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“I don’t know how to feel about this,” he continued, gently leaving the comfort of my embrace and turning back towards the center of the room. I watched him as he raked his fingers through his hair nervously, something he always did when he didn’t know what to do or say, and when he needed a physical distraction.
“I mean, I never thought I was normal,” he said, smiling in an apprehensive, defensive way. “But this…” He turned to me. “We need to find out more, Lil. We have to know if this is true.”
I nodded in agreement, walking over to him. “Yes, I know. We can’t ignore this. We should start by gathering more information about Constantine’s past, and about your own family history.”
“The easiest thing would be to speak to my parents, but that is impossible,” he said with a heavy sigh.
Of course, it was. His parents, both his vampire as well as human parents were no longer among the living. He fell into a contemplative silence, lost in his thoughts.
“Is there anything you have of your parents?” I asked him.
“Like what?” he wondered. “Like old photos? I doubt I have a photo of Constantine and me as a baby.” He said it gruffly, but I knew that he didn’t mean anything by it. He was just overwhelmed with this knowledge and he had no idea how to process it yet. I could understand it perfectly and didn’t hold this comment against him.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Not old photos, but something… maybe your human parents found you with something? When you were a baby?”
He thought about it for a moment, then he replied. “Well, my mother had a box of… trinkets, I guess is what they are. Nothing of value. Just… emotional value.”
“Do you still have it?” My hopes flared up that we could find something out about his past, or at least a hint that could direct us in the right path.
“Of course,” he nodded. “It’s one of the rare things I still have of them. Come.”
He left my father’s study and made his way down the castle hallway towards his own study. The atmosphere around us shifted, as I followed him.
The corridor we walked through was illuminated by the warm glow of the antique chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, their crystal prisms refracting the light into a mesmerizing display of colors across the stone walls. Portraits of past generations of my family lined the hallway, each one a stern-faced reminder of my lineage, but at the same time, it felt as if even those stern faces were urging us on in this mysterious endeavor.
A thick, richly patterned carpet ran the length of the corridor, muffling the sound of our footsteps and adding a touch of comfort to the otherwise imposing space which, just like this newfound secret, threatened to swallow us whole. The walls here were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of battles, stories of our past that we were told never to forget.
Adrian disappeared through a nearby door, and I followed him inside. His study was adorned with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with the books all meticulously organized, a testament to my husband’s penchant for order amidst this vast sea of knowledge.
A grand mahogany desk stood at the center of the room, bathed in the soft, golden glow of a classic banker's lamp. The desk was adorned with neat stacks of papers, a leather-bound journal, and a row of ornate pens. It was a place where ideas took form, and where the mysteries of the world were contemplated.
The walls of the study were adorned with various maps, scientific diagrams, and framed vintage illustrations. A large world globe stood in one corner, its surface worn from years of exploration with a finger tracing paths across distant lands. The room seemed to bridge the worlds of art and science, history and imagination.
A plush, worn armchair and a matching settee were positioned near the windows, where the soft afternoon light filtered through heavy velvet curtains. The view from the window overlooked the castle grounds, offering a picturesque vista of manicured gardens and the distant rolling hills.
With a sense of anticipation and apprehension, Adrian retrieved his mother's box from a well-kept cabinet in the corner of his study. The box itself was an unadorned, weathered wooden container that had witnessed the passage of time. As he carefully placed it on the mahogany desk, the room seemed to hold its breath in silent curiosity. Our eyes locked, as if he was waiting for my confirmation to do it. I smiled at him tenderly.
He opened the box, the hinges creaking softly as if the box itself had been waiting for this very moment. Inside, it was just like he said. Trinkets and keepsakes were neatly arranged. Faded photographs, an old pocket watch, crumpled letters, a few more things I couldn’t make out immediately.
Adrian picked up a small porcelain doll, its delicate features and paint worn by time. He turned it over, examining it closely as if searching for hidden clues. I reached for the tarnished locket, feeling the weight of the past in my hands as I opened it, revealing the miniature photograph of Adrian’s mother.
“She was so beautiful,” I whispered, closing the locket tenderly.
“She was,” he replied pensively. “I think you two would have gotten along very well.”
“You think so?” I smiled at his comment.
He smiled back. “I’m sure of it.”
It warmed my heart to hear him say that. I watched him as he continued to sort through the contents of the box, suddenly remembering everything that we had gone through together. I lost my sister first, and now my father. But through both of those tragedies, he had been my rock, my support, my everything. Now, it seemed that all we had was each other and our daughter. Our family. This secret threatened to pull us apart, and we had to discover what the truth really was.
The room remained in near silence, save for the occasional rustle of paper and the soft murmurs of our voices as we pondered the implications of the objects before us. The trinkets, once dismissed as mere nostalgia, now held the potential to reveal hidden connections, stories, and secrets. We had embarked on a journey into the past, guided by these seemingly ordinary keepsakes, in search of the truth that had been concealed for so long.
“I don’t think there is anything here,” he finally said.
I could hear the despair in his voice. I knew that he was desperate to prove, mostly to himself, that none of this was true, that my father had made a mistake.
“Maybe your human parents didn’t know anything about this,” I reminded him. “They only found you, right?”
