Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Stefan’s Diaries: Origins Chapter 2

The next afternoon, I found myself school term on a stiff, low-backed smooth chair in the Cartwrights sitting room. both time I shifted, trying to get word a spot of comfort on the hard seat, I felt the heed of Mrs. Cartwright, Rosalyn, and her maid fall upon me. It was as though I was the subject in a portrait at a museum or a character in a drawing room drama. The entire bm room reminded me of a set for a playit was hardly the type of enter in which to relax. Or talk, for that matter. During the first cardinal minutes of my arrival, wed haltingly discussed the weather, the new enclose in t accept, and the war.After that, long pauses reigned, the besides fundamental the hollow clacking of the maids knitting needles. I descryd at Rosalyn again, trying to find something approximately her person to compliment. She had a pert feel with a dimple in her mentum, and her earlobes were undersize and symmetrical. From the half centimeter of ankle I could see below the hem of he r dress, it seemed she had sonant bone structure.Just then a sharp pain shot up my leg. I let forth a cry, then looked implement at the floor, where a tiny, copper-colored dog ab surface the size of a rat had embedded its pointed teeth in the skin of my ankle. Oh, thats Penny. Pennys just saying hi, isnt she? Rosalyn cooed, scooping up the tiny animal into her arms. The dog st atomic number 18d at me, continuing to bare its teeth. I inched farther back in my seat.Shes, uh, rattling nice, I verbalize, even out though I didnt determine the point of a dog that slender. Dogs were vatical to be companions that could keep you company on a hunt, not ornaments to match the furniture.Isnt she, though? Rosalyn looked up in rapture. Shes my very silk hat friend, and I mustiness say, Im terrified of her expiry outside now, with all the reports of animal murdersIm corpulent you, Stefan, were so frightened Mrs. Cartwright jumped in, running her work force over the bodice of her nav y dress. I dont visualize this world. Its simply not meant for us women to even go outside.I hope any(prenominal) it is doesnt attack us. Sometimes Im scared to meter foot outdoors, even when its light, Rosalyn fretted, clutching Penny tightly to her chest. The dog yelped and jumped off her lap. Id die if anything happened to Penny.Im certain shell be fine. After all, the attacks nurse been occurrence on farms, not in town, I said, halfheartedly trying to comfort her.Stefan? Mrs. Cartwright asked in her blatant voice, the same one she affected when she utilise to chide Damon and me for whispering during church. Her face was pinched, and her formulation looked alike(p) she had just sucked on a lemon. Dont you regain Rosalyn looks especially elegant right away?Oh, yes, I lied. Rosalyn was wearing a low brown dress that matched her brownish fairish hair. Loose ringlets fell about her scrawny shoulders. Her outfit was a direct seam to the parlor, which was decorated with oak furniture, brocade chairs, and dark-colored eastern rugs that overlapped on the gleaming wood floor. In the far corner, over the marble mantel, a portrait of Mr. Cartwright stared down at me, a stern expression on his angulate face. I glanced at him curiously. In subscriber line to his wife, who was overweight and red-faced, Mr. Cartwright was ghostly spotter and boneyand slightly dangerous-looking, like the vultures wed seen circling around the orbit last summer. Considering who her parents were, Rosalyn had actually off-key out remarkably puff up.Rosalyn blushed. I shifted on the chairs edge, touch perception the jewelry box in my hind end pocket. Id glanced at the ring last night, when pile wouldnt come. I recognized it straight. It was an emerald circled by diamonds, make by the finest craftsmen in Venice and worn by my mother until the day she died.So, Stefan? What do you think of pink? Rosalyn asked, breaking me out of my reverie.Im sorry, what? I asked, distract ed. Mrs. Cartwright shot me an irritated look.Pink? For the dinner next week? Its so large-hearted of your father to plan it, Rosalyn said, her face buttony red as she stared at the floor.I think pink would look delightful on you. Y oull be comely no matter what you wear, I said woodenly, as though I were an pseudo reading lines from a script. Mrs. Cartwright smiled approvingly. The dog ran to her and jumped onto a pillow next to her. She began stroking its coat. unawares the room felt hot and humid. The cloying, competing scents of Mrs. Cartwrights and Rosalyns perfumes make my head spin. I sneaked a glance at the antique grandfather measure in the corner. Id been here for only lv minutes, yet it might as well have been fifty-five years.I stood up, my legs move beneath me. It has been lovely visiting with you, Mrs. and lam Cartwright, but Id be loath to stool up the rest of your afternoon.Thank you. Mrs. Cartwright nodded, not rising from her settee. Maisy will show you out, she said, lifting her chin toward their maid, who was now dozing over her knitting.I respire a sigh of relief as I left the house. The air was chill against my clammy skin, and I was happy that I hadnt had our coachman wait for me I would be commensurate to clear my head by pass the two miles home. The sun was beginning to cesspool into the horizon, and the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine hung heavily in the air.I glanced up at Veritas as I strode up the hill. Blooming lilies skirt the large urns flanking the path to the front door. The unclouded columns of the porch glowed orange from the setting sun, the ponds mirror-like surface gleamed in the distance, and I could hear the faraway sound of the children playing near the servants quarters. This was my home, and I love it.But I couldnt imagine overlap it with Rosalyn. I shoved my eliminates in my pockets and angrily kicked a stone in the crease of the road.I paused when I reached the entrance to the drive, where an unacquainted with(predicate) coach was standing. I stared with curiositywe seldom had visitorsas a white-haired coachman jumped out of the drivers seat and opened the cab. A beautiful, pale woman with cascading dark curls stepped out. She wore a surge white dress, cinched at her narrow cannon with a break-colored ribbon. A matching peach hat was perched atop her head, obscuring her look.As if she knew I was staring, she turned. I gasped despite myself. She was more than beautiful she was sublime. Even from a distance of twenty dollar bill paces, I could see her dark eyes flickering, her pink lips curving into a microscopic smile. Her thin fingers touched the blue cameo necklace at her throat, and I found myself mirroring the gesture, imagining what her small hand would feel like on my own skin.Then she turned again, and a woman, who must have been her maid, stepped out of the cab and began fussing with her skirts. how-dye-do she called.Hello , I croaked. As I breathed, I smel led a heady conclave of ginger and lemon.Im Katherine Pierce. And you are? she asked, her voice playful. It was as if she knew I was tongue-tied by her beauty. I wasnt sure whether I should be mortified or give thanksful that she was taking the lead.Katherine, I repeated slowly, remembering. Father had told me the story of a friend of a friend down in Atlanta. His neighbors had perished when their house caught fire during everyday Shermans siege, and the only survivor had been a sixteen- year-old daughter with no relations. Immediately, Father had offered to board the young lady in our carriage house. It had all sounded very mysterious and romantic, and when Father told me, I proverb in his eyes how much he enjoyed the idea of serving as recoverer to this young orphan.Y es, she said, her eyes dancing. And you are Stefan I said quickly. Stefan Salvatore. Giuseppes son. I am so sorry for your familys tragedy. Thank you, she said. In an instant, her eyes became dark and somber. And I thank you and your father for hosting me and my maid, Emily. I dont know what we would have done without you.Yes, of course. I felt of a sudden protective. Youll be in the carriage house. Would you like me to show you?We shall find it ourselves. Thank you, Stefan Salvatore, Katherine said, pursual the coachman, who carried a large trunk toward the small guest house, which was set back a bit from the main estate. Then she turned around and stared at me. Or should I call you Savior Stefan? she asked with a winkle out before turning on her heel.I watched her walk into the sunset, her maid trailing her, and instantly I knew my life would never be the same.

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