Secret Heritage

Beautiful, unparalleled , deadly 'creatures' are ruled By the unbreakable Loratalia and have done so since the start of time. Loratalia was strong, but one small mistake on an April morning, for just one moment, for the tiniest weeniest fraction of a second, she let her guard down.
Loratalia fell in love.
Now she has a secret, a secret so scary and dangerous, so poisonous and destructive, it threatens to crumble the entire structure and beauty of her society. When the secret is let loose, others will stop at nothing to tear it apart...

Ilse is an exceptionally talented, lonely seventeen year old girl. She lives with her horrible uncle and step aunt and two unpleasant cousins. However, one February morning her world caves in and suddenly, she finds herself questioning her very existence.
When two worlds collide, Ilse will have to decide what is real and what is an illusion.


3. Aunt Caroline, Uncle Harold and Stephan.

Weeks past after the incident in Ilse’s bedroom with Stacy and yet neither of them felt the tension between them lessen. Stacy was wary of Ilse, but she took every opportunity to ridicule Ilse and make her feel diminished. She and her gang of mean, popular girls would follow her around the school halls, laughing loudly behind her back and stepping on the backs of her shoes. They would force her to try and escape, to the loos mostly, where she would sit on the toilet while they taunted her outside. It made Ilse feel like utter crap trying to hold in her tears while she let herself feel like a victim; too frightened of what she was capable of doing to hurt the girls if she tried to retaliate.

Ilse’s teachers pretended not to notice; Ilse suspected that they felt embarrassed by her behaviour and refusal to fight back, god knew that Ilse was embarrassed. At least in her own home she was safe; Stacy wouldn’t dare taunt her while her posse wasn’t there.

When Ilse arrived home from school one evening, Aunt Caroline was waiting for her in the kitchen.

She stood leaning against the counter top, her hip jutting out and her arms crossed. Aunt Caroline was a tiny woman, all breasts and no back bone, her arms were toned to perfection, and her face was ill proportioned due to the enormous amount of Botox she had spent her inheritance on. Her eyes were small, piglike and narrowed, her lashes were coated in mascara and her lips were always pouting. Caroline wasn’t her cousins’ mother, that woman had been long gone before Stacy or her twin Stephen had uttered their first words, not that Ilse blamed her; living with Harold, Ilse’s uncle, was absolutely horrendous. If Ilse could, she’d be out of there in a shot.

Aunt Caroline cleared her throat loudly.


Ilse dropped her bag wearily.

“Yes?” She said, her tone clipped.

Aunt Caroline’s eyes narrowed quickly and her mouth curled into an unpleasant snarl. Moving away from the counter, she pointed a finger in Ilse’s face. The lights in the kitchen danced on the surface of her glossy red fingernail.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone.”


Ilse was bored. Aunt Caroline didn’t intimidate her and all she wanted was to escape to her room; a drawing had begun to surface, almost like a memory of a dream, and Ilse knew from experience, that if she didn’t draw it soon, it would evaporate forever.

Her aunt considered Ilse for a moment, her watery green eyes darting over her face as if she was searching for a flaw in Ilse’s armour. Finally, her aunt drew back and sneered, a look that Stacy had perfected.

“Vacuum the stairs and the hallway. Oh and mow the lawn. I’m going out for a bit.” She didn’t wait for Ilse to respond. With a swish of bleached hair, her aunt was out of the door leaving Ilse alone in the kitchen, silent screaming at the wall.  

Around half five, Ilse’s Uncle strode in from work. Ilse knew it was him, he had an air of cold authority that seemed to silence the very walls of any building he went in and his home was no exception. Ilse had just finished vacuuming the landing when she heard the familiar sound of his heavy boots on the Victorian tiles of the hallway downstairs, his presence made the air around Ilse hold its breath and Ilse found herself doing the same, she heard him rifling through his post, making no sound of recognition as he did so, no groans as he read through bills or exclamations of joy as he came across the card from his sister that Ilse knew was in the pile.

Silently, Ilse peered over the banister, her bright hair falling down around her face as she did so.

Her uncle was dressed in an expensive wool coat with the collar turned up that stopped at his knees, she could glimpse that he wore a suit beneath that but since he had his back to her, she couldn’t see his face, only the shock of very dark hair that he had.

Her uncle was well built, his shoulders were broad and his arms strong and sturdy, but his physical features were really the only thing that Ilse knew about him, she didn’t know where he worked, why he had married Aunt Caroline, how it was that they could afford such a massive house.

“Don’t loiter, Ilse.” His voice was commanding and sharp, it made Ilse jump as she whipped her head out from the gap in the stairway, resulting in her hitting her head painfully on the mahogany banister.

Biting her tongue to keep herself from swearing, Ilse clutched her head and listened.

As far as she could tell, her uncle had gone from the hallway and, sure enough, when she felt she could risk another peek, she caught sight of his dark figure disappearing into his mysterious study at the back of the house. The door clicked smoothly shut and Ilse exhaled.

Despite his rudeness and total disregard for anyone but himself, Ilse was curious about him, did he look anything like his brother, her father? Did he know where her mother was?

Ilse knew nothing of her birth or early childhood or even how she had come to live with her aunt and uncle.

All she had was speculation; she suspected that her mother had been, as much as she hated to admit it, just as Stacy had said: weak and insignificant. Ilse guessed that she was the result of a passing, reckless fling between a poor woman and a rich young man. She reckoned that her Uncle’s family were enriched with plenty of family money and her mother had made the foolish mistake of believing that they would take her in.

God knew where her mother was now, but she had allowed Ilse to be left with Uncle Harold even when she must have known of his spiteful nature and his obvious meanness.

Ilse wondered if Stacy and Stephan ever thought of their mother, she doubted it, they had a perfect life here, didn’t they? Anything they desired they got, Stephan had a different girl every week, Ilse thought he was probably a little pre-occupied to think about his mother.

Just then, almost as though on cue, Stephan rolled out of his bedroom, wearing a pair of baggy grey tracksuit bottoms and no shirt. He frowned at Ilse at his feet – (which were bare and ever so slightly smelly) and pushed his floppy dark hair out of his eyes.

Ilse thought that Stephan looked just like his father, but he was yet to inherit that constant look of disapproval and un-forgiveness that his father always wore.

He had startling blue eyes like her uncle and his skin was clear and somewhat olive coloured just like Uncle Harold. He was also well built with a defined chest and capable looking biceps.

Ilse could see why girls made such a fuss over him, but Ilse thought he was  obnoxious, dim and unclean.

Finally, after a long moment staring at Ilse, he burped loudly, sniffed and turned on his heel to go down the stairs, slipping his phone out of his pocket as he did so.

It was though he hadn’t even seen her.

Ilse growled softly under her breath and went back to her chores, forcing down the urge to empty the contents of the vacuum cleaner into his bed.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...