I let my hands trail along the bushes, not even wincing as blood was drawn on the thorns, tiny scars littering my fingers from the habit. I watched as tiny droplets fell into the earth and I could almost feel the ground shudder, a hard wind brushing over me. I inhaled the scent of roses, and thunder rolled above me, threatening a storm.
I thought someone called my name, but I was almost two turns in and I knew they wouldn’t come out here to find me. I had not one idea why all three of them avoided entering…well, except that this had been my mother’s sanctuary. I wanted to believe it was out of respect but I think they were scared. Terrified of the very vibrant and intense feeling of my mother’s energy that grew around me as I delved further into the maze.
I had called it magic for so long, but now that I was an adult it sounded silly. That was what my stepmother had called me every time I had woken up crying because of a nightmare. Every time I told her about the shadows following me. About the plants that bent and swayed as I walked past them, staring at me when no one was around. Each small creature of the dark would whisper my name.
Silly.
All of this had made me a silly little girl in her mind, and the more she said it, the more I believed it. Well, until recently. Until I started to accept that I wasn’t crazy…that maybe, just maybe there was something different about me and this town. I knew I should open my mind to it and see if those creatures would speak again. See if this magic was as real as it felt, like electricity through my very bones.
The maze was complicated, with twists and turns that felt as though they changed every time I went through them. Maybe they did. Yet, no matter how complicated, I always found my way in and out of the center. It was the perfect hiding place because no one would ever be able to find me here, it was my maze, and I was insanely possessive over the piece of earth.
Especially the center. The center where roses surrounded all sides, blooming fully and tilted upwards, as they crawled up the large hedge walls and over the statues placed there. I found myself in the center and as usual, I almost expected to see that little boy from that odd--memory? Dream? All those years ago.
Tilting my face upwards and sitting on a large stone cement bench, its back spread in the shape of wings nearly cradling my body, I relaxed letting the rain wash over me. I was alone. I had hated that for so long, but it had become my norm. Now, I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn’t alone. Somehow, I had a feeling that would never be a problem.
I’d been alone since the day my mother died and that wasn’t changing anytime soon.
Chapter 2
Ophelia Rose
Fine Lines of Imagination: Concepts the Mind Creates
I had no idea how long I sat in the center of the maze. My hair was dripping with water and while my clothes were mostly dry, due to the dark jacket I wore, a slight chill ran over my skin. Despite feeling eyes on me, I stayed laid out on the stone bench. Unafraid. This was my maze. No one could hurt me here.
Despite wanting to leave Village Worth, I found myself already mourning the maze. I wished to bring it with me. Was that a possibility? Probably not. Then again, money wasn’t really an issue for me, so I could probably find someone willing to do it. But where would I move it to?
I snorted softly imagining a maze inside my dorm. How ridiculous was that? Then again, the most ridiculous notions seemed to always be at the forefront of my mind so it was possible that my brain was just built that way. Built to be odd. Built to be different.
Despite school being somewhat of a sanctuary from the intense pressure of my stepmother, it wasn’t all that better in many ways. I mean, I had friends…sort of. Well, I wasn’t positive what you would call them. Most were acquaintances? I wasn’t sure what it was about me, but something kept everyone at a distance.
Throughout my entire life, I’d never had someone that I could truly call a best friend without a doubt. No one that was loyal and declared their friendship openly. Shit, I mean I’d never even had a sleepover as a kid. I’d never hung out with people outside the classroom and if I did talk to anyone outside the academy walls, it was because it was an event I’d been dragged to by Denise.
So yeah, not much better than home. But that was okay because there was a fundamental difference. At school, I could focus and keep busy with what I loved to do. Learning and horseback riding.
Well, that was a bit of an understatement because competitive equestrian was so much more than what that term, horseback riding, implied. It was a true art form and one that I fully intended to pursue once overseas in the international ring. I was already fairly well known across the United States, but I had no intention of staying stateside.
My horse, Price, was a thoroughbred colt that was just reaching two. I’d been with Price since he was first weaned off his mother, and I’d purchased him at a ridiculous cost. Not that my stepmother bat a lash because she considered the skill set something deemed worthy of her attention.
He was a stunning animal that was a pure obsidian color that matched my helmet, riding jacket, and pretty much the rest of my competitive gear. I didn’t compete for pictures on my Instagram, I did it because I loved it, so I kept my shit minimalistic and professional.
A small hoot froze me from my enjoyable thoughts as my eyes trailed to where a cream and white colored owl landed. The damn owl was always here when I was in the rose garden. I put out my hand, and he glided down to land on my arm, my jaw tightening at the slight sting of his claws through my coat. Artemis. He’d been visiting me for years now and I liked to believe that he was somehow attached to this place, to my mother.
Obviously, this was a way to deal with the sudden loss of my mother at such an early age…but who was it harming? So what if I thought an owl somehow was related to my deceased mother.
I shook my head thinking about the night I’d lost her. I remembered it so much more clearly than I probably should.
They had found me that morning sobbing in the rose garden on my 6th birthday, and you know the first thing they’d told me? My father met my gaze, lifting me by the shoulders, and fixing me with a disappointed look before sternly expressing that ‘Your mother is gone, crying won’t help.’ That was it. No hug. Nothing.
Later, they’d explained in more detail about her death and the cancer having advanced too fast to stop it…but even at that young age, everything about it felt off. Felt wrong and dirtied.
Muttering a curse under my breath as I tried to temper my anger at the past, Artemis took off, circling the garden before disappearing into the misty sky.
I looked down at my long blue nails, the darkest color Denise would let me use, or else I probably would have gone with black. I felt like it matched more since most of what I wore was in fact black. Some color was added in, but it was usually darker tones or faded colors, nothing very bright or cheery. It really wasn’t an attempt at a reflection of my personality, I felt like I tried to be pretty upbeat…but you liked what you liked. I did not like bright colors, I wasn’t going to apologize for that.
My eyes fell on the massive stone statue that stood in the center of the garden with me. The clearing itself was actually stunning and very ornately decorated, especially considering the only upkeep it had was of my own doing. I did nothing except sometimes clip off dead leaves that ruined the stunning array of red and green shades. The rest of the clearing contained several benches and these mythological marble statues that rose vines crawled up in enticing patterns.