Sleeping Beauty [WMMAP Fanfiction]

Chapter Nine: Mother's Image

"Isn't this great that you won't have to leave, Alice? I mean, I definitely would be missing you," Felix said as he helped put Alice's packed things back. It wasn't much; just trinkets like stuffed animals and drawings gifted to her by the princess.

"Hm." Alice didn't turn around, pulling out items from a worn bag Felix only ever saw two or three times; it was dirty and simple, with a single drawstring that allowed it to close and be held by. She put her little belongings onto the desk that the room came with, pushed in a space between two windows.

Felix's attention was caught on a rough, wooden picture frame that she passed off too fast, placed face down.

He picked it up, and flipped it over. It held a picture of a woman with straight, eye-catching blonde hair. She had a gentle face, smiling a small smile. Her eyes were the same color as her hair. In the background was a house worthy of an Obelian commoner, but the picture seemed to be a part of something more; there was a little arm on the right that didn't match, and the sleeve of someone else's folded arms beside her left shoulder.

"She's pretty," Felix awed, able to see her beauty, even in the crumpled, fragile paper. "Alice, is this your mothe-"

Alice, standing, swiped the picture frame from his hand and put it face down on the table, harsher than before. Her hand remained over its back.

"Don't touch that," she hissed, standing only a foot away from him.

Taken aback at the irritation on her face, he stepped back. "Alright, I understand."

Her hand lifted off the frame, lingering, and instead touching the smooth table edge. She was looking at the items she pulled out, not at him.

"You should go now. I can do this on my own."

"I'm sorry." Felix looked troubled, but left the room as she wished. When the door closed, she stared at the photo frame. Her finger touched its edge, then retreated.

She never could decide what to do with it; keep it or trash it. How it bothered her, to keep the picture of dead people, to have a photo of someone she wanted to see and not. Even looking at it made her cringe away; it was looking at something she couldn't have, no matter how much she tried or begged.

She couldn't kill an already dead person. And she couldn't bear to look at her mother's face. The frame was in its usual position already, face down to hide her.

Robane had seen it too; she already cracked the glass just now. It was already breaking in the edges, but what she just did sealed it.

No one would bother her if it was gone; another piece of her past would be wiped from being discovered. What point was there in sentimental value for some picture that would soon fade to lose its contents? Looking at it never made her happy like it did with Athanasia's gifts. It always, consistently, was something that made her feel foul.

She picked it up and put it in the trash bin beside her desk. But she couldn't help placing it down carefully; how she wanted to just drop it, but she couldn't bring herself to. The garbage bag hid the frame from her, keeping it out of sight, at least.

She wasn't quite sure if she was feeling like she lost something, or that she got a load off her chest.

She didn't want to dwell on it further, so she moved away from her table and picked up a book to read.

. . .

Athanasia, because she was asleep for so long, was learning how to walk again from her muscles deteriorating.

"Athy can walk on her own..."

"This is faster."

So, taking a walk with Claude, accompanied by Felix and Alice, she wasn't actually walking with them, but being carried by the blank-faced emperor.