Tears of cold eyes

Chapter 12

Sehe's Point of View:

Okay, my brain is officially fried. Seriously, it feels like someone took a jackhammer to my skull. Was that the last page of Chianell's diary, or just a really, really vivid nightmare? And those kitchen whispers… Ciara and her boyfriend planning to run off? Ciara, who's supposed to be my sister? And I'm supposed to be Chianell? This is insane. Like, seriously insane.

That diary! I thought it was my ticket home, my get-out-of-jail-free card. I still cling to that hope, even though everything feels so confusing. How did I even end up here? One minute I'm at home, the next I'm in some historical drama wearing a stiff, itchy stays and a farthingale that makes it nearly impossible to breathe. This ridiculously heavy skirt is suffocating me.

And Elizabeth. Chianell's best friend. The sea... it's everywhere. I keep thinking about it. I remember flashes of their friendship – laughing, sharing secrets by the ocean. Good times, right? But what does any of that have to do with this? Are those memories clues, or just making things even more confusing?

Ugh, this is overwhelming. Being yanked back in time… It's like trying to solve a puzzle where the pieces don't fit, and half of them are missing. I'm lost. Totally, hopelessly lost. Just some random girl in a weird time period, trying to figure out who I am and how to get back to my own life. The ocean's out there, a giant, scary unknown, but maybe… maybe it holds the answer. Or maybe it's just another dead end. I don't even know where to begin. I just need a really big cup of coffee (or maybe something stronger).

The muddy scent of the church grounds clung to me like a second skin. Ciara chattered about the sermon, but my mind was a million miles away, replaying last night's nightmare: Chianell's diary, its frantic scrawl a damning indictment of Ciara's whispered plans to elope – with him. And that unsettling feeling… something was terribly, terribly wrong.

My feet, still shaky from the previous night's events, betrayed me. One minute I was listening to Ciara's vapid pronouncements, the next, I was sprawling in the mud, my best petticoat a casualty of my distracted state.

"Oh, bother!" I yelped, more surprised than hurt.

Before I could even begin to extricate myself, a strong hand grasped my arm. I looked up. Hazel green eyes, crinkling into the most adorable dimples, gazed down at me with concern. It was him. The man who'd helped me yesterday in the rain.

"Are you alright, Miss...?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

"Uh… yes, thank you," I stammered, my cheeks burning. "I… I seem to have lost my footing." My mind was a whirlwind of anxiety, and the unexpected rescue only amplified the chaos.

Ciara rushed over, her face a mixture of concern and something else… exasperation? "Chianell! Are you quite mad? You'll ruin your gown!"

He chuckled, those dimples deepening. "Indeed, Miss. A most unfortunate accident. Allow me to assist you." His touch, as he pulled me to my feet, lingered, sending a surprising jolt of awareness through me. It wasn't just his touch; it was the way he looked at me, a mixture of concern and something else… something that made my breath catch in my throat.

"Thank you," I whispered, acutely aware of Ciara's eyes on me, burning with a strange mix of annoyance and…curiosity? Was she suspecting something?

He offered his arm. "Shall we?" he asked, his gaze lingering on mine. My heart hammered against my ribs. We walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle rustle of our clothes against the damp earth. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, his gaze met mine. He smiled, a slow, deliberate smile that seemed to reach his eyes and ignite something within them. It was in that moment, suspended between the muddy reality of the church grounds and the swirling chaos of my own thoughts, that he spoke my name – or rather, his name – with a quiet intensity that stole my breath away. "Diolu," he said, the single syllable hanging in the air like a promise, a threat, and a revelation all at once. The name, a simple word, yet it echoed in my mind, a stark contrast to the frantic scrawl in Chianell's diary, a terrifying confirmation, and yet… something more. Something that ignited a flame of both fear and fascination within me.

The lavender scent of my chemise did little to calm the storm inside. My fingers, clumsy with the unfamiliar fastenings of my stays, traced the delicate embroidery—a stark contrast to the turmoil in my mind. He was there, in the village, exactly as described in Chianell's diary: a man with striking green hazel eyes, endearing dimples, and undeniable handsomeness. The diary spoke of her captivated heart, a feeling that now, inexplicably, I seem to share.

My own heart, however, is the source of my bewilderment. The cold that had always plagued Chianell is gone. Completely gone. Yet, the pull towards him, the overwhelming attraction, remains, a persistent, insistent ember. Is this my reaction, or hers? Or some strange, unsettling blend of the two?

His image—the way the light caught the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the way his dimples appeared with a smile—plays on repeat in my mind. The diary detailed her captivated heart, but experiencing this in her body, it feels… different. More intense. More visceral. Is this simply a residue of her past feelings, a ghost in the machine of this borrowed life? Or is something new blossoming here? Something… mine?

I look in the mirror, and while the face staring back is hers, the eyes feel… mine. They are filled with a longing I can't deny, a longing that echoes the words in the diary, yet feels uniquely personal. The weight of my petticoats feels almost symbolic of the weight of this unanswered question. Am I experiencing Chianell's past love, or am I falling for him myself? The line between us blurs, and the confusion is almost unbearable. The only certainty is this powerful, inexplicable pull, a connection that feels both alien and profoundly familiar. It's a feeling I'm struggling to understand, to reconcile with the knowledge that it began long before I arrived.