Manifestations of Memories

"Your Grace?!"

Keith went close, his face brought heavy concern for her.

Nathalie's face kept a straight face, but her cheeks heated up at the moment's notice then she started at the empty plate.

'What was that? What is the—' She covered her mouth as she could feel her hands ran cold, shivering, from what happened.

'I never thought Mystique and Keith would have these kinds of interactions. There were such… Though that memory was perhaps the first time they did it together—so rough, so passionate—'

For a while, she was petrified from what happened to the occasion, ended covering her mouth as she stared in disbelief.

At this point the things she didn't know made it feel like she was no different from a reader that awaited the unexpected.

Another round of redness flushed her cheeks from the sudden flash of memory with him. Her lips parted when she thought of the reason, but for most part of it she couldn't believe that one fact.

In the same place.

At the same time.

It wasn't the first time they craved, desired one another.

Her body remembered every touch from him.

It gave a tingling sensation that coursed through her. She hugged herself, pinching as though to ease the pain, but it only got worse.

'Does this mean his sudden reactions were all because of this? No! It should've been Athan and Mystique though—' Nathalie ended up fanning herself as she couldn't take how spicy the scene was for her. 'Damn, it feels so hot in here.'

'But what could those explicit scenes mean? Those didn't even appear in my dreams!'

She'd be damned if such a thing happened in between her dreams, perhaps the bed would or wouldn't get drenched just as well.

'But things aren't adding up, how come he became Mystique's personal bodyguard?'

Many readers lamented how Keith Alexander Dewlake had qualities enough to contend as lead male material; most would rank him as the second lead. Although, his ceaseless glares and cold shoulders from the rest of the characters in the story, the Heroine included, caused distress among the fans.

'Keith… Damn it girl, use your brain even just for a second, what on earth happened? Did I miss something on his profile?'

After scrutiny, she realized what would be the gist that she got to draw a conclusion. But the more she kept on thinking about it caused her to grab a handful of her hair as she winced in sharp pain that sruged her head.

Keith, on the other hand, went close to her, looking all worried.

"Rest assured, I'm fine."

Nathalie calmed down first, then thought those memories she acquired with Mystique and Keith rooted from core information she knew: her curse.

Nathalie, subconsciously, bit her nails as she stared at the platters displayed before her.

Never she had, as an author, elaborated such regarding Mystique's activated curse, let alone too sexually explicit; she could never hand them to her readers: details and mechanisms remained unknown.

'But if it's true, then how?! This can't be happening!'

Her groans frightened the butler, who tended to her needs throughout the meal, perhaps with a thought how disappointed she was from the dishes. Noticing him, she regained her composure and shrugged it off for him.

It was somehow trivial; these things weren't part of the main plot; she could make a spin-off or sort of it, but it was different now that she was Mystique Blackwell. She dearly loved the villain character but not to this extent.

After all, it was too much to mind someone else's business; private life was too much, even for characters like her.

Even Tyler, logical speaking, spat about how trivial it was and how it wouldn't advance the plot plus word count quota.

But because of several information that got skipped and overlooked, were now akin to fragmented memories to a character.

'I just hope this doesn't deviate much with the storyline. If I use the right cards, I can win right?'

This made Nathalie feel ashamed for herself, despite being the author caused her not to know them much at all.

'I might need to ask Keith— ' However, she stopped when Keith glanced at her with that innocent face of his. 'Nevermind, it's awkward; should I ask the curse, in general, from Arnold?'

It was somehow out of her expertise; she might have known a fragment but not foolproof; it's better to ask a guaranteed source.

Being an author, to her, wasn't all nice. She loved writing, fact. But as it goes on, she feared that it would drive her insane, hence with the consultation of her mental health, both therapy and medications if she had to.

Throughout her life, these panoramas of dreams spoke to her in an unusual way, like a gut feeling she had to write them down. Ever Since she did it, it was like a soothing feeling on her soul.

'This is surreal.' She slapped her forehead from the sudden dizziness that swirled inside her.

From her stories, most of them were dreams that got fragmented, and she connected them to pieces as she deemed fit from writing them. There was an urge for her to do so.

Every time she detached from reality or in her lucid dreams, it was a breathtaking experience, and what she knew screamed a part of her to tell a crafty story.

Even the sequel wasn't an exception. The manuscript she wrote went the same way—the scenes that was surreal ever since

'It's true that I have dreamed such a thing but to be Mystique Blackwell for the rest of my life…'

A surge of fear spread through her heart, and goosebumps that were all over her.

The more she knew about her predicament, the more uncertainties laid down for her to tackle.

But she was born a fighter, and definitely, she won't take no for an answer.

In her sumptuous meal, she flinched from her seat when a sudden clamor resounded on the archway she went earlier. She took a sharp turn, and it was a tall man, anchoring his arm to the side while gasping for air.

One could tell he was a beggar at first glance.

With his messy periwinkle hair and stubbles , puffy eyes, and wrinkling face, along with his beige greatcoat, inner and trousers smeared with dirt and muck, was all she could discern from afar.

Only until his voice croaked that she was certain.

"My Mysti?"