now.
Watching the few boxes still left unpacked against the wall, except for the absolute necessities, it was yet another reminder that of her 197 years of existence, she hadn’t amassed much. Most of it were pieces of clothing appropriate for her line of work, pairs of running gear, shoes, toiletries, a few decorous pieces of jewellery and her mother’s necklace.
A part of her had burned with embarrassment at the pained look in Jon’s face as he realised that she never did ever start living once they parted ways. Did he finally realise that this past century all she saw forward to was the day he’d come back to her and tell her that he’d been mistaken, and that he’d rather live a tormented life with her, than an empty one without her?
She couldn’t hold it against him for moving on. She never would. It was a bittersweet feeling, being so very happy for him, and at the same time being so deeply heartbroken for herself, realising that he now had someone that made him happy in a way she never could, and that she never could compete with that.
“That combination just doesn’t make any sense. At least pick a darker pair of slacks..”
“But that’s just it. The other pairs are too commanding. Maybe..”
“I can dress myself just fine,” she now said, deciding to put her two aides out of their misery. They seemed utterly shocked to hear her speak, brilliantly burning eyes turning her way, one pair with dark as night irises, the other a golden brown.
She now concentrated on the one with eyes that much resembled her own.
“Raven?” She asked.
“Yes,” Raven answered. She was young, that much Anja could tell, and she had known all along that which Anja had only now deduced.
“Of what house?” Anja asked cautiously, her heart drumming away in her chest. She didn’t ask for her surname, for only pure-bloods got to keep the surnames of their pure-blood parents. Half bloods were known as someone of the house of someone.
“Nordskov,” the young woman answered, looking on at Anja with uncertainty, and something else yet unpinnable.
“How old?” Anja’s voice was borne down with angst as she asked this, praying inside that this young beautiful girl before her was actually younger than her, as it’d mean she’d not had the unfortunate luck of being fathered by Klaus Nordskov, her father.
“Eighty nine..” Anja let out a deep sigh of relief at that piece of information. Her father had been long dead by then.
“Ejner’s?” She now asked, and the young woman nodded, a smile on her face, her eyes glinting proudly. A good sign, her brother Ejner must have been a great father. A good thing to know, considering all he’d witnessed as a child.
Anja couldn’t stop her mind now from going back to that time, her life before she joined the Gunnarsen family. Most of her memories to before she was six years old were a blur, her mind having shut it all out.
Old Torben, she remembered. Her mother, she remembered very clearly too, as she did her pure-blood brother Ejner, with whom she would often attempt to outrun with her short legs.
Ejner was one hundred and seventy three when she was born, and for a long time she’d haboured some form of resentment at him, for not having helped her on time. It was much later in life that she realised he’d have helped her if he ever suspected what was going on in his father’s home.
Ejner lived away when Anja was born, and was working as Area Three’s Commissioner under Mazu Mazoki himself, the head of a much revered African pure-blood family who was then Governor of the African continent’s Draugr population, or what is commonly termed as Area Three. However Ejner made sure to visit each summer from the Gold Coast that was the capital of Area Three, and would always bring with him more sweets and chocolates than she thought she could stomach. She always managed stomach it all however, despite her mother’s instructions.
Anja can’t remember when it began, it
Watching the few boxes still left unpacked against the wall, except for the absolute necessities, it was yet another reminder that of her 197 years of existence, she hadn’t amassed much. Most of it were pieces of clothing appropriate for her line of work, pairs of running gear, shoes, toiletries, a few decorous pieces of jewellery and her mother’s necklace.
A part of her had burned with embarrassment at the pained look in Jon’s face as he realised that she never did ever start living once they parted ways. Did he finally realise that this past century all she saw forward to was the day he’d come back to her and tell her that he’d been mistaken, and that he’d rather live a tormented life with her, than an empty one without her?
She couldn’t hold it against him for moving on. She never would. It was a bittersweet feeling, being so very happy for him, and at the same time being so deeply heartbroken for herself, realising that he now had someone that made him happy in a way she never could, and that she never could compete with that.
“That combination just doesn’t make any sense. At least pick a darker pair of slacks..”
“But that’s just it. The other pairs are too commanding. Maybe..”
“I can dress myself just fine,” she now said, deciding to put her two aides out of their misery. They seemed utterly shocked to hear her speak, brilliantly burning eyes turning her way, one pair with dark as night irises, the other a golden brown.
She now concentrated on the one with eyes that much resembled her own.
“Raven?” She asked.
“Yes,” Raven answered. She was young, that much Anja could tell, and she had known all along that which Anja had only now deduced.
“Of what house?” Anja asked cautiously, her heart drumming away in her chest. She didn’t ask for her surname, for only pure-bloods got to keep the surnames of their pure-blood parents. Half bloods were known as someone of the house of someone.
“Nordskov,” the young woman answered, looking on at Anja with uncertainty, and something else yet unpinnable.
“How old?” Anja’s voice was borne down with angst as she asked this, praying inside that this young beautiful girl before her was actually younger than her, as it’d mean she’d not had the unfortunate luck of being fathered by Klaus Nordskov, her father.
“Eighty nine..” Anja let out a deep sigh of relief at that piece of information. Her father had been long dead by then.
“Ejner’s?” She now asked, and the young woman nodded, a smile on her face, her eyes glinting proudly. A good sign, her brother Ejner must have been a great father. A good thing to know, considering all he’d witnessed as a child.
Anja couldn’t stop her mind now from going back to that time, her life before she joined the Gunnarsen family. Most of her memories to before she was six years old were a blur, her mind having shut it all out.
Old Torben, she remembered. Her mother, she remembered very clearly too, as she did her pure-blood brother Ejner, with whom she would often attempt to outrun with her short legs.
Ejner was one hundred and seventy three when she was born, and for a long time she’d haboured some form of resentment at him, for not having helped her on time. It was much later in life that she realised he’d have helped her if he ever suspected what was going on in his father’s home.
Ejner lived away when Anja was born, and was working as Area Three’s Commissioner under Mazu Mazoki himself, the head of a much revered African pure-blood family who was then Governor of the African continent’s Draugr population, or what is commonly termed as Area Three. However Ejner made sure to visit each summer from the Gold Coast that was the capital of Area Three, and would always bring with him more sweets and chocolates than she thought she could stomach. She always managed stomach it all however, despite her mother’s instructions.
Anja can’t remember when it began, it
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