Chapter 1: Where Rose discovers the magic roses
"Rose! Rose!"
My father's voice bolted me out of bed, the book on my chest falling open on my lap. I had spent the previous night studying the astronomy tome, one of the few in our possession, which claimed that music could transcend through the universe and connect destined souls.
Either the book was too romantic or I was becoming one.
"Rose!"
"I'm coming Papa!" I called back quickly getting up and smoothing my dress.
I had forgotten to change into my nightdress and the corset felt painfully tight around my ribs. Smoothing quickly my brown hair into a bun, and wearing my slippers, I descended the stairs which led from my small attic room onto the living room and connected kitchen below.
Our house consisted of the ground floor where the living room, the kitchen and my father's room were, and the attic had been transformed –by yours truly- into a small room with a small bed, a writing desk and I had recently just transformed the alcove into a comfortable reading space.
I could still hear my father complaining good-naturedly about the plies of books I had organized around the room.
My father stood next to the table as I finally descended, his small spectacles glinting in the sunlight of the window behind him. His short grey hair stood up as if he had rubbed his head continuously and the cravat was untied around his neck.
"Papa? What wrong?" my words were gentle as I stepped in front of him tying his cravat properly.
"The Storytellers have come into town." His voice quivered with fear.
My hands stilled and I felt my breathing stop as I looked up into my father's grey eyes, the same color as mine.
The Storytellers.
"No." I stepped back, fingers trembling as I looked around our kitchen and living room wildly as if trying to find an exit.
"Rose, my child." Papa's calloused hands grasped mine. "Look at me."
I looked up at him, feeling small and afraid despite my nineteen winters of life. He rubbed circles around my palms the calluses feeling rough. My father's work never left us starving; our table was always full because everyone needed a woodworker, a carpenter in the town.
"Maybe they won't choose you. Maybe it's someone else's time." My father placated, with soothing words. And the sick part inside me felt relieved because I didn't want to be chosen. It was selfish to wish for someone else to go into your place.
Because the Storytellers were not to be defied.
Because the Storytellers had already taken so much from us.
Mama.
Cassia.
Evanthe.
And I feared that I would be the next.
Papa hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead. He stepped back and went to the kettle, preparing more tea. He moved quickly trying to hide his trembling hands, hoping that I wouldn't notice.
"Go and freshen up Rose. The gathering will be in one hour."
I nodded at his back and turned around heading towards the door across the kitchen, to the backyard. Closing it gently behind me I pulled the water lever to the left, activating the new water system my father had installed last year, pouring water in the basin in front of me. The coldness sent prickles in my palms and as I washed my face from sleep, I let my tears silently fall.
♥
Once a year, the Storytellers, traveled through Melanise (the name being chosen after the unification of the destroyed kingdoms according to Papa), searching for Roles. There were no instructions or exceptions to the rule. Every citizen of Melanise could be chosen for a Role. The hardest and most unknown part? No one knew for what Role they would be chosen. Some were chosen to become princes or princesses, others would turn into goblins and dragons, witches or werewolves.
After the Storytellers chose the ones most suited to the Roles they created, the men, women, and sometimes children, would be taken to their castle, situated in the center of where the new capital of Melanise now stood. There they would be 'trained' to their perspective Roles and then they would act them according to the stories our rulers wanted to pass on their citizens.
The stories and their outcomes worked both as lessons and warnings, as a gift to the children but also as punishment to the adults for the sins of their ancestors who caused the fall of the previous kingdoms.
My father clutched tightly my palm as it rested in the crook of his elbow. We walked in tandem with each other, left foot first then the right as if we were the wooden soldiers from last Year's story. We were both dressed in our finery as were the rest of the people in our town. Living to the east of the capital we were surrounded by forests and two lakes to our north and west. Both had been used by the Storytellers so our town had gained over the years visitors from the other areas who wanted to gawk over the lakes.
I only cared about the mosquitos and the frogs, both very annoying and repulsive.
The cobblestone felt rough under my brown boots, while the long-sleeved blue dress with the white undershirt and corset I wore made me feel suffocated. Despite wearing my cape, I still felt sick to my stomach. My father didn't fare better; he had tidied up before living the house with dark faded blue trousers and matching grey button-up shirt. His coat and cravat were in place and his hair has been brushed back. He patted absently my hand as we walked around the road, joining the other folk.
