What was it?


    What is it? What was the song?


    A Thousand Years by Christina Perry pops into my head and I immediately jump out of the bath and


    Google it on my Spotify on my phone.


    I frown and press y then sit in the dark and listen to the words.


    Heart beats fast,


    Colors and promises.


    How to be brave?


    How can I love when I’m afraid to fall?


    How to be brave.


    He said he wasn’t brave enough to love me in the beginning. Am I brave enough to love him now?


    Fucking hell. I’m so confused.


    In the dark and alone, the tears slowly roll down my face. What does that song mean? It’s the theme


    song for Twilight? What the hell does that mean? Don’t be afraid. What is he trying to tell me?Text property ? N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org.


    I lie in the bath for over two hours, until finally, my wrinkled skin can take it no longer. I climb out of


    the bath and drag my heavy soul to bed. Lying in the darkness, the tears run onto my pillow. I don’t know


    what to think. I don’t know what to feel. I am so confused. Am I going fucking crazy?


    I’m in love with a criminal who speaks in cryptic code and I don’t know how to stop it. How do I turn


    this love off?


    Am I searching for answers that just aren’t there?


    Is it wishful thinking?


    My email pings on my phone and I sit up suddenly. Finally, it’s the maps of the castle that I have been


    waiting for. They must have only juste through. I get up and turn myputer back on to open the


    map before Iy back in bed in the darkness. I trace my finger along the screen as I try to work out where


    we were in the castle the other night. After twenty minutes, I finally find the room with the staircase and


    my heart skips a beat. I put my hand up to my mouth in shock as the hairs stand up on the back of my neck


    once more. The staircase went to the very bedroom that star and I were staying in.


    I shake my head as exhausted tears take over, and I flop back down onto the bed.


    “I don’t understand,” I gasp into the silence though my tears.


    I lie in a semi-conscious state as I listen to Christina Perry’s song on repeat. Somewhere between


    utter heartbreak and psychic Twilight hell.


    The light flickers in my eyes and I squint to make out the shapes. It’s me and I am sitting in the sun outside.


    I can hear birds chattering around me. This is a happy ce and I feel rxed and warm in the sun. I’m


    lying on a lounge or something soft.


    “Just put your head up to the sun,” he tells me.


    Huh? Who’s there? ncing up, I see a man painting on an easel. He studies me and goes back to his


    painting. He’s painting me. My eyes drop down to see that I am arranged on the couch with a cashmere


    nket draped over my naked body.


    I gasp in shock and sit upright in bed. Perspiration wets my body and my nightgown sticks to my skin.


    I breathe heavily as I try to control my racing heart. What was that? I swing my legs over the side of the


    bed and put my head into my hands as I pant, out of breath.


    Painting.


    What does a painting mean? I stand and walk back over to the table where the folder of stolen artwork


    imagesy and start to flick through them. I’ve never really looked at the pictures carefully before. The


    first is a woman with long dark wavy hair. She’s in bed, and I narrow my eyes as I think. She’s sexy and


    her nket is strategically ced. My eyes look at the room surrounding her. The bedroom is luxurious


    and I hold the paper up close to study it. I would say it’s around the seventeenth century based on the


    furnishings.


    Hmm. I flick to the next painting to see it’s a woman sitting outside on a chair. She has dark hair that is


    an borate up style and is wearing a beautiful red evening dress. Her back is ramrod straight and she is


    wearing a corset, her breasts high in her low cut dress. This woman has money and she appears to have


    social stature. She’s wearing a ring and I hold the printed paper up to my face.


    Hang on. That’s my ring.


    Huh? I hold my hand up to look at the ring on my hand. They must have beenmon back in the day.


    What a crazy coincidence. I flick to the next picture and frown. It’s a lead pencil drawing. I put my hand


    over my mouth in shock. It’s of a young girl I’ve seen before. She’s smiling and sitting on the bed of a


    creek.


    It’s Elizabeth.


    Henry drew this.


    Oh my God. Tears form.


    My book isn’t imaginary.


    It’s real.


    I look to her hand and she also has a ring on as mine. Goosebumps scatter my skin I begin to hear my


    heartbeat in my ears and the room starts to spin. I flick through all of the paintings at double speed. All


    women, all have the same ring on.


    My ring.