Translations:

Merde - Shit

Je m'appelle - My name is

Va te faire foutre, enculé - Fuck you, bastard

Le Château de L'Horreur - The Castle of Horror

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There's no such thing as paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment.

Hunter S. Thompson

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Shivering slightly in the cold air blowing from the vents of the inky taxi that had picked her up from the airport, Rose shifted nervously, skipping through songs on her phone haphazardly as she stared out the window. Her insides felt as though they were going to war, and her anxiety made it hard to focus on anything, even a fantasy world, so she just watched the lovely scenery blur past in silence.

It was anxiety-inducing, not being in control of her future. Damien could pull the rug out from under her with dizzying speed, sending her crashing to the ground with no way to predict where she'd fall.

Though, Rose guessed that she wouldn't mind his manipulation of her life as much if it didn't involve Ash, Miri, and Alaine. The fact that their heads could end up at her doorstep with no consequence was what made her gut turn. There was nothing she loved enough otherwise, not even her health to be frank.

As part of a wall came into view in the distance, Rose braced herself for the worst. Damien wouldn't send her here if it weren't bad. And as they pulled up, she wasn't disappointed. The wrought iron gates looked like they could easily be the entrance to Hell. "Oh, fantastic. I'm being dropped off at Murder Lane and being sent to live in Serial Killer Mansion, home of all the horror movie tropes," she muttered, earning a chuckle from the driver as he came around to help her heave her suitcase out of the trunk.

Sarcasm and dry humor were her shields against the jittery panic that told her to run, to fling herself into the forest and pretend she'd died on a roadway in Japan. But what would happen to her siblings if she did that? It would be too selfish, and Rose wouldn't be able to live the rest of her life with the ignorant guilt.

The driver opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then shut it reluctantly as he caught sight of her curious stare. Getting back into his taxi, he gestured at her fox patterned suitcase like he wanted her to do something with it before driving off.

Rose bent down to study it and noticed the business card sticking out of the small pocket she'd been too lazy to close. On it was the taximan's info and the scribbled words 'Good luck.' She was indeed going to need it, she thought grimly as she slid the card back into the pocket and zipped it.

Taking a deep breath, Rose pushed through the gates just as the grey clouds that had been hanging low in the sky all day took that as a cue to unleash the water they had caged within them. That or God had decided to spit on her to show his displeasure at her living situation. Whichever was more believable to you. After all, you are the reader.

"At least it hasn't begun to thunder. That would be even more clich-" Flash. Boom! A bolt of lightning shot through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. "Merde!" Rose cursed, jumping a little at the plot convenient noises that drove her towards the foreboding house at the end of the long, neat path.

Yanking her poor, battered suitcase along with her, Rose darted up the path, sadly not fast enough to escape getting soaked. When she finally made it to the doorstep, she was shivering, dripping wet, and gasping for breath. "Merde, I need to exercise more if a small sprint can make me breathe so heavily," Rose muttered to herself. Then, she looked down at the rather long way to the gate and grimaced. "On second thought, it's perfectly fine that you're winded." She possibly had a slight problem with talking to herself. Possibly.

Straightening up and spinning to face the door that was so cliche it could get its own cheesy Wattpad fanfiction award, Rose hesitated, trying to force herself to knock. Both the taxi driver's note and Damien's eagerness to send her here had her on edge, and Rose was not at all ready to be shanked the moment she grabbed the doorknob.

"Come on, you stupid girl. Just knock on the damn door and get it over with," she berated herself aloud, finally reaching up and slamming the knocker home a few times. The echoing boom was somewhat poetic in sealing her fate. Leaning against the wall to her right, Rose waited patiently for the door to be opened. Sadly, it was not, and she stood shivering for several more minutes before knocking again. Still no response.

"For fuck's sake! Is no one here?" Rose growled. Still no response. "Open sesame," she tried and lept back in shock as the door creaked open. More curses slipped through her lips, and no one could say Rose was picky as she used all three languages she knew to express her shock and distaste at the door's defiance of all laws of physics.

And it had, as she glimpsed no one on the other side of it, nor any mechanism that would self-operate. Maybe she should get it a book on Newton's Laws for Christmas. Rose stuck her head inside quickly, observing only a dim entryway with a magnificent chandelier just waiting for her to use to Dobby someone.

