1 Birth By Sleep (1)

I sought the solace of death and in turn received a life tied to the fate of my forgotten past. Without warning, without sound. Perhaps if I could recall any semblance of who I was and the reason why I ran so fervently into the cathartic embrace of ending myself, maybe then the constant doubts in my mind would simmer down to a whisper.

. . .

The moon tonight was incredible. And like most nights it mesmerized me, so much so that it felt like I was slipping away from the voices. But they were never really quiet.

Light seeped into the room from the looming bay windows of the suite, dancing into the four corners until being snuffed out by the wistful sashay of a candle's flame. Shadows flicked continuously in sync to the moving light and bathed the scene with contrasting tones of amber and ink.

I usually love these quiet moments to myself. Sometimes my nights are spent soaking in the beams of the rising moon, eyes wide with wonder, the flush of day burnt out with my worries. But as time ticked by the bundle of nerves invading my senses were on high alert. Tonight, I have something that needs to be found.

Instead of sulking, I'd get up, and slowly walk to the looking glass mounted on the wall. I'd marvel at the threadlike strands of gold which encircled the frame and wonder what sort of luxury it is to touch something like this. I'd trace the outside edges encrusted with imperial value along the tips of my fingers until I gathered the air in my lungs to slowly peel off the notes covering the mirror one by one.

My eyes close to recollect my thoughts and I feel the length of my lashes brush against the apples of my cheeks. In these brief moments of vulnerability I ready myself for a miracle only to be faced with a sense of grave disappointment.

I stood limp, my skin blanching as I blinked a stray tear that I didn't know I was holding away. The mirror showed me the girl the world saw, a vision of lies, and somehow it didn't seem right. Inside I was empty, full of confusion, frustration, and despair. All they saw was a girl with a pretty face.

Staring into the mirror, at the strike of midnight, I was face to face with a peculiarly beautiful girl. So beautiful, in fact, I could hardly believe it was me. Eyes as opulent as a midnight sky, fringed with mystery. Skin so pale it was translucent, hair as dark as ebony, lips that could command an empire to ruin...I should be grateful for my blessings. After all, beauty is power.

My lids lowered close.

But this beauty isn't mine.

"Eva, you're still awake?" I turned to the passively chilled voice and lift my lashes to find a slim silhouette leaning against the entryway. Her stature was one of an elegant lady - primmed from head to toe with silk and tastefully selected fine jewels. The woman was quite dazzling, and despite the burn that scarred her right cheek like a blooming flower, she was an unequivocal gem.

"Yes..." Lightly nodding my head I turned back toward the reflective glass, eyes flickering at the foreign image. My hand instinctively lift to trail a line from my jawline to the curve of my cheek, fingers deft in their rumination. It was all too unbelievable, too surreal to believe that this face was mine. That these eyes...so deep, like pools of ink, could be mine.

But as I continued to feel the warm flesh and heat of my skin this theory was all but irrefutable. Everywhere I touched burned, invisible flames dancing in response to physical contact.

Despite my suicide, I was indeed very much alive.

I drew my hand back, throat dry. But why? I've been going in circles with this question for days and I still haven't come up with an answer. The tips of my fingers trembled so violently that I'd have to dig my nails into my palms to stop it. I had tried to suppress my confusion, to wind up all the fear within me, and bottle up the suffocation of my muddled mind but it seemed as if it was all in vain.

"It's been so long since you've seen your reflection," She lowered her voice. "After the incident, I mean."

My heart sunk within that deep foreboding cavern in my chest, caught in the void of her cold stare within the mirror. Holding her gaze I felt my soul waver at the hidden malice of her doe brown orbs. They were sticky, like honeycomb, with an underlying detestment which was hard to ignore. Then, in one fluid motion she returned to the calm worried sister she was just moments ago.

That's right.

It's been two weeks since I've become Evangeline Rose Miyako, daughter of the famed Miyako bloodline. I've lost majority of my memories after slipping into a water tower on the night of my 18th birthday, supposedly because I was suicidal. But I know that the story's skewed.

Evangeline - Eva, was supposed to be disposed of that night. At least, that was the plan. Being a naive girl she was sent to the House of Nosferatu to be defiled by the most vile creatures of the dark and auctioned off to some nefarious rich man in the underground market. Her blood, flesh, skin, and bones all of high value due to her brilliant ancestry.

At that point one could assume her fate was sealed. Her short lived destiny completely set and the freedom she had acquired relinquished as soon as she got it. She was sheltered, ignorant of the world around her, pure like a floating lotus - yet in the end, she became a victim to her own innocence.

The one thing she cherished most had become her indefinite end.

The end of herself.

The end of Evangeline.