Once Love, Now Destruction

“What do you mean her ‘adoption records’?” I felt my mouth run dry as I stared at him.

“She was adopted,” he stated slowly as he walked over to the end of the dining table where a manila envelope stood out from the deep red tablecloth with a black videotape and a potted plant were sitting next to it.

That plant looked like Michelle’s, except bigger and it was wilting slightly. But Michelle’s plant wouldn’t wilt not even if it hadn’t been watered for weeks.

“Let me see the adoption papers,” I demanded snatching the folder off the table scanning through the pages until I found what I was looking for. “Child’s name; Elizabeth Scarlett Ford… Date of birth: December 12, 1993… Biological mother: unknown… Biological father: unknown… Origin: Bistrița-Năsăud, Romania,” I blinked, “Romania?”

“Apparently she was born here, I think her parents abandoned her,” he mused starring down at the now wrinkled paper.

“Or she’s Michelle…” I breathed smiling as I looked over the paper again.

“Nicole, she was set up for adoption three years after the attack, her name is Elizabeth Ford on here not Michelle Wither, and it’s not her birthday. And she is so much different than Michelle, yes they have similarities, but Elizabeth gets afraid, she holds back her opinions back, and she’s been hiding things from us, Michelle never did that. She isn’t her Nikki,” he pointed out.

“But what are the odds that she looks exactly like Michelle; she speaks the same languages as her, she acts just like her, and she’s from Romania?” I scoffed.

“I agree that it’s not likely, but have you forgotten that she doesn’t know who we are, she doesn’t even know Alistair. I think that Michelle would remember him,” he raised his eyebrows at me, “and she would remember who you were too.”

I groaned as I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, my head rested against the palms of my hands. “What are we going to do?”

“I have no idea,” was all he could come up with.

***

(Elizabeth’s P.O.V.)

I felt the woman; I couldn’t remember her name, set me down onto the cold marble floor. I wanted to shudder as soon as the stone came in contact with my skin, but I managed to keep my body from shaking.

“Ελίζαμπεθ (Elizabeth)?” I heard a voice behind me ask quietly.

“I’ll be right back,” the woman assured me as she retreated out of the foyer.

“Τι συμβαίνει (What’s wrong)?” Hara asked, hesitating a few feet away from me.

My vision went out of focus as I turned to look at her. She stared back at me; her head tilted slightly, but then her eyes traveled down to my hand.

“Ο αφέντης το έκανε αυτό (Did the master do that)?” she gasped, wincing as she absentmindedly touched on of her scars.

I nodded biting down hard on my bottom lip as I tried to move my fingers only to feel pain shot up through my arm. I watched my hand carefully trying to pinpoint the areas I could feel and the ones I couldn’t, but I couldn’t tell. All I could feel was pain.

I heard the woman come back, and saw her out of the corner of my eye set something down. Her eyes suddenly shot downward, and took an almost submitting stance as she mopped the marble tiles with intense concentration. I slowly turned toward where I heard the woman, but I saw gentle pale eyes looking down at me.

I didn’t recognize her at first with her long ebony hair that was curled perfectly into cascading waves that fell beneath her waist. She was dressed in a white lace from her delicate shoulders to the polished floor. Placed on her head was a tiara that looked like if you even touched it, it would snap into millions of pieces. There were two guards by her side, one of them I recognized as Vernon, the other was standing his nose turned up at Hara and me, and glared at us menacingly. Her skin was a flawless cream of ivory, contrasting beautifully with her midnight shaded hair. Her eyes, unlike her son’s, were warm and inviting, trust pooled from them as she stared at me, and only me. I felt as if I were an ugly earthworm squirming pathetically next to a monarch butterfly; there was no comparison between the two.

“You may leave now,” she dismissed the guards lightly.

The guard who was nameless to me opposed this right after the words left her lips, “But your husband-”

“I don’t care what my husband said; I’m saying you may leave, Matthew,” she responded flatly.

Vernon looked at me and then to my hand and back to me again, and he gave me an uncertain smile, and stared at me with regret in his eyes, while Matthew stomped off like a three year old having a tantrum.

After they left, she turned her head towards the left and I saw the woman standing there with a dirty water pail and a dirty rag that was resting across the lip of the wooden bucket. When she saw Alistair’s mother, she immediately set the bucket down and bowed her head towards us.

“Amy would please go wash Haralabia up and give her something to eat?” she flashed her perfectly straightened teeth and nodded her head to the frail girl on her hands and knees still hard at work, giving all of her attention to the marble.

Amy nodded and spoke in a soft tone to the girl, but she did not move from her spot.

I decided to speak then, “Χαρά (Hara)?”

She looked up with a tinge of fear in her eyes.

“Πήγαινε μαζί της, δεν πειράζει (Go with her, it’s alright),” I assured her honestly.

