Remember… remember what? Who?
Though it was impossible that these notes were meant for her, since they were in some stranger's house, she couldn't help but think that somehow, she was meant to read them.
A sudden fit of rage overtook her, as she went over to a small desk and knocked it over, throwing it into the wall.
"Just let me LEAVE!" She screamed, beating the wall with her fist. "I'm not doing this again!"
She abruptly froze, her eyes wide.
I'm not doing this again…?
"But… I've never been here before…" She muttered to herself, slowly turning in a circle, observing the walls as if she expected something to jump out at her.
She exited the library and continued down the hall. An idea was growing at the back of her mind like a disease: growing bigger and bigger – but she couldn't see what it was. It kept escaping her, tauntingly hovering just out of reach of the grasping fingers of her conscience.
One specific thought kept bothering her.
Everything here is so familiar in some twisted way. I almost feel like I've visited this place before…. In a dream, perhaps?
Is it possible for dreams to become real?
The hall became a dead end, only a door dominating the wall before her. Cautiously opening it, she stepped into a hallway carpeted with grass.
Her eyes widened and she gasped in awe at beautiful rose archways lining the pathway. How could such beautiful roses grow here?
As she walked onwards, a growing sense of nostalgia built inside her. A sense of déjà vu, almost.
The hall opened up into a massive room, carpeted with lush, green grass. A massive oak tree dominated the center of the chamber, accented by a wooden bench before it.
Violet took a few steps inside, when suddenly she felt sick. Sick, sick with a nauseous drop in her stomach, a pounding migraine wracking her head, causing her fingers to twitch up and grasp her purple hair in her hands. She gasped out, whimpering at the sudden unexpected disruption in her body. Her brain pounded against her skull, almost as if it wanted out, as if it didn't belong.
She took a few stumbling steps forward before the world spun, and she was on her side on the ground, gasping in pain. Thoughts that almost seemed as if they were not her own pulsed through her mind. Her hands reached out, grasping and clenching at the grass.
Foreign images and emotions flashed in front of her mind's eye, and her conscience reeled in rejection.
This wasn't supposed to happen. This isn't supposed to happen. Get out!
Paper brushed against her fingers. She almost didn't notice until her searching hands grasped it and crumpled the parchment inside her grip.
Her eyes shot open, and the activity in her head halted in curiosity. Slowly turning, her eyes focused on a book laying on the ground, another journal. She'd ripped out a page.
Sitting up, her interest peaked, she reached out and picked up the volume, pulling it into her lap. Opening it almost reverently, she began to read.
He asked me where his daughter was.
… so I told him he killed her.
He X himself.
So I tried to find someone else who would love me.
But they were all afraid of me.
Because I was black.
Violet raised an eyebrow in confusion.
'Because I was black'? What does that mean?
She turned the page.
Mother abandoned me.
Father didn't notice me.
But she did.
Why was I never loved?
Maybe I was.
She loved me.
Why didn't I ever see it?
Her brow furrowed in confusion, her mind turning in questions. Who was the author talking about? Why did she write in such cryptic verse?
Just as she was about to close the book, one more line drew her attention, scrawled in tiny print at the bottom of the page.
.
..
…
I knew you would come back.
The headache was back again.
Violet stumbled to her feet and staggered across the floor, one hand buried in her hair, the other reaching out, grasping at the air.
Her knees collided with something wood and she toppled forward, landing haphazardly onto something. Peeling open her eyes, she saw it was the bench. They widened when they spotted something else.
Another black cat.
A note, splattered with some red substance, was beside it.
She learned forward carefully to read the writing.
Come to my room.
A/N: This story is going to have multiple endings - we're getting closer!