Fae Rose Academy: Year One (For The Purely Divine Book 1) Read online

  Whatever the case may be, to Camilla I was worth being around, and she'd become my sole best friend.

  If Camilla was somewhere, I usually wasn't far behind, unless it was a special event or a place where the poor weren't allowed to enter.

  Camilla said that would all change when I reached eighteen, but I wasn't sure how it would.

  My life wasn't going to be like Cinderella’s where she wishes to go to the ball and her fairy godmother enters the picture and grants her wish. I wasn't going to stumble upon my parents or my origin, let alone get the chance to enjoy a ball or festival.

  I'd always wanted to simply walk in a field of roses or any type of flower and simply relax.

  It was a weird goal to have, but in my dreams, I always ended up in a wondrous field of roses. Some days they were red, other days they were silver. However, a few nights the roses would be a glittering purple, like the striking lavender of my eyes.

  Their very petals would be lathered in silver glitter and the bright sunshine's rays would lay its golden warmth on their delicate features, making them look extraordinary.

  If only such a field could exist. That's why I could only acknowledge those sights as dreams: because that was all they were. We didn't have much access to the internet, but the few times I’d gotten the chance, I'd tried to research it.

  I'd yet to find out if that field was truly a dream or a reality somewhere far away.

  Camilla always stated that dreams had power. It's the part of the unconscious that carried far more knowledge than our human brains could accept.

  The problem with the human mind was that we automatically assumed there were limitations in life. The common example that Camilla loved to use in her explanations was how a baby in our village fell off the balcony of one of the high-rise buildings in her area.

  The baby somehow survived with no injuries at all. However, another adult a few weeks earlier had fallen and almost died with broken bones and a concussion.

  Her point was that babies were not only innocent, they didn't acknowledge fear. They didn't know the rules of the world, nor would they accept them at such an age. In their world, they were bound to only a few common necessities, such as water, food, and the love of their mom and those around them.

  They didn't fear death or falling from high places. There were no limits in what they could achieve. That was the exact problem us humans faced versus the fae.

  From Camilla's explanation, the fae knew that there were no limits to magic and what anyone can achieve with it. Sure, some people could say they can do fire magic and no water magic, but that was a limitation they created.

  It truly didn't define what they could and couldn't do. If they concentrated and trained hard enough, that limitation would evaporate completely - opening up an array of new opportunities and horizons.

  The world I continued to venture into could be somewhere out there, but due to my inability to acknowledge its truth, I was left forever in wonder.

  I wished I could believe it, but one of my greatest fears was disappointment.

  Acknowledging that I was an orphan abandoned by my parents who should have taken the responsibility of raising me gave a sense of disappointment in humanity. What changed it was the village that raised me.

  None of them were perfect, and my upbringing was nowhere close to those blessed with loving homes with warm meals and glittering clothes.

  However, it was still a place I could call home. Still my own sanctuary after a long day. It was somewhere I could get a bowl of food, a glass of water, a place to lay my head and sleep, and most importantly, feel safe from the dark shadows of the night.

  It wouldn't be my forever home, but it was home.

  Would I find my origin one day? I truly wondered if I would, but as of now, I highly doubted it, especially with my eighteenth birthday a few days away.

  Camilla said we'd have to celebrate big now that I'd be officially eighteen. It was exactly what I was complaining about while attempting to get drunk.

  You'd think one's everyday problems would be acne, periods, or struggling with finding a boyfriend. I'd dealt with all of those, but not being able to get drunk was extremely frustrating.

  In these parts, you were allowed to start drinking at sixteen.

  Let's be real, life sucked here and having a little alcohol to help chase away the problems life brought was totally encouraged - not regularly, but a little could go a long way in rejuvenating one's striving to get out of this hellhole.

  Getting drunk to the point of being a hindrance was frowned upon, though. We may be poor and struggling, but no one had time to deal with other people's drunken problems.

  I'd been excited to at least feel what it was like to be tipsy, but here I was on drink number forty and I could still spell words backward.

  Camilla, on the other hand, was on drink number three and was probably calling it a night.

  Glancing back at my friend, I noticed I'd been lost in my thoughts for a good fifteen minutes and she was still napping.

  Guess I should take her home.

  This always happened before I reached the part of my sorrows about still not having a boyfriend. Even with our circumstances and status, there were a few cute guys around who had made a decent living in these parts. But due to the small populations of such boys, all it led to was every single female doing their best to win at the game of seduction.

  I wasn't the type to chase after a man. I may secretly be a "little" desperate to have a companion and experience the joys of being in a relationship, but if it meant me chasing the man and fighting a bunch of girls to even stand a chance, it was a no.

  Camilla said I was being stubborn, but it was one of those morals that stuck with me. I’d never had the privilege to be able to be raised by the morals of others, so I made my own. I was open-minded to many things and willing to try new things, but I wasn't good in the love department.

  Would the chance of love locate me? Maybe. I hoped so. Until then, I just had to take a day at a time, and with my approaching birthday, maybe the universe would deliver me a hot, sexy man as a reward.

  A girl could surely dream.

