Blues of Caribbean beaches,
hallows of Tundra leaches,
gallows of Australian mafias,
blues to pinks of Canadian pale faces,
within all the continental traces,
I can feel no less love in these laces,
Tuck it off and feel my naked blazes,
I can feel no less of you when you kiss the ring,
and then my cheek,
and then my lips,
and lift me by my hips,
and shift me into your love.

"Holy Christ!", I exhale from the reverie of my wedding. But the cry of pain to lord was because of the springs of my hair stuck in tree roots. 

I had one hell of a amazing dream. Although I was Ella and my bridegroom was Rohanthan, he was mine. He was my Rohan.

Will Rohanthan and Ella actually end up marrying 200 years ago?

Before stressing my mind any further I should eat something. Grumble in my rumble is pretty loud.

I have been ruthless with my tongue these days. No Mac and cheese, no chicken breast, no fat pork, no delicious fish, the only food here is hunted dry flesh of beasts.

  I walk towards the group of huts which has become my home for nearly a month now. A herd of men are standing and discussing over something important. As I walk towards the gravel they see me and turn towards me.

The chief eyes me with fire in them. His steps feel heavy and anger seeps through the motion.

Stiffening in front of me he pulls out something from his tiger skin bottom. "You own this?", the chain is swinging low from the chief's fingertips. I take a close look at it but, when the pendent glimmers into my irises, my unexpected treasure unveils. I nod in response.

  He opens the pendent trailing his fingers over the engraved ER. "Tell us everything before you breath your last breadth.", his voice is low but very threatening and I move back a few steps.

"Don't move because you are covered by spades and sharpest throngs.", he hisses onto my face.
Fiddling with my fingers for few seconds rolling my eyes towards the ground I become standstill. With a small grunt under my gut I take out my dad's book. I start my tale and continue without inhaling till the end.

Finally I put forward the book. My legs feel tight of fear with fierce gazes on me.

"Rebirth? Unbelievable!", chief exhales in surprise.

"Pkill Rohanthan! Pkill Rohanthan!", the crowd starts screaming from all directions. By now whole tribe is surrounding the area around me, me being the spotlight meek and weak over their screams.

"Ella I am extremely happy that you are a rebirth of our mistress. But, before I tell you what actions we will take with this news I should show and tell you something. So please follow me.", with chief's voice rising again the crowd goes mum and I do as I am asked to. The crowd stays intact.

Chief leads me into heights of thick rubble of rocks. The route is rugged and slippery. My bare feet feels frosted as the chill approaches.

After an hour of trek my eyes open up to the rows and rows of long rocks. Opposite to these is a Halloween marque design. Everything is rock and more grayscale.

I stumble face down at some point. When I look down I flush with adrenaline rush, I see a damn skull! It looks trodden and haunting. My immediate reaction is to run towards chief and holding his hand tight.

"Scares you ha?", he pulls my hand off his shoulder and bends down to create fire with tender brush of tiny rocks. He picks a stack of straw twined onto a thick wooden stick from under his sparse clothing. Smudging some white powder over the straw he touches it to the fire just lit. The set up starts to burn spreading crimson flames.

Using this he starts to light the lanterns around. Now I am standing in the middle of wild rocks designed for god knows what.

"200 years ago this was the prison for Rosefield criminals. Highness Morsan was a great leader. He led Rosefield flourishing and peace was pleasant odour of every face. Sweat was shed was returns. Woman and children were respected and encouraged. Educative needs of generations was met under his reign. All was well until that day, the day when Rohanthan's horse stomped the streets of Rosefield.

People feared to take his name. His words were like command. His gestures were like ocean meeting the sky. He walked the streets with the demeanour of lion. His brain was a piece of fox.

Our ancestors told he came here for trade. His sharp thoughts fell on this glorious land. One day he acquired this land before the people felt the sun on their skin again.

All those who denied his needs were bought into this prison, locked to those rocks, can you see those remnants of chains left behind? Yes you can! those were the crucification marks given to every christian in Rosefield.

He had slaves to beat the prisoners until their skin ripped. Those stone tables", pointing towards the marque arrangement,"women who didn't warm his bed were staged naked to entertain the dining foreigners, who would come here for buying the heritage of Rosefield. 

Thousands of young lives were throttled to death because their weeping made him angry. He hated our people. Can you think why would he feel such a thing apart from our serene land?", his eyes are burning into my inner soul, "for a woman named Ella."

"She was the second bride of Morson's son. How a pheasant girl turned out to be a symphony of two great men is a gorgeous history. The simple answer to it is love.

Highness Morson Jnr. was a handsome man of Rosefield. After his first wife felt used for his needs he wanted to remarry. But, no maiden from distant lands pleased him. His hormones aroused to one beautiful damsel of his own region. That girl was none other than Ella Brickson.

Mr. Brickson was very happy when Mr. Morson offered to take his daughter's hand and hence started with all the arrangements for there wedding. Rosefield was celebrating, looking forward for this big event.

But, Ella's heart was pounding for someone else and that was Rohanthan Earlson. The trader expected to walk away after his work. Mr. Earlson also had fallen deeply in the pit of young love.

Grandpa said before the sunrise on the day of big wedding the Morson's were found dead in their beds. The time of death was 2a.m. according to local medic.

It was a clear murder because all the bodies were found with throats slit with a horse knife. But, no proof turned up to point out the killer. That night the only person present in the house was Rohanthan. None doubted him for being a murderer then. He had taken soft spot in every villager's heart.

The only proof to spot him was Mr. Morson's recently acquired owl. It loyally hooted over the Morsan family bodies. The owl was a trade from Rohanthan. But, it was the only soul which weeped for its master.

After bidding silent farewell to the Morson's, everybody voted for Rohanthan to become next leader. He had manipulated every single person on land.

Once he took over, the terror swooped and gulped the place. He was greedy and desire killed his humanity. He married Ella but, deflowered every other women on ground. He loved his wife but couldn't keep his vulgarity as a secret.

When rumours hit Ella's ears she couldn't bear it. The day she questioned her husband her speech retired. Realization dawned on her, this man knows nothing more than desire and she was one of it. She doubted his so called true love.

Days passed in evilness and torture. People of Rosefield had given up.

Ella surrendered herself to Christ and lay in coffin after giving birth to a boy baby. His father named him Elliot, a name bidding after his mother. Elliot grew up to become his father, cruel and Satan from hell.

After some years Rohanthan was said to have died of guilt because his body was found on Morson's grave one summer morning.

The loyal owl returned after few years and was seen setting fire to the Earlson mansion. Thus it was the end of  a tormenting reign in Rosefield. But the place never returned to its flourishing state. Even now it all seems so haunted and lonely in every square of town. As my grand pa always said 'all of it is just the remains. Fear and darkness are like icing on the cake for those who cause it.'desireved till he turned 102 and died recalling and retelling the history. It was his warning that it might repeat and he was right; history is repeating"