The painting of Alehandro Roman(18+)

To think all this had happen because of a painting. Nine years back Azalea Morgan’s life was what you could describe as perfect but as she sat at the opposite end of the hallway her tear filled eyes trained on the painting all she could feel was hatred. Hatred for the painting, hatred for herself, hatred for everyone that had caused her life to end up like this. “behind every dark cloud there is a silver lining. Always remember that your darkest hour comes before your dawn.” Her mother had always told her, but it seemed to be the complete opposite for her. Her dawn had come before her darkest hour. At that point the loud banging on the front door that had been going on a little over five minutes caused her to finally snap back to reality. Maybe because the banging was louder, almost as if the door had been broken down. As if something had snapped inside her, her eyes widened, realization hitting her like a rock. She quickly jumped to her feet her eyes scanning the hall for any possible acceptable place to hide. The sound of iron hitting iron caused her breathing to become laboured. It was obvious the intruder was trying to announce his presence. Almost like he was mocking her knowing she had no where to run. Rushing towards her mother’s private closet she pulled the door close behind her the light creek causing her to freeze and shut her eyes in fear praying that God…if there was a God would save her. Azalea had never been the religious type much to her grand mother’s displeasure, as a matter of fact the last time she had stepped foot in church was about seventeen years back when she was around the age of nine or younger, she had gone to stay with her mother for the summer break right before the start of middle school. She remembered complaining through out the service the glares from the older women around her didn’t seem to faze her. All the remaining Sundays after, she’d wake up hours before her grand mother and run to the woods behind their house to hide only returning when her grand mother had gone. The first time she had done that she had received the scolding of a life time but that didn’t stop her from doing it the other three Sundays. At this point she swore that if the God her grandmother had continued to go on about would save her just this once she would give her life to him, she would attend every program held in church, even join a service unit if she had to. It was at that point she had noticed that the pace of the intruder still remained the same. Slow leather shoes squeaking below the clear wooden ground, he was sure he would get her, have her begging for his mercy, the death of something she knew nothing about seemingly inevitable. The sound of door after door being slammed open resulted to her pushing herself deeper into the wardrobe the clothes shielding her from whatever was to come. And as though she had not just been pressed up against a hard wall mere seconds ago, she fell, the darkness she had tried all her life to hide from, taking that moment to swallow her whole. The feeling of her back hitting a trampoline like object, or so she assumed by the was it had sent her flying a few inches into the air after contact, sent pain rushing through her fragile bones making her feel like she was a push away from breaking and falling apart. Getting off the object, her eyes scanned the dimly lit room noting the fact that it had clearly been previously used. There was a stained white sofa in a corner of the room accommodating a pillow and a small duvet. In front of the sofa was an equally large glass table with books and papers scattered all about it, a drained out candle sitting at a corner of the table. Another corner of the room held a slightly empty book shelf where she assumed the books on the table were meant to be placed. Above the shelf was an exact replica of the painting that was hung along the hallway just upstairs. The prominent colour of the painting was blue, though slightly hard to see. There was a man,a king, seated on what she had always assumed to be a throne. The wall behind him held a floral painting Azalea had never given much thought to. Perched on the shoulder of the king was a blue bird, its beak, if it had one, was hidden behind its feather but it had its eyed trained down to the shoulder of the king like it was scratching it's beak. On the other hand of the king was as staff, a cobra staff, slightly slanted but held proudly the eyes of the snake was emerald green and it seemed like it's aim was to hypnotize someone. Azalea knew the painting had some sort of serious meaning, if the drawing itself hadn’t given it away then the way her parents worshipped the painting sure as hell did. Pulling the painting down from the wall her eyes searching the painting thought not sure what she had expected to find. The feeling of a hunched part behind the painting made her eyebrows cease before turning it around to see whatever it was. “I’d drop that id I were you.” The sudden sound of an unfamiliar voice caused her to freeze on the spot her heart running at what she expected to be a thousand beats per minute. Though the room looked used it gave no sign of anyone’s resent presence. “I simply said you should drop the painting not freeze. I’m not the police neither do I even have a gun to begin with.” The person spoke again. Though slightly reassuring it didn’t stop her from being on high alert. Turing slowly to where the voice had come from it was then she noticed the door that sat wide open a little distance beside the