THE ALPHA’S ADDICTION

A sharp crow cry pierced the dark grey skies, as the wolves battled each other venomously, and the man with sharp fangs beheaded some wolves, causing a redheaded girl to scream and shout for help, especially when the man with the sharp fangs noticed her presence.

He zoomed past the fighting wolves, about to snap her neck with a speed of light, when a big black wolf came in between them, obstructing the creature’s evil intent for the girl, but taking the fall there of; having its head snapped off from its neck. The girl screamed more loudly again, in agony this time, at the bloodied sight, the crows now much, shrieking too in deathly harmony as if mourning the death of a great hero; when Emma woke up.

She was bathed in sweat; she noticed as she sat up gingerly on the bed, still trying to process the dream she had just had. It was the same with the one she had last seen when she had slept in Maya’s room, in the governess house. The only difference was that the wolf had saved her in this one before dying. Well, they were both sad and bad. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like the feeling that it gave her. It gave her the creeps.

Using her hand to wipe off the beads of sweat on her face, she got out of the bed, slowly and gently, so as not to awaken Maya who was as dead on the bed, slightly snoring. She smiled at the sight, committing it to her memory to use it to taunt her friend later on, before stealthily opening the door, and walking out of the room.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

The house was dead silent. If as so much as a needle was dropped on the floor, Emma was very sure that she would have heard the sound. She trudged slowly through the hallways, to the kitchen, hoping for a miracle meal in the kitchen. She was suddenly hungry, and not sleepy at all; not after that terrible dream. As she neared the kitchen, she wondered what the dream could really mean.

Last time, she had deducted from the dream that it could be satirical, meaning that the wolves could represent the people of the county she was in, perhaps governmental related issues, a coup d’etat , a ploy to overtake Melvina. She pondered on whether she should tell the older woman about the dream. Well, she had only created that meaning because of the big black wolf; it had Derek’s blue eyes, and reminded her of him.

“But if that is so…why is it that I wasn’t a wolf too. Or why were the wolves used to depict the human folk?” She asked herself, now already in the kitchen. But she couldn’t get an answer. Her mind was unfruitful at that moment. Perhaps for lack of glucose and food in the brain. She thought to herself, smiling foolishly at her inferences.

She walked up to the kitchen counter, and opened the big cooking pot, and found nothing.

‘Well, what were you expecting? You finished the whole food…remember?’ Her mind queried her, while she mused sadly, walking out of the kitchen.

“Time to really explore this place.” She said out to herself, before looking towards the left side and towards the right side from where she stood outside the kitchen confinement; choosing left after some minutes and after some lots have been casted in her mind.

She found herself in the sitting room. She knew because she remembered it was the first place that Maya had taken her to, when she had come visiting Melvina those weeks back. It was the place that she had gifted her first friend her most priced jewellery, the place where she had first perceived her warm scent. She dropped ungracefully into one of the sofas, casting long but sharp looks across the room. She hadn’t really noticed the largeness of the sitting room when she had first come here, since her mind had been preoccupied with the unfaithfulness of her boyfriend then.

She stood up from the sofa conservatively, when she saw a beautiful but mysterious painting on the wall. At a close range, after she had walked up to the point where the painting was hung on the wall, she saw that it was a painting of a very beautiful woman, a beautiful glowing woman, with a bright crescent moon shining above her head, making her illuminate.

“Who could this be?” She asked rhetorically, placing her hands on her waist, as she stared delicately at the picture, lifting one of her hands off her waist a minute later, the right one to be precise, and using it to caress the painting as if in worship. The painting was by far, the most beautiful, yet most mysterious she had ever seen.

The woman in question, didn’t look like any of Derek’s family members, actually it didn’t look like a human kind of, in a special way. It looked too surreal, like an angel.

Perhaps it was one. She thought, wondering why it was even here too. Derek and his family members didn’t look like or behave like the religious sect.

Perhaps it’s for good luck and goodwill. She concluded, remembering her Uncle Trevor, her mother’s younger brother, who had always worn the chaplet on his neck, and had also tattooed it on his chest. He wasn’t a Christian, never went to church, unless it was for the burials or for the marriage ceremonies of his friends or family; but he had never been caught not wearing the chaplet. He had told her, when she was four years old, that it was a protective charm which also brings good luck when worn consistently, and that it didn’t matter if you were a Christian or not; that it always worked. And for ten whole years of her life, she had believed him; for ten whole years of her life she had worn the chaplet until that fateful day when she had failed her exams for the first time.