FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER TWO- meeting my crush and his hot friends

Isabella was completely, utterly and wholly bewildered. She could not speak, nor think properly. She found herself in disbelief, here but not really here; her mind floating from one memory in the past to her current present.

A memory of five years ago, an opened book in her lap and a younger, healthier and happier version of herself reading that characteristic book in her old room. When she still had a home and a family. Before the war, before her imprisonment and before her mind was filled with dreadful thoughts. Before every part of her was a reminder of what she had endured, of the things that had been done to her and the things she had had to witness. Who will tell my story? She had often wondered when her mind was too restless. I'm nobody, and yet I am someone. People should know what they did. But she had been alone, undeservingly alone. And only her roaring imagination had kept her sane. She had often visualized a different variant of herself, stronger, smarter; and she had pictured him. Always him.

And her present. It was so opposed to what she had once imagined, so sorrowful. A version of her that was barely more than bones. A version of herself so weak and powerless, regretful, miserable. She had felt alive mere seconds ago, but could a dead girl walking be truly alive? Because that's what she really was. Things had gone so wrong, and who had she tried to fool? She was broken, she was alive but her soul had died three years ago. But he was here. Looking right into her soulless eyes, not the way she had pictured it but it was still him. Always him.

How? Why?

Isabella could not believe her eyes. She must have gone crazy, maybe death had finally claimed her and this was where she was where her soul was supposed to dawdle for the rest of her days –which, honestly, didn't sound so bad if he was there with her-. Or maybe she had gone into a coma and this was all a product of her imagination. Or she could be vividly hallucinating. Whatever the reason behind all this was, she was sure of only one thing: this couldn't be real.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn was a character from Isabella's favorite saga of books, Throne of Glass, written by Sarah. J. Maas. She had read the books before the war had started, three years ago, before she was captured. She had loved those books so much...she had dreamed, wished and prayed to be a part of that world, for magic to exist and for her to be able to experience it. She had even written fan-fiction about it. She had been obsessed with the characters, especially Rowan. She had always liked him, from his first appearance to his last. Love had never been her partner, she had never loved somebody romantically and nobody had loved her either. But books, they were so easy to love, so easy to fall in love with their characters. And Rowan, he had been her perdition. So she knew enough about those books to recognize her favorite character.

And it was him who was standing in front of her. His long silver hair tied at his back, his pointy ears visible through it and his facial tattoo a beautiful art. His muscled arms were crossed in front of his –also muscled- chest. And his gaze was unequivocally on her. She felt pierced to her very dead soul by those eyes. She had goosebumps.

Rowan spoke to her, she had no idea what he had said but it had sounded like a question. Isabella was too struck by the whole situation to say anything more than just a simple "what?"

He must have not liked that answer, because he frowned and said something else to her. Isabella didn't understand anything of what he said but his voice caught her attention. It was even more sonorous than what she had imagined. It was manly and attractive, rich, just like the rest of him. Isabella had never been fond of guys with long hair but Rowan had always been the exception. His long silver hair reminded her of starlight and his face...holy shit, his face was even more gorgeous than any fan-art. His tan shiny skin looked healthy and striking. His wicked-looking tattoo etched down the left side of his harsh face that started at his temple and flew over his jaw and down his throat where it disappeared beneath his clothes. His whole self was so stunning that Isabella wanted to ask him anything if it meant that he would just keep looking at her forever.