"This is getting creepier by the second. I'm now waiting for a crazy ax murderer to jump out of the bushes or a corpse to fall from the ceiling." She paused, thoughtful. " Well, if either one does, I'll be screwed whether I'm inside or outside, so might as well get out of this rain," she muttered, trying to convince herself to step foot in the mansion. Rose had probably watched too many horror movies with Miri, but at least no one could say she wasn't a damn good sister. And it was better than sitting through Jar-Jar Binks with Ash. Alaine could suffer that.

Finally, after shivering in the rain for a few more minutes, Rose decided to try her luck inside, though not before scouring the garden for a sizable rock to use as a doorstop. Her horror movie training had taught her always to have an exit and that doors that opened on their own closed on their own.

Poised on the balls of her feet, Rose took in her surroundings, still quite impressed with the chandelier. "Someone could be in and out with that in mere minutes. That is if they were good at unscrewing chandeliers and climbing ladders," Rose rambled to no one as she tapped her fingers against her leg. Maybe just a product of her nervousness, but she seemed to be talking to herself a lot in the past few minutes. A worrying amount, in fact.

Continuing her observations, Rose felt more and more paranoia creep up on her. Opulent was a word that described the inside quite well, and she thought it was rather odd that such a beautiful house appeared to be deserted, the inhabitants seemingly either nonexistent or just out to get their nails done. It made her hair stand on end.

Suddenly, Rose felt her skin prickle, hairs rising and goosebumps appearing as though she'd stepped into a freezer. A hand then wrapped around her arm, and she found herself jerked around to face a very pissed off guy with hair whiter than an eighty-year-old's.

"Who the hell are you?" His harsh snarl took her a few moments to process, as she was still getting over the shock of his sudden appearance. Then, once she realized that a guy with white hair was in fact in front of her and that he was not, in fact, looking happy to see her, she tried to yank her wrist from his grasp and put distance between them before answering. This failed spectacularly, and she just went for answering.

"Um, Je m'appelle, uh." She paused, berating herself for using the wrong language. She untangled the mess of words in her head, having not spoken her father's native tongue this much in months. "Fuck. There we go. My name is Rosemarie Ann Bonnaire, and I was sent to live here by my legal guardian because I fucked up on purpose," she replied bluntly, figuring honesty was the best policy in this situation.

"You were asked to live here? What bullshit," he muttered, and Rose made a noise of protest, her eyebrows knotting together in an angry scowl of her own as she fought the urge to hit this albino asshole.

"Va te faire foutre, enculé! Are you insinuating I'm making all this up to...what? Get a stay at Le Château de L'Horreur? I assure you, I wouldn't be here if it were up to me," she ground out through gritted teeth. "Are you in charge of the house? I was asked to give this letter to whoever was in charge." She softened her voice as she slid the letter partway from her coat pocket, as it probably wouldn't be a good idea to aggravate this person before word got back to Damien that she'd arrived.

He looked her over for a moment, still glaring at her like he wanted to smash her head in. Finally, he muttered, "No. Follow me." Rose let out a small gasp as she was nearly jerked off her feet as he dragged her through a doorway and down a hallway. His tight grip on her bicep kind of negated his 'follow me' statement. She had no choice but to follow him, or risk being dragged across the floor like her suitcase, which she'd miraculously managed to hold onto.

Nearly jogging to keep up, Rose watched the guy who'd seemingly popped out of nowhere closely. Something was off about him, but she was having a hard time figuring out what, even as his clammy hand clamped on her arm like a vice.

It was something about the way he moved, she decided, as they stopped in front of a giant pair of doors in a hallway that made no impression on Rose. His motions were to smooth, too practiced, like he was trying too hard to slow down and act gently, which was a vast contrast to his rushed pace and tight grip.

Rose was still pondering why that unsettled her so much when the aggravated albino swung the doors open, revealing a living room-like area and another guy sitting in a chair stiffly and glaring at the book he was reading like it had lit his eyebrows on fire.

Aw, how precious. The little brat thinks she's funny! What a riot. Cut the cutesy commentary and just die already.

Your hypocrisy and idiocy astound me sometimes.

Funny story, how my friend transitions into speaking one of her many languages is by swearing in it. She does it really quietly or in her head, but she tells me she always does it. How I switch my brain from English to French and vice versa is by counting, saying the ABCs, or reciting basic words in my head. Don't know why I have to do that; it just helps me make fewer mistakes, and I comprehend better if my brain's focused entirely on the language. Sometimes I'm not entirely out of French mode when I go to my next class, and I freak people out by answering questions in it. I'm a mess. Someone relate to me so I feel less alone!

~ Avie