"Welcome home, Eula," says a man after embracing Eulalia. Faustina thought that they would hold each other for two uninterrupted hours—but the good thing is, she was mistaken. She was not comfortable seeing her mother in arms of another man, given the fact she hadn't even seen her real father. Well, Eula wasn't her biological parent too, but that doesn't invalidate her feelings.

And aside from all of that, the man that was now her 'father' had eyes that were the color of blood. He had dark hair that resembled hers, but he wasn't anything like she was expecting. She smiled politely, nonetheless.

"Is this Faustina?" She heard him say—that man with a clear, calm voice. She remembered what Eula had said. Her father too had that kind of tone—the striking resemblance that her mother, Eulalia, found irresistible. But in contrast to what Eula was thinking, Faustina thought that this guy's voice was not like the calm, blue sea as described by Eula. Rather, they were pretentious and hollow; conceited even.

"Yes, isn't she beautiful?" Her mother said.

"She is; in fact, a resemblance of you." He said, narrowing his eyes as he smiles whilst kissing Eula's forehead. "Very beautiful,"

Right. Faustina never resembled her mother—she was adopted. Faustina's ink-black hair and deep chocolate-brown eyes, there was no diminutive resemblance. Eulalia was a redhead. She had emerald-green eyes that seemed sharper whenever she gives an adverse smile. Eula always captured attention from men and women alike. She was like the sun, which made it noticeable for Faustina to be an adopted child. Not that it mattered.

The only issue Faustina had is that she found out she was never able to do these certain kind of smiles—she can't muster any optimism to smile flamboyantly, or smirk, smile aslant—she wondered if it's because she was facing her mother's new husband.

She, by no means, knew.

Faustina scanned the whole sight, but only a crystal chandelier hanging in the top piqued her interest. Like a cherry on top of a sundae, a final piece of perfection—the chandelier served as that finis.h.i.+ng design. They were not toured to the whole mansion for today. She figured that it was a "rest time" for them—and she was thankful. Ten full hours of nothing but traveling was enough to exhaust her, and she was not on the mood to smile.

The hallway was filled with different paintings hanging loosely on the wall. It was dimly lit and spectacularly decorated, with a red carpet covering the floor. The portraits hanging followed her as they walked to their bedroom, she thought. They were eerie, but magnificent.

"I drew them," she heard him say, they strode past, slowly, behind them she was, not wanting to listen to their conversation.

"Oh, right, I never mentioned Jonathan is an artist." Her mother said, "I met him back on college; he was a fine arts student just like your father."

Faustina was reluctant to respond, but she nodded to let them know she was listening.

Jonathan smiled at her. "This will be your room."

Faustina sighed. A room covered in pink.

"Right."

"Oh, and by the way," says Jonathan. "My neighbors will welcome you two for moving in! The son of my neighbor's a bit older than Faustina, but I know they'll get along just fine!"

Not thirty minutes in the new house and this Jonathan was already introducing her to somebody.

"Oh, is that the neighbor with the royal blood or something?" Eula asked.

"Yes," says Jonathan. "They'll meet us tonight for dinner."

Hold on. Did he just say "royal blood?"

"Yes, royal blood," Jonathan nods. "You will meet Noah soon! I hope you two get along!"

Noah?

"We'll be leaving you here for a while, Faustina," Jonathan said as he wrapped an arm to Eula. "Make yourself at home."

When the door finally came shut, Faustina buried herself into the bed. The room was too girly for her, but it was cla.s.sic, just like the rest of the house. Faustina stared at the large painting inside the room.

"Wow."

It was a painting of a dark-haired man wearing what seemed like clothes from a historical time, like that of the Victorian Era. He was holding a staff with a red broken gem, matching his bloodshot-red eyes. The man looked like Eula's new husband, Jonathan—but they looked different too. This man in the painting looked like every emotion was stripped off his face.

"Is this a fantasy painting?" Faustina uttered. "And why is it here?"

It looked a little misplaced. The room was all girlish and this dark painting didn't fit the scheme. Perhaps they accidentally hung the wrong portrait into the room?

Faustina shrugged.

She lied back on the bed.

Well, she had no room to think. She needed a rest. Maybe after the dinner with Noah and all that she will ask Jonathan about the painting.

And speaking of Noah . . .

When did she hear that name before?