The idea that it could be true, that I am just some madwoman in a mental hospital makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me and I have to get out. My heart hurts. Still in the thin nightdress, I stand on wobbly legs and leave the room. Walking through the long halls, a few other patients watch me go by, but they don’t stop me. Nobody stops me.
When I get to a side exit I push open the door and allow the fresh air to wash over my face, the sunlight to caress my skin. I step out onto the grass and feel like I can breathe again, the cool blades tickling the soles of my feet. The grounds of the hospital are vast and I keep walking, feeling like if I walk far enough I will be able to escape my brain and the awful truths it’s trying to make me believe.
Two older men are sitting on either side of a wooden picnic table playing chess. I stand still for a long time, just watching them make their moves and chat about nothing important. Then my gaze is drawn farther afield, to a bench in the distance where a man sits alone. His hair is blonde and the sun glints off it, making it seem as though it’s sparkling.
Hope catches in my lungs.
My feet are moving of their own accord now, and the tears from before start up again, but for a whole new reason this time. I stop several feet away as the man lifts his arms up, and in his hands is a baby girl with blonde hair an even lighter shade than his. She can’t be any more than a couple of weeks old.
She lets out a little gurgling sound when he lifts her and he laughs as he lowers her back down onto his lap. He cradles her in his arms, rocking her back and forth and I stand there transfixed, unable to move. I take a step and he freezes, his head turning slightly to the side.
His voice is full of affection when he calls, “I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”
My legs won’t hold me up anymore and I fall to my knees. I was wrong. It wasn’t all a dream, it was real. There was once a time when I would have wished for vampires and magic to be a dream, but not now. Now my heart belongs to the world I discovered and I wouldn’t survive if it was taken away from me. More importantly, my heart belongs to the man sitting on the bench four feet away and the baby he’s holding in his arms.
Ethan stands and walks to me, bending down on one knee. I’m staring at my hands, unable to look at him. He tips my chin up so that my teary eyes meet his.
“I believe you two have yet to meet,” he says, holding the baby girl out to me.
From the very moment I laid eyes on her I knew she was mine. I felt it like butterflies under my skin. When I bring myself to look at her I’m met with big, bottomless blue eyes and I don’t know why but I laugh and cry at the same time.
“She’s so beautiful,” I whisper, afraid to touch her in case she breaks.
“Just like her mother,” says Ethan, shifting her into one arm so that he can help me off the ground and lead me over to sit on the bench. He places her in my arms and a wave of emotion washes over me. She feels so small and delicate.
How can someone so breakable be destined to become a ruler?
“She doesn’t have my blood,” I realise suddenly. I don’t get the same feeling from her as I get from Rebecca.
“No,” says Ethan. “I suppose we can count ourselves lucky that she doesn’t.”
Cool relief washes over me.
A long time passes as we sit in silence; I’m fascinated by her little hands and her tiny feet, by the ridiculously golden eyelashes and the porcelain shade of her skin. You can certainly tell she’s a dhamphir, because no human baby ever had such vibrant, perfect features.
“I don’t understand why we’re here,” I say, at long last breaking my reverie.
Ethan leans forward and runs a finger down our baby’s cheek, his arm tight around my shoulders. I don’t ever want to leave this moment.
“The doctor I had you seeing,” he starts to explain in a gentle voice, “he does a lot of work for supernaturals, but in order to go unnoticed by the human population he uses this hospital as a front. Half of the building is a normal, functioning psychiatric hospital and the other half is a supernatural hospital. I had you kept in the human half to keep the vampires from smelling your blood. You had a C-section and I fed my blood to you intravenously to help you heal.”
“Ah, so that’s why I don’t have any scars. You know, I thought I’d had a mental break when I woke up here. How long have I been out for?”
“A month. The longest month of my life. For a while we didn’t know if you would make it,” he answers and there’s a vulnerability in his voice when he tells me this.
I turn my head so that I can kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”
He pulls me tighter into his side. “Don’t be sorry, I’d go through it a thousand times more if it meant I could have the both of you.” He pauses. “So, what do you think we should call her?”
I give him a surprised look. “She’s been alive a whole month and you haven’t even given her a name!”
“I wanted to wait for you. I thought you’d like to choose.”
I stare at her and wrack my brain for names, then give her a little kiss on the top of the head when I come to a decision. “I think we should call her Darya, after Mum.”
“I like that choice,” says Ethan. “Darya Cristescu.”
“Darya Cristescu-Stolle,” I amend.
He laughs and nuzzles my cheek. I lean my head back on his shoulder and when I look at Darya again I find she’s fallen asleep. I breathe in deep and close my eyes, letting the feeling of wholeness wash over me. For so long I felt alone in the world, but now I have a family. It might have been a difficult road to get here, but like Ethan said, I would go through it all a thousand times more just to have this one moment…right now.
END.
Read on for an excerpt from Darya’s story…
17 years later
Darya Cristescu-Stolle always hated to see injustice.
Even before she knew the meaning of the word, she knew she didn’t like it. There was a boy called Arthur in her playschool who would take all the best toys so that only he and his friends could play with them. To remedy the situation, Darya asked her aunt Rita to make an itching potion that she could use against the bully. With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Aunt Rita agreed and a day later presented Darya with a small tub of white powder. Arriving early at school, Darya scattered the powder over the coveted toys and as soon as Arthur and his friends began to play with them they broke out in a horrible rash.
