Romanian. I should have guessed, Merope thought as she looked upon the upcoming train station. I wonder if Tom would suspect anything if I”
“Omnilingua” she muttered under her breath. That should do it.
“Please keep your hands and feet inside the moving train at all times.”
“That’s odd,” Tom began while grabbing Merope’s hand, “shouldn’t they speak Romanian in Romania? I know English is a common language but--“
“What are you talking about, Tom?” she said while the wheels in her head spun wildly. “Romania became a province of England years ago.”
“But, I thought--“
“You must have been confused.”
“That’s only because I’m so in love,” he said, getting disbelieving looks from everyone who had overheard them. They pulled to a stop, grabbed their luggage, and rushed out into the station ahead of the crowd. Tom pulled her into a dark alcove and kissed her softly. “I love you.”
They made their way to the entrance doors and walked right through. Their first breath of fresh air in Romania danced across their faces; it would be one to remember.
“Can you see the mountains, Tom? They're so beautiful.”
“Just like you.”
Merope hated it when Tom said things like this, especially in public places like back on the train. They had only been married a few weeks, but every time he complimented her she felt a stab in her heart. It killed her to know that it wasn’t Tom talking, but the potion. Amortentia so far had been her dearest friend. It helped her get her greatest desire, but sometimes it also felt as if it was tearing her apart. She wondered how an innocent question about some white mountains made her feel so guilty.
“Now what are we going to do?” Tom asked, not noticing the embarrassment on Merope’s face.
“I don’t know, Tom. I hadn’t thought this through further than right about…now” she said as they began to walk down the road.
“I hope you enjoy your stay at Ramnicu Valcea Inn. Your room is right up those stairs, the second door on your left.” The pretty young lady behind the desk handed the couple their room keys and quickly went back to reading a book.
“Hmm, the Ramineeku Vallceka, that’s a funny name for a hotel,” Tom began as he made his way up the stairs, lugging the heavy bags behind him.
Oh no, it must me a glitch in the spell. What does “ramnicu valcea” translate to, again? This is why I should have tried to learn some Romanian before I left. What the heck does it translate to? Merope’s paranoia was causing her to go breathless as she tried to remember something she hadn’t learned.
“It must be the name of the man who owns this place. It’s probably Romanian.”
“That’s odd,” Tom began, “the young lady at the front desk looked very Romanian, but she said her name was ‘Sara.’”
Romania was beautiful this time of the season. Most of the mountains were still ice-capped but there was no snow on the ground. It always seemed to be the perfect temperature and most of the people in the town were happy.
Merope and Tom had spent their time exploring the county. Together they had hiked the Ciucas Mountains, explored several national parks, and had taken many walks about the streets of Romania. They hadn’t met very many people so far, so they had spent their time with just each other. Most of the townspeople seemed to be preparing themselves for some sort of celebration, but Tom and Merope hadn’t taken their time yet to figure out what it was.
For the most part, the two lovers were happy together in this peaceful abode where no one knew who they were, where they came from, or why they were here. Merope seemed very happy to start off fresh but there were glimpses of Tom in the morning that didn’t suit how a happy, loving husband should act.
“Good morning, Tom,” Merope whispered as she leaned over and kissed her sleeping husband.
Tom simply snorted.
“I’ll just get up and make your breakfast then.” She slowly made her way out of bed making sure not to stir the blankets. She knew mornings were always troublesome in this household and it was best not to wake the sleeping monster before he had his breakfast.
She walked over to the dresser to put on some decent clothes. She and her husband didn’t live richly so most of her clothes were inexpensive but practical. She pulled out a loose brown dress, the same one she had been wearing when they first arrived in Romania. Because she didn’t have a wide selection of clothing, each dress she owned held a special memory. Her favorite of them all had been the off-white one she had worn the day she first gave Tom his potion, and she had worn it again on their wedding day. She seldom wore it anymore, but it still had its own special place in her drawers.