She shook her head glancing towards Amy who was staring at us in confusion.

"Θα'σαι εντάξει, στο υπόσχομαι (You’re going to be okay, I promise),” my voice broke on the last word, and I clutched my bad hand as another wave of pain washed over.

She bit down on her bottom lip, but nevertheless she shakily got up and took a small step toward the woman.

“Δεν θα σου κάνει κακό, καλή μου (She won’t hurt you, dear),” the queen smiled gently, speaking fluent Greek as if it were her native tongue.

Hara didn’t even spare a glance towards the woman in lace and she left with her small frame shaking like she was facing death in the flesh. Amy placed her hand near Hara’s back, but not quite touching her, like she would catch her if she lost her balance.

“It’s Elizabeth, isn’t it?” the woman standing inches away from me asked in a calm tone.

I nodded, not looking at her in the eyes and I slowly pushed my ruined hand under the cover of my skirts, something as horrific as the charred skin should not be in the presence of perfection.

“I’m Abigail Cord,” she bent down to my level offering me her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I hesitantly put my good hand in hers while still keeping the other one hidden from sight. I winced as the left over shards of glass wedged further into my heel, but did my best to ignore the pain. I let go of her hand the second I was stable and she walked down the hall, going the opposite way that Hara and Amy went. At the end of the hall was a large, elegant stairwell that had a slight spiral look and had marble stairs with wrought iron railing. I stumbled a few times before we reached the top. Abigail turned abruptly to the right, moving more swiftly and gracefully than I ever could.

The corridor was blank and the faint scent of fresh paint and smoke wafted over me.
There were no pictures, no side-tables; no décor whatsoever.

Abigail glanced back at me, noticing my confusion and spoke with a slight tinge of sadness, “We’re redecorating.”

I nodded my head, not wanting to pry, keeping my head low and tried to keep pace with her.

Abigail opened one of the white doors, that was the same as the others surrounding us yet I could feel a slight feeling of familiarity from it. She entered the room and beckoned me to follow her.

The room was like day and night, the right side of the room was styled so elaborately that it would put any decorator to shame, but the left side was another story. The walls were covered in black soot, debris covered the nonexistent flooring; patches of holes covered the area.

She gestured towards the large bed with a white backboard and matching sheets, and I hesitantly walked over to it, worrying slightly that I was going to ruin the covers with my dirty, blood coated skin. She reached inside the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a small vile filled with some sort of metallic liquid that was swirling inside.

“May I have your hand?” she gave me a warm smile.

I pulled my hand out of the cover of the fine layer of fabric and put it in hers. She opened the vile and looked down at me, “This may sting a little.”

And then she let the liquid spill onto my ruined flesh and the feeling of being burned returned, it was probably even more powerful than before, and a sharp pain was drilled in the back of my head. I wasn’t in the room anymore.

“There you are,” the woman with light grey eyes smiled down at me. “Now why are you in here by yourself?”

I shrunk away, hiding behind my long hair, “Ali’s mad at me.”

“Why would he be mad, sweetie?” she frowned, brushing my hair back into place.

“I-I left my room, and I went to find him a-and he was drinking…” I felt sick as I remembered the red liquid dripping down his chin, his teeth had grown at least and his eyes were masked with darkness that I’ve never seen before. “Why was he drinking that, Amy? Why did he look like that?”

She sighed; sitting down on the ground next to me, letting me laid my head on her shoulder as she wrapped a comforting arm around me, “You know that we are different from you, right? We’re faster, stronger, and colder than you are. Well because of that, we have to consume different things or else we will die.”

“You…” my voice trailed off into silence before I could continue. “You don’t hurt anyone, do you?”

She was already shaking her head before I even answered the question, “No, of course not.”

I nodded, the fine material of her dress rubbed against my cheek bringing me a sense of comfort, “Why am I so different? I’m nothing like you, Ali, or even Amy. I’m weird.”

She smiled down at me, “You’re not weird, honey. You’re special. You always have been and always will be.”

“But-” she cut me off with a soft hush.

“Everything will be explained in time my dear,” she flashed her perfect teeth at me as she stood back up. “Be patient.

I nodded my head as she helped me up to my feet, and placed my hair back the way it was supposed to be, “Now go, he’s looking for you,” she left with one last soothing touch, and disappeared into the darkness.


I was forced back into reality as the pain seeped out of my fingertips, and when I looked down my eyes widened in disbelief. The wound itself had evaporated from my skin only leaving behind a dark uneven scar in its memory. I clenched my hand into a fist and I actually felt most of the nerves react, only around my ring finger where Alistair’s silver band was still permanently imbedded into my flesh could I not sense anything.

“Thank you,” I spoke with the most sincerity that I could muster up.