"Good morning Mr. Villeneuve." The smith raised his hand, a nervous smile on his lips.
Papa nodded. "Mr. Carlyle."
Mr. Carlyle joined us as he hollered "Robert!", making half the people around us gawk at him with annoyance. I stifled a smile. The smith was always a boisterous man with a big smile and a bigger heart. He worked on the smithery with Robert, his eldest son, and my best friend. We both had grown up together and had bonded over our shared love for the baker's jam-filled cakes and chocolate brownies.
Robert suddenly appeared to his father's left side and nodded respectfully to my father before tilting back winking at me. I waved and Robert noticed my shaking hand. His smile faded.
When we finally reached the square, it was already filled with people. No one was allowed to miss the visit of the Storytellers and the ones who dared were chosen for the worst Roles. I had heard the tales of what happened to the unfortunate ones. And every time I shuddered with disgust. The four of us found a spot away from the circular stage which had been placed in the center of the square. The buildings around us felt like walls caging everyone in. Despite their bright colors, the cerulean blues, sunny yellows, and soft pinks I felt like I was herded to slaughter.
My breathing quickened.
"Rose." Papa gently pried my fingers from his elbow holding my right hand in his. I hadn't realized that I was digging my nails into his coat sleeve. "My beautiful flower, no matter what happens I am proud of you." Tears threatened to appear in his eyes.
"Papa..."
"Let me finish," he looked around us, taking note no one was listening. He leaned down, close to my ear. "I am putting a folder into your sewed pocket. Do you feel it?"
I nodded fear and confusion keeping me from glancing down to the pocket sewed over the top of my dress. Usually, I used it for taking my books with me when I went shopping and thankfully it was deep enough.
"The folder contains a map, instructions and enough notes to buy you safe passage across the capital, to the Isles."
I stared at him shocked.
He had planned for this?
"Papa I-"
"I won't lose you too. And I should have done it sooner." Regret and self-disgust marked his words. "If you won't be able to go into the ships head into the place I have marked with a red dot int the map."
The sound of drums made us look towards the stage.
The Storytellers were here.
♥
The collective hush over the town square proved that everyone was scared. Or excited. There were those of course who felt honored to be chosen in the Roles. Some even raised their children in different ways hoping to engrave them attributes the Storytellers would find desirable.
I hated them with every fiber of my being.
Robert stood next to me to my left with my father to my right. His broad shoulders and toned arms spoke of the smith's work and his dark bronze skin made every girl in the town sigh every time he passed. But none knew the truth.
When we were fifteen, we had tried kissing each other, wondering why the adults found it so...passionate.
I felt I was kissing my brother and Robert cried after the sad attempt was over.
"Was I so horrible?" I had screeched laughing but he had shaken his head.
"No Rose! But..." he had looked to his hands as if he was looking for the answers there. "I...don't like...girls." The admission was quiet and it had felt lost to my ears.
"Oh..." I had mumbled and then hugged him tightly. "Then tell me...who do you like? The baker's son with the blue eyes? Or the young doctor with the dimple?"
We had laughed together and my heart had felt full of joy, after three years and three Storyteller visits.
Now my friend held my palm in his, the silent support making me feel centered and almost calm. Behind the stage, the mayor climbed up and he took his spot to the front, facing all of us.
"My good fellows, it is an honor to welcome our Storytellers." He began in a jovial tone, his smile forced and his protruding belly shaking every time he spoke.
"Yeah because no one has been chosen from his family." Mr. Carlyle said in a hushed tone behind me and Papa shushed him.
"Without any delay, I am presenting you our benevolent rulers." He took hastily a few steps to the left and then they came upon the stage.
The long capes and the hoods always caught my attention first. Not the scent of smoke and something bitter, like coffee that surrounded them. Always the capes and the hoods. The four of them stepped on the platform forming a line and facing all of us, like judges.
Or gods.