  A tiny smile formed on my lips and I returned my gaze to my best friend. Life with little money or insight of the future was indeed difficult, but I was blessed with an amazing friend whose looks alone got us endless drinks.

  Which totally reminds me, I need to pee...

  Shaking my head, I rose off the wooden bar stool and patted Camilla's back.

  "C'mon my drunk bestie. Let's take you home," I encouraged.

  "Didn't you...want to complain...about bunnies," Camilla mumbled sleepily, making me laugh in return.

  "Oh yes. How bunnies will one day rule all of us. Including the fae. How frightful," I teased and helped her off her stool.

  She muttered something incoherent, and I placed her arm over my shoulder. She was so wasted, but the fact that she did this every single time I needed someone to talk to made her even more special to me.

  My one loyal friend, who would go down to the depths of hell for me if that was my path in life. Man, I truly am blessed.

  As we made our way towards the door, a large man blocked our path. My smile turned upside down as the strong odor of alcohol hit me like a plague.

  Here we go again.

  "Hey, Rosy Pie. Are you and your friend finally going to entertain me tonight?"

  "Sorry, Boran, but as you can see, Miss Goldstone is exhausted and needs help getting back home safely. I doubt you'd want to delay her from getting enough beauty sleep. It wouldn't be a good idea, if you ask me," I sweetly declared.

  Even in his drunken state, Boran knew that when it came to Camilla, or the Goldstone family in general, you didn't mess with them.

  Get in their way and you might as well call Death yourself to take your soul early before their wrath came upon you.

  Camilla was the nicest one in her family. Her parents...not so much. They had always been kind to me because
I was close to Camilla, but they were the definition of high class, in the 'do not mess with us' category.

  Were they genuinely nice? When they wanted to be. But again, the big difference between the rich and the unworthy was obvious when they gathered enough strength to venture into these parts.

  Boran frowned and quivered. He knew I was never joking when it came to the Goldstones.

  "Haha. Y-You're right, Rosy Pie. Here, let me hold the door for you," he said while chuckling nervously before stumbling to open the door.

  "Thanks," I replied and looked over to the bartender to give him a smile. "See you next time, Andrew!"

  "See you, Rosadette. Please tell Miss Goldstone that if she needs anything at all, she can call me," Andrew practically begged.

  "I will," I replied and looked away.

  Poor guy had had a major crush on Camilla for as long as I could remember, and he wasn't taking any of her million hints that she was not interested.

  Securing my hold around Camilla's waist, I smiled kindly at Boran and began to make my way towards Camilla's house. It wasn't too much of a distance from here, nothing I couldn't handle while practically carrying my drunk best friend.

  Glancing up at the sky, I looked at the glittering stars, many of them looking like silver glitter against the navy-blue sheet of the night sky.

  How many times I'd wished upon these stars, hoping for some type of miracle out of this life. Today was slightly different, though.

  "I wish one day...I'll find out who I'm truly meant to be in this world." The words were merely a whisper, but a soft breeze went by, lifting up my blonde strands and tickling my warm flesh.

  The action made me smile, and I secretly hoped it was the universe answering me.

  Thank you, Universe.

  Glancing back at Camilla, I listened to her soft snoring sounds and giggled.

  "Ah, bestie. You seriously can't handle alcohol."

  With a wide smile, I made my way towards her house.

  Just another day as human scum.

  Wise Advice From A Drunken Fool

  ~ROSADETTE~

  * * *

  "Thank you, Rose, for bringing Chamomile back in one piece."

  My softened expression and small smile reflected my happiness at Camilla's father's kind words. He didn't need to thank me, especially when he knew I was the culprit behind her drinking in the first place.

  I took a step back and bowed my head in respect.

  "No, thank you for raising such a kind daughter. I really needed someone to talk to tonight and she was there for me as always."

  "That's my daughter for you. Always trying to solve the world's problems. I think her mother named her Chamomile on purpose."

  He shook his head dismissively, but I remained smiling as I stood up straight.

  "Best be going, Rose. It is late. Be sure to not get yourself in trouble. Chamomile isn't there to back you up," he warned.

  "Yes, sir. Have a restful night." I bowed my head slightly in farewell. He nodded in return and closed the door to their large, three-story mansion.

  My eyes couldn't help but stare at the uniqueness of the high structure. For us, a two-story building was a rare occurrence, let alone a three-story. It wasn't common to see condos or sky scrapper buildings unless you entered the rich side, and even then it was only in the busy area which they referred to as "downtown central".

  This was one of those moments where I acknowledged how different my world was compared to Camilla's. She was blessed into this world of fortune and would never have to worry about her future.

  It didn't matter what job she ended up taking when she was ready to, her parents had connections everywhere and she'd get anything she wanted. I never liked thinking about the near future, because it meant we'd soon be separated.

  We couldn't always be together, and now that I was approaching my eighteenth birthday, it was only a matter of time before I'd have to get a job of my own and work seven days a week. The best job I could probably get was either in manual labor in the fields or if I was super lucky, as a waitress at the bar we'd just been at.