“It’s not a problem,” she placed the vile back in the drawer and in return pulled out a manila envelope that was half an inch thick. She stared at the casement like it was her last hope at life, “I’m sorry I couldn’t repair everything.”

I stayed silent watching her, wondering if I actually knew her in my past life, whatever that was. But I shook that thought off, it was impossible.

“May I ask you something, dear?” she finally looked up at me, staring at me warily, which I didn’t understand – I was the weak human.

“Of course,” I breathed, dropping my gaze to the ruined dress, playing with the shredded hem.

“Your real name isn't Elizabeth Ford, is it?” she asked, biting down on her bottom lip.

I continued to stare at the small threads that had come loose and were dangling on my leg until I finally answered, “No.”

Out of my peripheral vision I saw her nod, “I thought so.”

“May I ask something in return?” I ran my tongue across my dry, broken lips.

She smiled pleasantly, placing the envelope on the bed before seating herself easily, “I’ve got all day.”

“How did you know that my name isn't Elizabeth?”

She brushed away a few wisps of hair that fell into her face back in place before gesturing towards the paper casement. “Open it.”

I hesitantly reached for the envelope, but gave into my curiosity. I pulled the metal seal back and the flap was released. I reached inside and pulled out the thick pile of paper. I flipped through each of pieces of paper, and unsettling feeling was condensing in my gut.

Every page was the summary of my life, especially my time in the hospital. Pictures, articles, and even my school records were all in there.

“Nikki and Christian have been trying to dig up whatever they can about you,” she laughed lightly. “In summary, they haven’t been successful. So I had my own spies look into you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you care about where I came from?” I felt my mouth run dry.

She took a deep breath closing her grey eyes before she began, “Seven years ago, there was an attack placed on us by the werewolves. We were at war with them at the time and they wanted to retaliate. It was at Brandon and I‘s anniversary ball on April 29, they destroyed the west wing with explosives. They whole castle was in chaos and the werewolves stole someone that was irreplaceable from us and we haven’t found her yet.”

“The girl that was close to your son?” I guessed.

She wiped something from her eye, and nodded slowly, “Her name was Michelle Alice Wither; she was nine years old when she disappeared.”

I frowned; I was around nine when I was found. “I don’t understand what I have to do with this.”

She looked at me, her cloudy eyes examined my face closely, “You were found three days after that attack. You had 2nd and 3rd degree burns covering every inch of your body, your skull was crushed and fragments of bone were lodged into your brain leaving you not being able to remember anything before that and you had to learn everything all over again- speaking, eating, even walking, you were nobody for three years while you were on life-support, you were born in Romania, speak seven languages fluently, volunteer work that would put even the fairest of saints to shame, and work in a flower shop. Michelle cared about every single person even the people that hated her and people she didn’t even know, she had a slight obsession with plants, and she spoke the same languages you do…” she trailed off and looked over to the damaged side of the room.

I swallowed, trying to push the lump in my throat down, “You think I am this girl.”

She continued to stare into nothingness, “A few months after the attack, a witch paced a curse on him – on us. The curse is placed so that no one in our family can leave this property, we can’t walk in the sunlight, and Alistair will die on his 20th birthday.”

I bit down on my bottom lip as something I couldn’t depicture ripped through me like sharp talons clawing at my flesh. “How old is he now?”

“He just turned nineteen,” she looked back at me. “He’s already becoming weaker, we’ve been trying to find something to break the curse or at least slow it down, but nothing works.”

“Why would the witch do that?” I brushed my hair back behind my ear, trying ignoring the unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“She blames us for her daughter and husband’s deaths,” she explained, turning to face me. “But we never killed anyone.”

I nodded my head solemnly, intertwining my fingers nervously, “I don’t think I’m the girl.”

She smiled, “There’s still hope isn’t there? But even if you aren’t her, you’re still a good person and I believe that you don’t deserve to be treated the way you have been – by Alistair, your foster father, and everyone else that has wronged you.”

“Your majesty, it’s alright, really. I don’t want you to go to any trouble, I’ll be fine,” I assured her.

The woman’s constant smile refused to fade, “I’ve been needing to find a new maid, Amy’s getting old – going a little crazy, you see. I also need someone that I can trust, and I’ve itching for some actual girl time. So you will from now on, be in my care. You don’t have to wear that horrid uniform, you’ll be able to eat three times a day with me, you’ll work will be fairly easy, and you don’t have to sleep in that cell anymore.”

I started gnawing at the inside of my cheek, “I’m sorry, your highness, but I can’t do that.”

She stared at me, her eyes were confused, “You don’t have to be afraid of Alistair. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It’s not fair to the others,” I explained, wiping the exhaustion out of my eyes.

“I’m going to take care of them, but I’m going to need your help with that,” she replied.

“How can I help?” I asked, my eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“You’re going to help me bring my son back.”