Page 7 of Bloody Valentine

“Why are you bothering me? Where is the professor?” I said, turning my head to look around the room.

One of the girls in the back pointed to my side, where the arrogant prick stood.

I paled.

This is my Professor? Just my fucking luck.

“You have my title now, but I am most intrigued by yours.” Professor Dickweed looked at me in surprise.

Like he wasn’t aware of my name, or that, I guess it made us related in some freaky sort of way. Well, whatever, he was still an asshole.

“Are you truly Vivian Valentine?” He took a vial of some type of liquid out of his smock and moved closer to my paper.

“Yes…why?” I said hesitantly, watching what he was doing.

“How could I have missed this? Hmm. Mouthier than Vivianna ever dared to be, but…”

The vial of liquid was raised above the painting, and he tilted his hand. An unseen mixture was poured onto the parchment, and I gasped as an image of a woman appeared underneath my red smudges.

She was naked, a beautiful illustration appearing before my eyes. The woman looked…like me. She had long dark brown hair, curvy hips, and a formed figure eerily similar to mine. I swallowed and realized my drawing in red looked like blood onthe hidden image. A woman that resembled me, now smeared in crimson.

“How-what? I…”

The professor smiled and leaned down for only me to hear.

“Vivian Valentine, you certainly know how to make an entrance. Perhaps it is fate to show the blood on your very own ancestor’s body. A message to us all to know our place.”

I let that sink in—a feeling of dread creeping into my veins like a disease.

Did my ancestor truly resemble me that much? Everything about her, from her breasts to her hips, even the fucking birthmark on her ass cheek.

This was too real.

“Such a sweet, innocent view of the world. Like a little virgin. Vivianna Valentini is translated from Latin. In English, it translates to something quite familiar.”

I shivered and realized I had way more in common than I ever wanted from my very dead ancestor.

“Do you fear the past, Little Virgin?” he whispered, leaning closer to my ear. “Or do you fear knowing that history in one’s blood is fated to repeat itself…Vivian. Valentine?”

Chapter three

The woman before me looked like stone. Her delicate, freckled face was frozen with both hatred and fear. God, she looked delicious. Her body mirrored the image before her so intricately that it was like the piece was created as if she’d been the model.

I did everything to absolute perfection. And seeing photographs, though they were black and white, of the naked form of my ancestor Vivian Valentine, I was able to recreate those curves and intricate lines of her body.

This woman had too many similarities to the corpse beneath the university. Her bone structure and cheeks were high set, freckled, and blushed with rosy pink, which were almost identical. Her eyes were that familiar blue of my very own, a trait we seemed to all carry. Even her hair looked like wound silk, so dark it was one shade away from being completely black.

“Who the fuck is this?” the woman demanded, pointing to the portrait she covered in crude red slash marks.

It looked like blood. Was this an omen for the beautiful woman in front of me? Doomed to repeat the life written in the blood of the past? How tragically ironic.

“Quite a naughty mouth on you. This is the second time we have met, and yet you’ve had your words filled with curses both times. It’s so flattering to see you have such a passion for seeing me, Pet.”

“My name is Vivian. I go by Vivvy sometimes, but I’m certainly not your damn pet…Again, who is the woman in this portrait?”

I looked at the irritation painting her features, unable to prevent myself from grinning.

“I think you know exactly who she is, Vivian.”

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