  I’d looked into other employment options, but I was confident I wouldn't last a day before punching someone out. To be honest, I wasn't necessarily a violent person, but I wasn't a pushover either.

  It was a double-ended sword when you thought about it, and those types of weapons never had a rightful place in the room of useful weaponry.

  I could envision the lifestyle I craved, the beautiful white paint that was accented by the rich reds and golds of my dream mansion. The glass windows, the field of flowers that invited the lovely floral scent that carried on the passing wind, and the row of parked cars that were in various colors and models.

  This was a life I wished to live. To enjoy a moment of blissful comfort and not worry about what I'd eat the following day.

  The thought made my stomach grumble in protest, leaving me to shake my head and turn around.

  Best I go home. I still need to pee. Ugh. All that alcohol does is just make me pee all the time. It can't even deliver the satisfaction of being utterly wasted. I must be cursed.

  Making my way down the long path towards the security gate entrance, my urge to pee began to nag me to the point of regret.

  I'm such a dummy. Why didn't I use the washroom before? Hmm. Is there a big enough bush to hide my booty from the world? Would urine destroy the plants? That would be bad...but I really need to pee. I could try to hold it.

  Another silly idea because I was doing the potty dance before I knew it. My survival instincts kicked in, and I began to scout my surroundings until my eyes landed on a set of bushes.

  Looking around to make sure no one was around, I quietly groaned and rushed over to the bushes. If only we had more portable washrooms around here, not like they were any better.

  When it took them weeks to come and empty them, you really had to determine which way of dying seemed more appealing: in the portable potty filled with weeks’ worth of feces, or by embarrassment.

  Pulling down my dark blue jeans, I did my best squat and began to pray that no one saw me. The relief of letting it go made me sigh again, and when I finished, I waved my hand in hopes under there would air dry in three seconds.

  Why is being a female so hard? All guys have to do is shake their wiener and call it a day. What do we have to do? Squat like we're about to do shotput in the Fae Olympics. And we need tissues to wipe and not get urine on our beautiful clothes. Can't simply pee anywhere, or it's against the law.

  Deciding that this was as "dry" as I'd get, I pulled my jeans back up and shivered at the slight wind that passed.

  Jeez, wind. Can't you feel sympathy for a girl with no underwear? I really have to give up on my pride and ask Camilla to buy me some. Having one pair for special occasions was the topping on the cake of my miserable life.

  "I swear it’s illegal to be peeing all over these lands, miss booty."

  "Miss booty?" I huffed and turned to look in the direction of the voice, only to see a tall older man.

  Another passing of the cool breeze carried his strong alcoholic scent, not like his lazy blue eyes and ruffed up hair and stubble didn't give me the strong vibes that this man had drank far too much. If only it was easier to pinpoint an alcoholic when you see one.

  Why universe, why?

  Turning to face this individual's direction, I took a long up and down glance at him. He must have been in his fifties, but his unkempt appearance made him look in his sixties. Even Boran from the bar looked better than this guy.

  The only good-looking thing about him was his bright blue eyes, reminding me of that one chance I’d gotten to see what the ocean looked like when Camilla went with her parents and begged for me to come along.

  I'm sure he could be very handsome-looking underneath the gruff of uneven hairs, the slight bruises on his face which could have been from a drunken brawl, and the tears in his oversized shirt and tight black pants.

  This man
was the definition of drunk central. I knew being wasted was frowned upon here, yet I couldn't gather the courage to be the one to tell him that.

  Even if he most likely saw me squatting to relieve myself.

  "Please don't tell me you're going to lecture me about peeing in the bushes," I voiced and stood my ground as he approached with a stagger.

  "No, sweet lady. Just observing, minding my own business trying to get home. Didn't think I'd be blessed with the sight of someone's peachy booty."

  My cheeks burned crimson, and I tried to fight the desire to snap back at him and stomp off. There was something weird about this person.

  No...different about him.

  I couldn't figure it out, but he made me feel weird, in an uncomfortable way, and all that did was leave me hesitant. Whatever actions I took felt like they would bring consequences with this individual, even in his drunk state.

  With a sigh, I bowed my head in apology, and was rewarded with a 'hmm' noise in question.

  "Sorry, sir. I drank far too much at the bar and thought I'd make it home on time to use the ladies' room. Sorry for flashing my tooshie at you. I thought the bushes would give more coverage...and didn't see anyone in my frantic observation. It won't happen again."

  Raising my head, I noticed his puzzled expression. For a split second, it almost looked as though he wasn't drunk at all, but with a few more blinks, that slight imagery vanished.

  "Your parents seemed to raise you well," he muttered, sounding a bit annoyed.

  My frown caught his attention, and I simply shook my head. "Too bad I don't have any."

  Turning around, I looked around until I figured out what path I was supposed to take to get to my tiny little one-bedroom house. It was more of a cement hut, but calling it a house made me feel a little better.

  "If you’ll excuse me." I didn't wait for his reply as I began to walk away.

  "Wait," he voiced.

  Pausing in my strides, I looked over my shoulder to see him rush to me, those blue eyes analyzing me carefully.

  "You're an orphan?"