trampoline. There was a man, walking towards the table a cup of what smelt like coffee in one hand and a waffle in another. “who are you?” she managed to ask her eyes subtly scanning for any sign of threat on him and in the same process looking for any object she could use to defend herself if he indeed turned out to be a threat. “i honestly didn’t expect you to find me so quickly. I guess I really did underestimate your mother when she said you were brilliant.” He said, ignoring her previous question. “A Sherlock Holmes in the making I believe?” he chuckled, bringing the steaming cup of coffee to his lips. “My apologies, if I had known you’d find me so early I would’ve made two.” He spoke again gesturing to the cup. “Who are you?” Azalea asked again, her voice calmer and bolder as she stared at him dead in the eye. “Christopher Ron. But you can call me Chris.” He replied calmly. Her eyes widened at the mention of his name. She most definitely knew him, he was a legend and was supposed to be dead…. “i don’t get it. You’re meant to be…” “Dead?” He questioned cutting her off and stretching his leg across the sofa like whatever she was saying didn’t mean anything. “There’s something called acting, princess. Though it was almost impossible to find someone who looked like me, we made it work.” He shrugged only making her more confused in the process. “we?” she asked with a raised brow and he nodded taking a sip from his mug again. “your mother and I” he explained and her eyes widened. “I guess it’s about time I explained this better.” He sighed placing the mug and the barely eaten waffle on the table before getting to his feet and walking towards her. “I’ll be taking this thank you very much.” he spoke in a sarcastic tone as she snatched the painting back from her hand and placed it back on the wall. “About 45 years back your mother, Queen Serena ruler of Pigiton, the last of the seven lost Nations.” He began but her glare cut him off as he cowered back creating a reasonable distance between them both. “What?” he asked wide eyed knowing very well that if looks could kill he’d be more than just six feet under. “Do you think this is some sort of joke?” She asked, her hard glare trained of his slightly flustered face. “There was someone up there, trying to kill me!” she exclaimed in anger. “And then all of a sudden I’m falling down from a hole, or door or whatever it was that opened up. And I find myself here, in a room with you claiming you’re Christopher Ron. The same man who was brutally assassinated ten years ago and let’s not forget I was there for his funeral, I saw his face! When I gracefully give you a chance to explain your self, this is the crap you find to tell me, some made up fairy tale story, what are you? 12?” She sneered her anger seeming to intensify just by looking at his face. “Actually I'm 35." He pointed out, a hurt look on his perfect face. "I should have known you wouldn’t believe me.” He groaned running a hand through his hair. “I really don’t know how to explain this to you princess.” he added dropping back on the sofa. “let’s start by you not calling me princess and then telling me the truth.” she replied arms folded over her chest her gaze straight at him and unwavering. “I actually am telling the truth, princess." He mocked making her roll her eyes in annoyance. "Your mother was a queen before she married your father. The same people that had destroyed her kingdom and caused her to flee 45 years back are the same people up there right now in your house looking to kill each and everyone related to your family cause you hold something they’re after.” He sighed, his words holding Azalea down like a block. “The painting as you know was made by late Alehandro Roman and should be over a hundred years old. Your ancestors, those who ruled before your mother hid something. The only thing powerful enough to end this feud if used by the right person. Though if fallen in the wrong hands can end humanity….forever. Your mother believes this is the reason you were born, this is your destiny.” “so what does the painting have to do with any of these?” She asked “There are only two paintings made. One by Alehandro himself and another by his great grand son Malcolm Roman. The painting is assumed to be the key but I’ve studied it for years, each and every stroke but I can’t seem to grasp it.”He explained, a frustrated look crossing his features as he once again ran a hand through his hair an act Azalea realized he did only when he was frustrated or found something way too hard to grasp. “Are you sure it’s the painting or what’s inside the painting?” she questioned suddenly remembering what she had felt when she held the painting. “What do you mean?” He asked, his eyes snapping back to her then to the painting again as she walked towards it, pulled it down and tore the back where she had felt the lump and pulled out and envelope waving it at him with a smirk. “Oh my…” He gasped jumping up from the chair and running towards her. “This is why your mother chose you.” he chuckled proudly, taking the envelope and pulling it open. In the envelope was a map, though old and blurry, not very hard to understand. “it’s not complete…” he muttered his eyebrow furrowing. “The painting upstairs.” She exclaimed with wide eyes and he nodded quickly, a smile on his face again. “it looks to me like we have a quest to embark on, princess.” He smirked. “but how about we start by you taking a shower.” he mocked earning a glare from her causing him to burst out in laugher before directing her to the bathroom.