Her afternoon, Amani would say, was not much of a welcoming experience. As after all, she had seen him, someone she thought she would never see again, someone she did not even know went to Wyndham, in Wyndham. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and she was never supposed to see him again. They had cut ties, he and her, especially after what he had done to her. She had heard, that after her incident, well more like during it, he had been… to put it in simple words, unfaithful, but apparently, there was something more, there was something she was not remembering, empty pieces.
When she went to Tae Seo Dunman a month ago, she had hoped to discover some answers and figure out a dream that felt more like a memory than a dream, but she got nothing. In addition, Amani had not had any further dreams concerning that woman; her dreams had been curiously typical.
Her morning had not been any better, she remembered It, waking up to a dress at the entrance of her door. So many thoughts had swirled in her head, one of them was, "What’. What indeed, what was the dress doing on the entrance, what or more like why was her door unlocked and who sent her the dress. She had bent down, careful not to touch the dress, because she did not know what it was made from or who it was from. It was always better to be safe than sorry, and through squinted eyes found a note right below the bust. She had flickered her hand, getting a napkin, she had used to pick up a note to read. What she read though, only left her more confused and unimpressed.
Whoever had sent the letter had not bothered to sign their name, and perhaps, if it was under any other circumstance, if they had not opened her door, perhaps she would have found it amusing, and entertained it. But there was nothing amusing to her about this situation, and all she could do was stare at the letter, until she had chanted something- a spell that crumbled the note for her and through it in the trash can. She had muttered another spell, one that flew the bed from the ground up to her cupboard. Later in the night, she told herself, she would go outside and burn it.
After that, she had looked everywhere in her room, checking to see how far the person had entered her room, where they had gone to, and where they had touched. But everything looked fairly normal- still, she didn’t trust it. She had flickered her wrists, muttering something as she checked again over all her materials. But it seemed indeed, whoever came to her room, had not touched her things.
Good, so then, she would not have to be bothered. Instead, she could talk to her father, ask him to increase the security of her room, but then her father would ask her if something was wrong, so it would better not to. She would simple ask Francis.
Moreover, though Amani had said she was to burn the dress during the night, she had not. After the Umbra-hosted scavenger hunt, the numerous talks and catching up, she had been exhausted, yes, as she entered her bathroom, taking a long bath. When she had come out, a green robe wrapped around her frame, she had sat on top of her bed, her right leg crossed over the left as her fingers tapped the bed. The dress, the mysterious dress, was now on the ground in front of her and Amani was wondering if she should really burn it.
She considered it, who could the dress have come from, there were possibilities. A lot of them, it could have been from Tae, he entered her dorm room every now and then as he was allowed too and they tended to talk a lot, but why the hell would he give her a dress without telling her first and the handwriting, the handwriting was not his. Then again, he could have wished for secrecy, to surprise her. But he had never been the type to behave like that nor would he write like that. It could have been Jesse, but Jesse knew better than entering her room. There was Celestine, yes, Celestine also tended to enter her dorm unannounced from time to time, and it would make sense for her to gift Amani a dress, but Celestine lived in a different time that Amani, fashion wise and the way she spoke some times, her dearest friend would not have written like that. If she would written it, it would look far nicer. Carmen did not know where Amani dorm was, so it could not be her, Caspian would not do such a thing, Evangeline was terrified of this room. It could have been what was her name again, that one guy’s sister, Lamore, Lenore? Either way, who wanted to thank her for her help a month ago, but that was a month ago and she did not seem like she would want to enter the Umbra campus again. There was of course, hellspawn otherwise known as the Russo, the balding psycho, Sellenova’s former lover and Vincenzo Parravicini Russo.
But their conversation, their argument has been months ago, and she had not talked to him ever since then and had no wishes to, and one would think, he would have gotten over the conversation and focused on matters that interested him most instead of bothering her, but then again it was Vincenzo, she was speaking about. If it was from him though, that was even more reasons to burn the dress and go to sleep. She reached into her drawer, getting scissors, to first cut the dress then burn it, but as the sharp scissors made contact with the green dress, she couldn’t help to think that, “The dress is quite beautiful,” She commented, the scissors still on the fabric. It looked expansive, and smelled quite nice and last she knew, Vincenzo Parravicini was a skint, in other words he was broke as hell and definitely could not afford such a fabric. Thus, there was a possibility it was not him, but perhaps, the fabric was a duplicate of the original or he had stolen it. All options seeming quite likely. If he was the one, or if he was not the one, either ways, Amani wanted to know why the hell the person opened her door. If it was Vincenzo, perhaps it would be better to just have this last conversation, and tell him to leave her the hell alone.
But she did hope it was not him, she saw him enough in the hallways, seeing his face will just make her’s sour. But does she wear the dress or not, if it was from Vincenzo, she had no wish for it,but then again it could be from someone else. A thought crossed her mind, the possibility of it being from Azriel, he had not been answering his calls and perhaps because he had wanted to keep his visit a surprise, but why was he here.
Whatever, Amani thought. She would wear the dress, then burn it, it was simply such a beautiful green dress, to never wear. Thus, Amani had slipped out of her robe, and began to put it on, the straps of her dress on her shoulders. The dress clung beautifully to her slender frame, hugging her curves in a way that was both elegant and sensual. The material felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of her lingering bathwater. It was an open back, the dress, the fabric cascading gracefully to the small of her back, leaving her shoulders and spine exposed. The dress, as Amani looked at it in the mirror, was undoubtedly a beautiful piece, one that seemed almost tailor-made for her. She had paired the lovely dress with a pair of matching heels from her collection. They were a deep emerald green, with a slight shimmer that complemented the dress perfectly. As she slipped them on, she did not know if she should really be doing all this, because what if it was in fact Vincenzo?
Well, if it was, hasn’t Amani always enjoyed dressing up for an occasion, no matter who orchestrated it? She was a Monet after all.
When everything was in place, she had walked to the destination, later than 11pm. As she reached there, just like she had said, her face turned sour, especially as she heard the annoying sound of his shrilling laughter. Perhaps, she shouldn’t have come, terrible mistake- she chided, but she was here and besides she wanted to ask why the fck’ he was in her room. As he continued to stare at her, his hands together behind his back, hunching over, Amani couldn’t help but think that he looked quite foolish and his actions only served to sour her mood more as she felt mental fingers, rubbing her forehead. He was so irritating.
“Why the long face?” His voice had been mocking, as his face twisted into a smirk, the pitch of his voice falling as his shoulder’s slumped. Amani could not help but to imagine him, currently, with a gun to his head, a bloody nose, and some broken ribs. Whoever punched him, this school year, would be like a God to her, because, he Vincenzo Parravicini Russo was the personification of agony. He had commented another it, a phrase that only served to cause her to roll her eyes, and her hands to turn to fists that clutched at her sides. “You make me sour,” She had commented, muttering something underneath her breath. “Why did you open my door.” There was nothing but irritation in her voice as she asked that, “What do you want now, Vincenzo,” The way she had said his name had been quite harsh, she had ran the name together, as if in a hurry to be rid of it, and her voice although low had been harsh. She had remembered too, how much Vincenzo hated his own name, ad how much currently she could care less about that.
mentioned:
@Caticorn -tae/lenore
@astxrism - Hayes indirectly ig
@cordyx - celly