Page 69 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

An ugly truth I won’t ever share with anyone.

For how can a sane woman covet a man who can be so cruel?”

Penelope

From Amalia’s Dairies…

Blood drips from my fingers as I write my last entry in this diary. Tears stream down my cheeks, washing away any goodness left in my heart. Soon, the journal that has witnessed my hopes and dreams during the past few months will burn brightly, turning the paper holding my naïve thoughts into ashes.

Because that Amalia died today, and this entry is her eulogy, a funeral of sorts that allows me to say goodbye to the fool I’ve been.

Three days ago, I finally traveled to France to meet Penelope. The doctors gave me the “all clear” months ago, but Lachlan kept me in New York for a while until things settled down and to allow a few people to teach me the things I missed during my captivity.

He even hired a special etiquette lady who showed me how to behave at different gatherings and how to appropriately choose my clothes while advising me to think about my future profession. He created a fake diploma for school but still made me study all the subjects hard. My tutor was very optimistic about me going to a university in a year.

I tried to tell Lachlan he didn’t have to do it, because the folder he brought me about Penelope proved that my sister has a good life, not to mention my inheritance. By the unfamiliar love and longing in my chest, I knew my twin wanted to see me too, so I planned to stay in France by her side.

My heart soared at the idea of her happiness and that our uncle was a good man who cherished the gift he got from his brother, compared to how Beatrice treated me.

Lachlan didn’t listen, but as I discovered, he rarely listens to anyone, and his word around here is considered absolute. He created all these resources for me and told me I could come back whenever I wanted.

However, I was stubborn and insisted on the trip right away, and all the way to France, my mind painted various images of the reunion and how I’d finally know what love feels like. My fingers gently traced her face on the pictures, studying every little expression and finding so many similarities between her and me.

Her dark locks were long, almost reaching her waist, and she wore thick glasses, which made it difficult to gauge her reactions.

Arson, who traveled with me, took me to the mansion; we stopped by the iron gate, and to my surprise, the guard let us in, thinking we had arrived for the wedding.

We entered, and my eyes drank in the beauty around me as the warm spring air caressed our skin. A vast garden was filled with exotic flowers and exquisite marble statues.

A lot of people wearing long dresses and suits arrived, and Arson told me to be careful, but I ignored him. Frantically, I looked through the people to find my twin, and then I spotted her by a huge arch.

I froze in place, watching how she threw her head back and laughed at something Uncle Asher said.

The happiness and peacefulness radiating from her slammed into me, and I swayed to the side, thankfully bumping into Arson who caught me.

Everything around me spoke about luxury, society, and perfect images, which they displayed to the world.

A life where people knew no sorrow and lived in their special circle in which outsiders didn’t belong.

Penelope in her yellow dress among her family and friends seemed almost ethereal, representing everything good with no touch of evil in sight.

Her warm aura almost encouraged you to step closer toward her and discover if the warmth continued to slip into you the longer you stayed in her company.

An angel descended from heaven who knows no grief and probably believed in fairy tales because everyone doted on her.

In all the scenarios playing in my head about our reunion, I never imagined I’d feel so inadequate next to her. Like something dirty that shouldn’t smear her goodness with darkness and all the horrendous deeds done to me in the past.

I cupped my cheek, tracing my fingers over the few scars still marring my skin. They would soon be fixed with surgery. Would she even accept me as her twin, or need one?

My whole life, I dreamed about the moment I’d be with her, because then it would mean an end to my nightmare. A twin who was supposed to be my person, someone who would stand by me through anything.

But even if she dreamed about me… did she expect me to be a burden who might never function normally?

Even right now, acid fills my mouth as various male voices grate on my nerves, and my hand itches to grab a sharp object and shut them up as they merge with the other whispers in my ears, reminding me of the past.

How long will it be till I do something so bad she won’t be able to look at me? Or worse… would I crash her world, and the people she loves might turn their back on her, because her twin is a psycho unable to control her urges?

They say a human heart can hold only so much suffering before it cracks. I would never be able to survive her rejection or the pain of knowing I made her an outcast.

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