Amaranthine

 

 

Eternal Life. 

Endless Love. 

Infinite Cost.

Amaranthine

by Delia Strange

Genre: SciFi Time Travel Historical Paranormal Vampire Romance

Eternal life comes at a cost

For centuries, Amaranthine has walked through time—an immortal bound by a gift she never asked for. From the opulent halls of the Roman Empire to the decadent jazz clubs of 1920s London, to the futuristic floating city of New Francisco, she has lived countless lives, loved deeply, and lost more than most could ever bear. With each new era comes new faces: lovers, rivals, and those drawn to the mystery of her eternal existence. But immortality comes with a price, and as the world changes, so too does the weight of the centuries she carries.

Torn between living for the future and haunted by the choices of her past, Amaranthine must confront the question that has followed her for an eternity: What does it mean to live forever when everything and everyone else fades away?

 

“This is the first book in a while that I have continued to mull over even after I'd finished reading it as it's definitely a story that gets you thinking.”
~ Lynne Stringer, Goodreads Review

 

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Amaranthine’s fingers twitched by her side, betraying the stillness of her posture. She had spent her days wrapped in the quiet routines of the villa, the tasks so small, so predictable, that she’d almost believed herself invisible. But when Marcellus looked at her, she felt herself unravel. There was an invitation in his eyes, a challenge wrapped in dark curiosity, and she found herself unsure whether she wanted to turn away or step forward, closer to whatever unknown waited in that gaze.

Marcellus straightened from his lean against the archway, the lazy elegance of his movement drawing her in further. He hadn’t spoken to her yet, not directly, but there was a thread that wove between them ever since his first arrival. It was dangerous, this game they played without words. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a low thrum of something like fear—no, not fear, something deeper, as though she were standing at the edge of something vast and unknowable. He took a step toward her, his expression flickering behind the ease of his smile.

“I’ve seen you here before,” he said, his voice low. The words stretched across the courtyard as though meant for her alone. She’d watched him from the corner of her eye for weeks but hearing him speak felt like breaking the surface of water after holding her breath too long. Amaranthine’s lips parted, the instinct to respond quick and simple, but instead she found herself locked in place, caught in a silence that felt too revealing, too fragile. He smiled, and a small pulse of recklessness responded, helping her forget for a moment the weight of her life here. “You’re always watching,” he added, the edge of a tease in his voice.

Amaranthine’s cheeks flushed and she smiled—a soft, shy thing she felt immediately foolish for. She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle the expression, but the warmth remained, coloring her face. She struggled to think of something, anything, to say in response. The way his presence filled the space between them left her fumbling.

Before she could gather herself, Aurelia tugged at her sleeve. “We’re thirsty,” the little girl announced, with the certainty only a child could have in such a moment. Lucius, the younger of the two, nodded vigorously, eyes wide. Grateful for the interruption, Amaranthine quickly turned her attention to the children. “Of course,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She threw one last glance in Marcellus’ direction—he was still watching her, a knowing smile playing on his lips—before hurrying toward the kitchen.

She returned a few moments later with a cup of posca, the watered-down vinegar drink common in the household. The children eagerly shared it before dashing off to chase each other once more, leaving Amaranthine standing alone again. She smiled at their carefree joy, until a familiar shadow crossed her peripheral vision. Marcellus had moved closer, lingering at the edge of the courtyard.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he said. “You’ve been quiet, but I’d like to hear your voice. What’s your name?”

Amaranthine’s fingers tightened around the empty cup in her hands, the warmth of her earlier embarrassment still clinging to her skin. She glanced up at Marcellus, his presence feeling heavier now that he was so near. Her name—it should’ve been an easy answer. It was a simple thing to give, but the moment his question reached her, it felt as if the very air around her shifted, a reminder that she didn’t truly know who she was. Amaranthine. That was the name the family called her when she’d found herself in their home. It was the only word she had to hold onto in the strange emptiness of her memory.

“Amaranthine,” she finally said. It felt unfamiliar on her tongue, even after all these months, like a word borrowed from another’s life. She looked down, embarrassed again, unsure if her name sounded odd to him, a name without the history or lineage so valued in families like his.

Marcellus tilted his head, his smile softening. “Amaranthine,” he repeated, as if testing it out for himself. “It suits you and your golden hair.” His hand moved as if to touch it but then he pulled it back to his chest. He stepped a little closer, and she felt her breath catch. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but you always seem so far away.” His words made her heart race. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention—certainly not from someone like him. “Do you always keep your distance, or is it just with me?” he teased lightly, though his gaze stayed steady on her, curious, expectant.

An only child with an active imagination, I created many stories in my head. My bookcase was overflowing, and I loved visiting the library. I'd always been a reader, but I hadn't considered writing until a childhood friend said we should write our ideas down. Once I started writing my stories, I couldn't stop.

I gravitated to stories of peculiar places and happenings. I loved twists and dark reveals, so my writing didn't stray far from that. I was a fan of fantasy—of ancient Greek myths or contemporary paranormal stories. They captured my imagination and opened me to worlds of possibilities. There were no constraints on fantasy, no wrong or right answers; anything I dreamed up was acceptable. And then came H. G. Wells and science fiction, which also opened the door to paranormal and speculative fiction, my three favourite genres.

 

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