The one to the right stepped forward and after a small hesitation, pulled his hood back, making all of us take a collective breath of surprise. The Storytellers never took off their hoods, at least in public. Robert's hand tightened. The face that stared back at us was pale, like bleached bone, devoid of color. Despite standing away from the platform I could determine that the face looked neither male or female...just something otherworldly.
"Beloved ones." The voice was strong and carried a musical tone. "We are honored to stand before you. You who have offered such amazing Roles over the past years." The Storyteller clasped their hands in front of them. "The tales of the Swan brothers, the Swan Princess, the princess with the golden hair and the tale of the glass slippers are few which have been graced by Roles from your town." He bowed towards the crowd and the others behind mimicked the bow. "May the story ever moves."
Papa's arm came around my shoulders and I felt hot tears spilling down my cheeks. Because in the 'honored' stories my mother and sisters had taken part too.
And none of them ever came back.
"For this year's story, a different Role is needed." The face turned sweeping past the gathered crowd. "The story will be about love and the true beauty found within. Were appearances are not what they seem. Two will be needed from your town."
Two.
Two people who would lose their families. Papa squeezed me to his side.
"Robert Carlyle, step forward." The Storyteller's voice lost its melodic tune, gaining a hard edge.
No. No.
I turned to my friend, shocked. His face was pale and his lips pursed together.
"NO!" Mr. Carlyle roared as he grabbed his son hugging him tightly. Seeing both of them hugging, new tears fell down.
The people around us gasped in shock; some either dared to protest that the smith was being "selfish" and "unworthy" of the honor the Storytellers had given to his son.
"Why do you deny the honor smith?" the same Storyteller said raising their hand, making the crowd hush. "Your son will have a vital Role, one who will speak of strength."
"I have been blessed with four children, yet my firstborn will take over the smithery after I'm gone."
Robert's eyes had misted.
Papa was clutching me by now to his side.
And I tried to steady my shaking feet.
The Storyteller nodded, seemingly agreeing. "Then you have enough young ones to train them." They turned to their companions. "Take him."
It happened so fast.
One moment, Robert stood beside us, the next he was upon the stage, his arms held by the Storytellers. Despite his strong body, and I knew that he could carry an ox and me on his shoulders, he looked weak and trembling. His eyes scanned the crowd until they found us.
Robert. My heart screamed.
"The next Role is the most important one. One who must be kind, yet fearless, brave yet sophisticated and well educated." They paused, measuring the crowd again in the same weird head-turning gesture that reminded me of a carrion searching for the next meal.
"Rose Villeneuve!" a woman's shout echoed in the town square.
"Yes!" another replied. "She reads books all the time!"
"She saved my son once from drowning!" a man's voice joined.
I hugged Papa as he screamed at them, enraged and fearful.
"She knows how to cook!" another supplied.
They were selling me. Selling me so they could escape!
"FUCK YOU!" I screamed, tearing myself from my father's arms.
Mr. Carlyle too snapped out of his shock and looked down at me.
"How dare you? All of you? Have you no shame? Just because I know and do all these things, it doesn't mean that I am capable of the Role." My voice had reached screeching levels.
Papa grabbed my arms, pulling me behind. "Rose." His voice trembled.
I looked to my right. The Storyteller stood next to us. His sudden appearance made the people gasp and step back, creating a wide circle. I shook myself, freeing my arms and looked at them. The white color seeped into their hair and eyes, with only the black pupil being the only aspect of color on them. They tilted their head, a faint grin making their face sharper.
Lifting their left arm, a pale hand appeared holding a closed rosebud. It was small and green, not yet ready to bloom. They pointed the rosebud towards me.
"We have given enough." My father said.
"We know." The Storyteller's eyes focused on mine. They skirted over my face, hair, and lips, going down to my neck and my robbed figure. I shivered feeling the gaze intrusive.
The flower suddenly bloomed, red petals unfurling fast until the gorgeous red rose shone red in front of me. One petal fell slowly to the ground and in my eyes, it looked more like blood.
The Storyteller smiled proudly at me. "And yet you have so much more to offer."
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
First chapter! Yay! Where you are slowly introduced to this new world. I loved writing Rose. She is the type of person I want to read in any book. Stay tuned until next Friday!
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