War of Faeries

Chapter 3

                                                                                  Chapter Three

"I'll name you Valarie, Mable what do you think?" a faceless lady asks my mother.

"I think this has been a complete utter waste of my time, if you ask me sister. On the other hand, I think giving your child the name of her grandmother is the wisest thing you'll ever do." I listen to my mother's response, but I don't focus on her. However, I do focus on the lady holding the tiny infant in her hand. How when I try to see the lady's face it because it becomes blurrier.

"Valarie! Time for breakfast!" it was the shout of my mother that woke me up. It woke me up from a dream that felt all too real. Like I was the child the lady was taking about. Who am I kidding, it's just a dream? Right? It couldn't be real.

The rain is no longer pounding on the tower's roof, but the pounding in my head is still there. It makes me wish I were back in the dream, at least there I didn't have to deal with a throbbing head. Even if it did confuse me, and probably added to the pain.

"Don't make me call you again Valarie!" another one of her shouts ring up the tower stairs and finding me in my room.

"Coming mother!" I try not to focus on the fact that, that I just added to my pain. The only thing I can focus on is the medicine sitting on my dresser across the room. I painstakingly push the covers off me and make my way over to the bottle of medicine. I choke down the bitter liquid and wait for the pain to disappear.

My relief comes minutes later, when I have already changed into a soft, faded navy-blue dress that goes down to my knees, and am in the middle of pulling on white socks to cover my cold feet. I was about to leave the room hoping that by the time I get downstairs the effects of the headache would have fully disappeared when I stopped in my tracks.

My mirror was sitting there, covered in the brown wrapping paper. Dust covering every inch it could, a reminder that it has been years since the last time I ever dared to use the thing. Even as I reach out to peel back a layer of the paper my hand is trembling, and the trembling doesn't stop when I am met with another layer of paper. If I continue peeling back that new layer, I will only be greeted with four more layers. I made sure that when I wanted to see myself once again, I was okay with the consequences. That it would be a conscience decision and not something I could have done accidentally. Even at twelve years old I knew that I would try and try over and over, and never really be ready. I let my hand drop from the mirror.

How many times over the years have I dared to look at the mirror, let alone peel back one of the protective layers. The only thing the mirror will show me is how much I resemble my mother, and I can't live with that. I must believe that I will be someone completely different than her, even though I know in the end I will be no different. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree as the saying goes.

I reach the bottom of the stairs as she was about to yell for me again. The yell freezes on her lips when she sees me. She places the plate of food in her hand on the table, and motions for me to sit. I don't hesitate to listen to her, but I don't start eating the food she has made either. This could be one of her many tricks after all.

"I want to apologize for not talking to you about the convention before I signed up. I understand that you work for days on end to come up the pieces you make. Even if they are still terrible." I bite my tongue, I have to. Saying anything will only make things worse. "I hope you can forgive me and understand that this is an opportunity that I couldn't turn down."

"I completely understand, and I forgive you." Lies, all of it is lies. Every word coming out of her mouth and mine are lies. She isn't one bit sorry about her actions, and she knows I know it. Just like she knows I don't mean anything I just said.