That day Darya felt as though justice had been served.
It’s unfortunate that every day can’t be like that one. Now she is seventeen years old, attending a boarding school where she is far from the most popular biscuit in the biscuit tin. If everyone likes the chocolate ones, then Darya is the one with no chocolate at all. She is the plain digestive, the custard cream at a stretch.
If they knew the truth she would be more popular than all of them put together, but nobody knows the truth. She comes from a world where she might as well be royalty, but she can’t tell anyone about that world. At thirteen years old, at her father’s insistence and for her own safety, she was shipped off to a human boarding school where she could hide in plain sight. Peace in Tribane city came at a price, and that price was Darya’s freedom.
Ever since she could remember she heard murmurings about her future, a future where it was predicted she would become a great and powerful ruler. But in order for that future to come to pass she would have to spend her teenage years disguised as a human.
And the simple fact of the matter was, she didn’t even really like the idea of being a ruler anyway.
Walking into her Geography class she immediately spotted Harry Feeny and his pals standing around her best friend Georgia’s desk. Georgia was the shyest girl you could ever meet; it was one of the things Darya loved about her. She envied how she always managed to keep quiet and follow the rules. No matter how much she wanted to, there was something inside of Darya that never allowed her to live such
a quiet life. If she saw injustice being done then she had to act against it – one of the main reasons why she was such an unpopular biscuit.
An injustice was being done right there and then to her poor friend. Harry picked up Georgia’s art folder, opened it and allowed all of her wonderful drawings to fall out onto the floor. Darya could see the tears filling Georgia’s eyes as she marched towards Harry and gave him an almighty slap across the head.
“Pick up every scrap of paper right now,” she instructed him as his enraged eyes turned to her.
He gritted his teeth as he responded, “Make me, you little bitch.”
His friends laughed and Darya glared at them. Being a dhamphir, she knew she was far stronger than any of these human boys, yet she could never show them her real strength because then her cover would be blown. She clenched her fists, just itching to teach this boy a lesson he would never forget, when their teacher walked into the classroom. The chatter of the students died down as the foreboding presence of their Geography teacher, Mr Wolf, filled the space.
Mr Wolf wasn’t really a teacher. Well, he was a teacher, but the job was a front for his true purpose, and his true purpose was to protect Darya, be her bodyguard. Darya would never admit it, not even under torture, but she had a gigantic crush on Mr Wolf, or Ira as she had grown up calling him. He had always been a friend of the family, but when Darya’s father came up with the idea of sending her to a human boarding school, Ira was given the job of protecting her.
“Please, take your seats everyone,” said Mr Wolf.
Harry and his friends all immediately moved to their assigned tables, but before Harry could get by her Darya took hold of his shirt collar and held him in place. Mr Wolf began taking sheets of paper out of his desk before glancing up and noticing neither Darya nor Harry had taken their seats yet. Harry struggled to break free, but Darya had too firm a hold on his collar. She wasn’t letting go until this matter was settled.
Mr Wolf cleared his throat. “Darya, is there something the matter?”
“Yes, this little shit threw all of Georgia’s drawings on the floor and he refuses to pick them up.”
“Language, Darya,” said Mr Wolf firmly before bringing his dark, exotic eyes to Harry. “Is this true Mr Feeny?”
Harry shook his head emphatically. “She’s lying. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Darya pulled tighter on his collar before shoving him to the floor. “You’re the liar. Now pick up the drawings and apologise to Georgia.”
“Sir, did you see what she just did?” Harry asked with wide eyes from his current position on the floor. The other students in the room laughed at the fact he had just been manhandled by a girl. As Darya looked to Mr Wolf she could see the barest hint of a smile touch his lips, but he quickly disguised it.
A moment of silence ensued before a voice spoke up from the back of the class. “Darya’s telling the truth, Mr Wolf. I saw Harry spill the drawings myself.”
It was Darya’s sister, Rebecca, who similar to Mr Wolf, was masquerading as a student in order to keep an eye on Darya. Rebecca had just turned twenty-seven and yet because she too was a dhamphir she could pass for anywhere between fifteen and eighteen years of age. Unlike Darya, Rebecca was the veritable rose of the school. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t like her and nobody ever had a bad word to say about her.
“Well, Mr Feeny, it looks like we have a witness. Pick up the drawings or I will have you sitting in detention every evening for the next month.”
“Yeah, Harry,” said Darya folding her arms in satisfaction. “Pick up the drawings. It won’t be too difficult since you’re already down on the floor.”
Quiet snickering from the students ensued.
Harry shot Darya a killing look and grudgingly began to gather the pieces of paper. Once he had them all together, he slammed them down on the desk in front of Georgia, muttered a low apology and marched to his usual table at the back of the room. Feeling quite pleased with herself, Darya took the chair next to Georgia and squeezed her friend’s hand. Georgia gave Darya a grateful look and then Mr Wolf proceeded to start the class. Perhaps everyday can be like that day with Arthur and the itching powder, Darya thought to herself.
And perhaps she could get used to the idea of being a ruler, especially if it meant she would be able to dispense justice to those who have done wrong.
About the author
L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. You can contact her at [email protected].
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