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·° 。: ✰ : ·° 。
A LOT OF THINGS had been suspicious to her, as of late, but Rosalie couldn't stop thinking about the sudden disappearance of tulip deliveries. What once had been a daily occurrence was now history as soon as she had visited Mystic Falls a few months ago. It would be a lie to say that she didn't miss the smell of flowers wafting in their apartment.
Another constant that had also vanished from her were the nightly dreams/nightmares. Gone were the blissful moments, gone were the haunting scenes of bloodshed and betrayal. To be perfectly fair, it wasn't like she found a moment wherein she was in deep sleep; for every time she shut her eyes became a nightmare in itself. Her eyes were closed, but her mind never shut off, as though she was waiting for something to emerge from the darkness of the night. There were worse things that gnawed at her sanity in the darkest of hours: guilt and grief at the deaths of Elena and Jeremy.
Rosalie almost wanted the nightmares instead.
And so, like the majority of her hours, Rosalie lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The lights were open, the result of her fear of something lurking in the shadows. Fijiㅡgood for himㅡwas sleeping by her leg, a bundle of golden fur that gave her a semblance of comfort. The Monet glanced sideways at her window, which was now bolted shut. The sun wasn't even out yet, and the skies made 4 AM look closer to the evening rather than dawn.
The brunette moved her gaze to her hands, which were holding the sheets to her stomach. Rosalie gulped at the sight of the orange polish covering her nails.
The lacquer stared back at her, the chipped surface slowly vanishing with time. The damaged color reminded Rosalie of her sister every time she saw it, and this time wasn't an exception. The eldest Monet sat up, causing the mattress to dip from her movement. Fiji awakened, blearily searching for her.
"Shh, it's okay, boy," she stroked his head soothingly. "I'm not going anywhere. Go back to sleep."
Rosalie leaned against her headboard, giving the puppy head rubs until he fell back to sleep. Just do it, she thought, following Nike's slogan. The brunette grabbed her phone from the bedside table and scrolled through her contact list. It was with bated breath she impatiently waited, the repetitive ringing increasing her anxiety. Until it stopped. The other line was as silent as she was.
"Alaska?" Rosalie hesitantly murmured, like speaking too loudly would disrupt something. The brunette could no longer register her surroundings, wholly fixated on the call. It was quiet for a few moments, and she started to think that she'd been hung up on, but then her sister's voice was talking.
"...Rosalie," the young Monet replied, just as hesitant. "Uh, yeah, it's me."
"How...how are you?" Rosalie bit her lip, feeling unnecessarily awkwardㅡthis was her sister, her own flesh and blood, after all. How did it get to this?
