Hello all! I'm so sorry to just leave you hanging, but I feel like Lost in Time should've been much better for you guys! So here you go, and please, Enjoy!

The Mysterious Rose-

Paris France, 2014~

It was a warm, midsummer's eve. The sun was just beginning to set when a cold, Northern breeze drifts into my open bedroom window, playing with the curtains and caressing my cheek as I read a novel in bed. The cold air chilled my skin, causing me to involuntarily shudder, and reluctantly wrench myself from the twisting plot of my book, The Phantom of the Opera, to shut the window.

Before I do, however, I take in the incredible sight before me. Paris was washed in the glowing hues of a sunset; the Eiffel Tower a mere silhouette in the distance; shadows play throughout the streets. From below the window of our new house, I could hear the sounds of jazz music, laughter, and fleeting conversation coming from Le Cafe de la Rose down the rue, along with the overwhelming scent of roses and red wine.

I take in the scene in delight. This was a much better view than the rolling hills of our country home in Virginia. All of it seems like a dream! One month, I'm living in the small town of Warm Springs, the next I'm in Paris! Sighing in bliss, I close the open panel of my bay window, then go back to my bed to find where I left Raoul and Nadir in the Cellars.

I've read the book at least thirty times; the pages well worn and creased. I got it as a birthday present when I was twelve from my friend, Ruth. I still remember the confusion I had when I tore away the music note gift wrap, and finding a note attached to its cover (I still have the note in a scrapbook i made with pictures of me and Ruth from Middle school to when I moved end of sophomore year).

"My Christine,

May you be a shining star, and maybe

you can find your Erik someday! ;)

Your Beloved Friend,

R.H."

I finally caught onto the joke soon after reading it that very night. I poured over each page with wonder, entranced by the dynamic of the plot and characters. I became obsessed with it. I watched all the play and movie adaptations, and even published a collection of Phantom themed poems on a fanfiction website. My main source of captivation was of Erik, or the Opera Ghost, because of his haunted past, and his search for affection in a world of hate and scorn.

As I neared the end of the book, I couldn't help but think about the move. Our house was packed away, ready to make the International trip to our new home. My parents had decided it was for the best if it could help me activate faster.

Allow me to introduce and explain myself. My name is Christine Elizabeth Delacroix, Daughter of Harmony and James Delacroix. In both sides of my family, there is an inherited mutation in our DNA. This mutation causes the effected member to be able to travel to the past. With these families scattered all over the world, there are laws that we must obey that were established by the eight members of the Heavenly Order, our sort of parliament, if you will. Of these laws, one of the most important law to follow is that a traveler must never alter the passage of time in an extreme way. If you do, It's rumored that the Order will strip you of the mutation, and send you back to your present with no memory of even having it at all.

The mutation usually activates when the traveler is fourteen, but they can't exactly control it until seventeen. Until that time comes, all travelers take lessons in etiquette, history, language and defense for each era. I'm sixteen, but I haven't gotten activated yet (call me a late bloomer). Because of that, we moved to my dad's hometown to see if that would help speed up the process (which I hope it will).

I finish my book well after sunset; my eyes starting to tire with fatigue. I place the book on my nightstand, then sleepily cross my room to get into pajamas. Too tired to pick up my clothes from the floor, I lumber back to my bed to sleep. Before I even climb into bed, however, I see a beautiful red rose resting atop my book.

Bewildered, my tired eyes widen in shock. I gently pick up the rose, finding that, tied to the slender, thorn less stem, with a silk ribbon the color of a glossy raven's wing.

'How did this even get here,' I thought to myself.

'My door was closed the whole time...'

My groggy mind tried pondering over this mystery, but it was very late, and I needed rest.

Deciding to inhale the scent of the rose before thinking too long on this, I put it to my nose. As I smell the delightful, familiar perfume of the rose, my nose detects a trace of another lingering scent; a combination of sage and a musky, forest-like smell. Almost like cologne, but nothing I've ever smelled before. It was oddly comforting, this scent, and it sent chills up my spine.

I set my rose on my well worn copy of The Phantom of the Opera, and climb into bed, turning off my reading light. thoughts of who had given me the rose race through my mind sluggishly. I drift to sleep with the image and lingering scent of the rose ingrained into my mind.

See? This is much better, in my opinion. But tell me what you think! I'd love to hear from yo