Prologue
Upon reading the old letter, my head slowly falls down in distress, as if every part of my body has lost its strength.
This can't be.
A growing heat of rage starts to enfold my nape, provoking me to crumple the thin, almost faded paper in my hands. It goes all the way up to my head as my teeth grit in fear of my unsure future. I can't believe that a stupid, messy piece of paper written by my dead great-grandmother would change my entire life.
In the weirdest way possible.
"N-no," my voice trembles in fear. "I can't do this, Mom," I swiftly toss the letter on the wooden floor. "I just can't..."
"Celine, my dear, listen to me," my mother rushes to me, cupping my round face. I stare at her brown eyes. Several wrinkles surround them. As I examine those evident lines of years on her skin, I could determine that this woman had undergone several experiences in her life. Grief, suffering, regret, big responsibilities, and all of the painful things that had contributed to her growth. Some of them may be successfully conquered by her, and some of them may not.
Including this one.
And I could tell it just by looking at her beautiful, old face.
Mom bends over to me even more. She wraps her arms around me, and her chin leans on my left shoulder, brushing her cheek against mine. "Your life is involved here. You can't just run away from this," she whispers softly in my ear. Along with those two haunting sentences, a thick, hot breath blows against my skin, sending chills down my spine. "You can't do anything but accept it."
I gulp, inhaling all the nervousness within my body. "And what if I don't?"
"You've already read it, dear," Mom says, detaching her head from my shoulder. She gazes directly into my eyes with a look that I can't determine if she feels sorry about my situation or not. "You will die."
As soon as my mother releases the bow of those three words, an invisible arrow strikes me straight to my heart.
I feel like dying already.
The only difference is that I'm sitting here on the wooden chair in the dining room of our old house, still alive but hardly breathing as my brain continues to swim in a deep pool of dark, negative thoughts.
"I know," Mom squeezes my palms in a gentle manner. My head lifts up to look at her. "I used to feel the same way, Celine, but look, we have no choice but to follow it."
With shaky eyelids, I glance at her. When I catch her eyes again, tears start to pour down my cheeks. "This is so unfair," I whimper, balling up my fists as my heart explodes in misery. "I can't choose whom I want to love."
With no response, Mom leans toward me once more. She gives me another hug, but this time, my senses are telling me that something is different.
It feels tighter than before.