Quickly, she brushed her hair and threw it back loosely with a hair tie. Looking in the mirror she thought to herself, I am so ugly. Just look at me. Why does he love me? Sometimes Merope scared herself with her own thoughts. She could be so temperamental sometimes, and other times so poetic. Her thought always seemed to revolve around him; this fantasy she had made herself often felt so real. She did know why he loved her.
She glanced over at the clock on the wall and was reminded that she was on a schedule. She still had to make breakfast before Tom woke up or she could have another disastrous morning. A few days ago she had decided to sleep in and let Tom get up first. Within an hour he was beating on her both physically and mentally. She practically had to force feed him his breakfast before he calmed down.
Feeling more awake after remembering this horrible memory, she made her way over to the other side of the room where the small kitchen lay. She quickly pulled out of the refrigerator three eggs and put the on the counter. She then took out a pan and turned on the oven.
Ever since Merope and Tom had been married, breakfast had been the most important meal of the day. Every morning it was made special with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and a special glass of orange juice for each of them.
Merope began to scramble the eggs as she also popped the toast into the oven, multitasking to have the meal completed a quickly as possible. When the two food items were cooking and didn’t need her constant attention, she walked over to the small wooden table and placed two forks and two knives on it. She then placed two plates stacked on top of each other onto the table as well. When the toast was done, she put one piece onto each of the plates and went back to making the eggs.
“Mmmmfgh.” Merope heard Tom groan as he began to wake up.
Oh no! Merope thought anxiously trying to get breakfast done before Tom made his way into the kitchen. I haven’t gotten the juice out yet!
She frantically made her way to one of the cabinets on top of the refrigerator. She reached her hand up as high as it would go and unlatched a little hook in the back wall behind a jar of honey. The small wooden door opened up easily as she pulled out a large glass bottle filled three-quarters of the way up with a silvery-white solution.
She brought it down to her eye-level and carefully smelled it. Mmmm, it smells just like the field next to Little Hangleton; I miss that house.
Trying to be a quiet as possible, she took our her wand from the same cabinet she had gotten the potion from and stirred the concoction. She then walked over to an easier to reach cabinet and pulled out two glasses. She poured five drops of the potion into one of the glasses and then quickly put her wand and the silvery-white liquid back into its place. After latching the hidden door, replacing the jar of honey, and closing the cabinet door, she pulled out some orange juice from the refrigerator and walked back over to where the two glasses were.
She poured some of the orange juice into the glass with the potion in it first, and then into the empty one. She quickly put the potion and orange juice mixture at Tom’s place at the table and the regular glass at hers.
Just in time she heard footsteps making their way into the kitchen. She ran over to the stove, grabbed the eggs that were slightly burnt by now, and put a small pile of them on her plate, and on Tom’s.
“Good morning, Tom,” he said sweetly as her husband walked into the room. “Did you sleep well?”
“Where the bloody hell is the bacon?”
Merope knew she had to ignore this kind of talk in the mornings. “I haven’t made it yet--“ she said, making sure to stop herself before adding ‘dear’ at the end. She made her way over to the stove to begin cooking the bacon while making sure to keep a careful watch on Tom. She saw him groggily sit down at his place and take a bite of his toast.
“There’s no bloody butter either.”
“Sorry,” she added while quickly pulling the butter out of the refrigerator and bringing it over to him.
Tom buttered his toast and went back to eating it. Taking this as her cue, Merope went back over to the stove to finish the bacon. Through the corner of her eye she saw Tom put down the toast and take a sip of his ‘morning mixture.’ She exhaled softly as she watched his face soften up immediately.
“Ah, good morning, beauty,” she heard him say as he stood up from the table and walked up behind her. She felt his arms snake around her waist as she carefully kept the bacon from burning. He kissed the top of her head and said in a loving tone, “Why don’t you let me finish the bacon this morning.”
“Thank you,” Merope began and promptly added, “dear.” She noted how much of his juice Tom had to drink before turning into his usual self. It was less than he had to swallow yesterday…