold wall that the old woman had held, there was nothing to sense but an odd vehemence.
“I know your ambition,” the Angel spoke. “It smell like a charcoal.”
The old woman chuckled sarcastically. “If you could leave that obnoxious child, along with her vulnerable family, you could sense a crystal inside that charcoal.”
“Never underestimate someone you don’t know,” Elle shot a fierce stare at her wrinkled eyes. “I am way older than your age to give such a simple admonishment, you old woman.”
“Ah, sarcasm—the unchangeable attitude. I see,” she could manage to smile since she had a composure demeanor. “Anyway, welcome to New York City.”
Inside the old manor house that was like a reminiscent of a fairytale they so called Red Riding Hood. The atmosphere felt strong around the living room that filled with wooden furniture, which made the environment became adapt with a forest smell. In front of the flaming fireplace, there was a rectangular red rug with circular shape of golden motif.
The beautiful old woman and her granddaughter sat together against the flaming fireplace while snowflakes were falling outside the window. The old one dressed in her warm red suit with panther patterns scarf, while the younger one dressed in her comfortable brown fur.
Her grandmother had a good look on her granddaughter’s figure, Eleanor Heisler. She realized how nearly twin her figure with Sylvia Elle the Angel. They shared the same flawless light skin that was kind of pale, and long hair in the shade of vanilla near to platinum. The only thing that made them physically looked different was because Eleanor always styled her wavy hair in half pinned up half down, and also, she had a fierce look on her face.
As a matter of fact, the old woman was the most honorable lady of all her time. She wished for her throne to be descended with the one she could trust, although there was still doubt in her heart about her only beloved granddaughter.
Nevertheless, they sat together, so classic like when the elders usually told fairytale and legend stories, retelling everything to their grandchildren.
“There are two things you need in order to get through the gate,” she murmured. “The blood and stone.”
“What blood?” Eleanor was curious.
Her grandmother smiled inexplicably, she looked mysterious. “The blood inside your veins.”
The lady made her granddaughter bewildered for a questionable tangle. Every now and then, her secrecy would be a silent secrecy until the time had come. For that let them spoke of the truth, either with forcedness or calmness. This was the beginning.
• The End of Book One •
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