To No One in Particular

October 9th

Roman
It wasn't the smoke that woke Roman. Or the scream that would soon sound from her twin brother. In fact, Roman had no remembrance of the fire starting at all-nor how she ended up outside. She had woken up hours before with a feeling of impending doom and tossed aimlessly around in her bed, before altogether giving up on sleep. Her legs swung over her bedside as she silently slipped her night shoes on, creeping out of her door and down the hall.
She made certain to stay close to the walls as not to make the floorboards creak. They did anyway, and she gritted her teeth together in a grimace.
Old victorian houses knew exactly when you were alone; that's when they decided to scream your location for all to hear.
Navigating her way through the dark, she went from room to room until she found the one with the peculiar door knob.
Instead of being a sphere like most door knobs would be, it was instead a circle with a line through it running top to bottom -like a cat eye with an extended pupil. It had been there ever since she could remember; sometimes it felt as though it was judging her.
That wasn't the only odd doorknob in their home though. Every one of the 23 doors had a different knob from the rest. Roman knew what they all looked like- she ought to, having her whole life to memorize them- and often drew them with her brother, Caspian, when they were younger.
She pushed the door open as quietly as she could manage and slipped inside.
No matter how many times she walked through that door, the library never ceased to amaze her. The musty books flooded her with wisdom and grace while the stores in them told tales of humanity and magic.
From a very young age, Roman's parents had installed the importance of reading in her mind. She spent countless hours here, reading upon subject after subject with the only intent of discovering knowledge. Two vast desks sat in the middle of the room where Caspian and Roman did their studies surrounded by any plant one could ever imagine. On the ceilings were the paintings of the greek and roman gods, as they had always been her and her mother's favorite. That's where Roman got her name.
When she was younger she had hated her name. Kids at school would tease her, calling her names and making rumors of how she sacrificed babies to the roman gods. She couldn't even count the number of times that people had told her that her name wasn't a real name. The final straw was Alex Fibley.
In third grade, Alex Fibley took her favorite mythology book out of her locker and ripped it apart page by page while all the time chanting, "Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice!" Without thinking about it, she smacked Alex across the face as hard as she could.
Alex ran sobbing to the teacher, who sat Roman in a chair and made her miss break time. Roman had tried to explain to Mrs. Hensen what happened, but all she did was shrug and respond "Boys will be boys." in a monotone voice that implied that she did not care.
When her mother and father found out what had happened, they made the decision to homeschool Roman from there on out. Caspian didn't want to be alone, so he transitioned to homeschooling too.
Roman sat down on the ledge of the large bay windows that overlooked the gardens outside. Her father was the green thumb in the family. Once, he had given Roman a pot of Zinnia flowers. He had gotten on one knee when he presented it to her, as she was much shorter than she was now. "These-" He handed them to her, "are Zinnias. They're supposed to be unkillable. I grew them, just for you!"
It turns out that plants that are supposed to be unkillable are dirty liars. The Zinnias died in a week. Roman felt so bad, she hid the dead plant under her bed and, when the whole house was sleeping, she slipped outside and put it in the compost bin hoping he would never find out. Her father never did ask about them, but Roman was pretty sure that he knew. He was just like that sometimes.

The grandfather clock striked eleven, jolting Roman from her thoughts. Only then did she hear the whisperings.