So this is a story I've had in my mind for while. Emmelyn and her Dad, Thomas (my two OC characters that this story centre's around) are adapted from my own original story that I have been completed stumped with for years now. OC characters are not something I tend to write so I hope you enjoy this and that it makes sense! Let me know what you think x
Is it possible that everything is true? Fairy tales and horror stories? Is it possible that there isn't anything sane or normal at all? People say you only live once. But people are as wrong about that as they are about everything. (New Moon and Bones)
The sky was dark and the clouds promised thunder, a building burned across the square when I was born. My parents sometimes reflect that those flames had been a warning to them, to all of us. A warning about the Phoenix and the effect it would have on our lives. Phoenix's are not like how they are in mythology, beautiful creatures with the same sapphire blue eyes that my paternal family was famous for. Mythology teaches us that it's a bird of great beauty that creates intense excitement and deathless inspiration. The deathless inspiration I could relate to. The scene I described: that was 1673 in the home of an Anglican pastor and his wife. She screamed in the agony of childbirth and he battled against the flames threatening to overtake the whole square – our church with it. Maman spoke of the bird that flew in the window as the most terrifyingly beautiful thing she had ever seen. She could do no more than watch frozen as the creature let one lone tear streak onto her new-born daughters head. She blames this for the reason we are always born, and die, to fire. I've never been sure if I believed her stories but someone had to explain why we can never rest in peace: this, here in 2008, was the fifth time I had experienced a lifetime.
My first, my should have been only, life was simple. It was only when I was born again in 1744 and again in 1845 that we sure something was wrong. There was always whispers of others that could remember living before but never did it connect to our lives so we kept our secrets and Maman became certain that Phoenix tears were cursed.
1845 was my favourite lifetime. We lived in Texas since apparently Dad's parents had moved there before he was born. How true that was I never sure; I had never met any of my grandparents. Texas was gorgeously hot which contrasted to the previous lifetime where I had spent most of my adulthood in Scotland. The new century had brought us a new life in the middle of World War 2. I was brought up a true Parisian after Maman returned us to the capital – I never got to know my father that lifetime. It made him all the more precious to me now.
I smiled over at him as I excited our tent. We'd finished our two week hike across the Olympic National Forest and we were both completely shattered. We'd started in Port Angeles and headed west across the park to climb the Hurricane Ridge trail, see the hot springs and Lake Crescent. I was glad to collapse just outside Forks. We would rest in Forks for a few days, if we could find where Maman had planned for us to stay at the Miller Tree Inn, before getting the bus back to Port Angeles. We were going to hike back but the weather forecast made our route impassable. If Maman had booked it, our home for the next few days would be absolutely gorgeous. She tried to sell it to us last night when we had found signal to contact her, sharing how she had booked a room on the first floor with windows on three sides. We would have been happy with anything after two weeks of sleeping outside on the hard earth.
Dad grinned at me as I joined him where he was packing up. Still exhilarated from the last two weeks, the blue eyes that he has passed to me sparkled with joy. I had always been my dad's little girl, ever since our first lifetime. I clung to him as my life raft for the world. Seeing him, especially happy like this, always made me feel better.
"Morning, Dad," I was never a morning person but waking up and being straight out in the cool air was refreshing and made me a lot more conversational that I would have normally be.
"Good morning, Emmelyn," I let him hug me with one arm, keeping his other hand around the chair he was attempting to force back into the bag. "Got just over 2 hours to go, you up for it?"
Before I could answer my stomach growled and Dad laughed, quickly rummaging in his pocket for something I could eat. Taking the offered cereal bar, that would do for now but not for long, I helped him pack up and we quickly set off again. After the last couple of weeks, walking two hours along the road was a bit of a boring necessity, especially knowing that the Calawah river was running just over 500m from us at the furthest point. Once we joined the main road heading into Forks, I felt Dad's tension rise. It was not the safest road to walk along and logging lorries flew past us at terrifying speeds. I could practically see the relief wash through him as we approached the 'City of Forks' sign even though we still had to find the Inn. He threw his arm around my shoulder as we entered the city, his dark hair contrasting to my blonde curls, and we glanced around at our new surroundings. No matter how many times we visited America, I could never get over how different some of their cities looked compared to the UK. You'd never find a place that looked even remotely similar to Forks in England.
After two and half hours of hiking on only a cereal bar, my eyes immediately spotted out somewhere to eat once we were in the main area of the city. I pointed the Lodge out to my Dad without a word and immediately he began heading towards it. If I knew my dad as well as I thought I did, he hadn't had any breakfast at all, saving the last of our food for me. I cringed walking in, immediately taking in the stuffed animals on the walls. I could never stand being watched as I ate but I was too hungry to change my mind. We sat in a table by the window, looking at the sleepy city. My stomach growled again.
"Sounds like someone's hungry!" a voice at my shoulder laugh and I turned to find a friendly woman standing at my shoulder with two menus in her hands. "Shall we get you some food, sweetheart?"
I laughed at myself in embarrassment and took the menu offered to me, picking the first thing I saw, "Can I have some cinnamon French toast, please?"
I saw her expression morph to surprise at hearing my English accent but she didn't comment on it. Dad quickly gave his order and then silence fell. We smiled at each other across the table. My father wasn't a very talkative man, he could sit for hours in contented silence. He didn't like big crowds and certainly didn't do small talk. Somehow though, he still managed to charm everyone he spoke to. I was always a little bit jealous.