The Brightest Star

Chapter one

One *

Sunday night in the Samuels house was Mentalist night. The lights were dimmed to create a feeling of suspense, the TV on pause, the popcorn made and drenched in butter, and everyone had a feeling of happiness. This had been the family's tradition since the beginning.
Stiffly, Mirabelle sat on the dark leather couch positioned in the family room, empty minus the small dark-bronze cat sleeping soundly in the corner, it's low purr barely audible. Jeanie, Mirabelle's mother, somehow felt it was her fault for her daughter's misfortunes. Ever since first introducing Mirabelle to the show, she seemed to be drawn to crime and brutal murders and pain. However it wasn't as if she desired to become a serial killer. No. She wanted to be the one to catch the criminal.
In the past, Jeanie had tried advising her daughter about the dangers of the job, that it was not "all fun and games" but Belle would only roll her mysterious grey-green eyes in rejection to the comment.
Since then, no contact was made with other children. Her parents believed that she was a psychopath, unworthy to be in the company of other children. Belle was perfectly fine with this, for she felt the other children would not understand her system of thinking or her motives for doing things.

On the couch, Mirabelle sat, tapping the screen of her phone while waiting considerably patient for her father to gather his beverage.

Once the show came to it's inevitable, shocking, cliffhanging end, Mirabelle was dismissed. She padded up the stairs, barely making a noise, to her sizable bedroom.
As result of her unfortunate endeavors, Mirabelle was adequately spoiled. In the back of her bedroom inhabited a grand marble balcony in which majestic plants and flowers grew upon. Belle swiftly opened the glass door, feeling the cool, refreshing breeze of a mid-winter night on her rather pale skin. She enjoyed stepping outside to sense the rejuvenating effects of the hypnotic essence of day lilies and orchids.
She stepped back from the scene and closed the door with a confirming click, giving her knowledge that the door was locked. She swept her room and her eyes caught on the book she had been reading for the past couple days.
Mirabelle lay down on her comfortable bed draped in sleek azure blankets while reading Paper Towns by John Green. Her room was quiet and still, save the slight rubbing of paper on paper as she turned the page. She read late into the night until finally placing her bookmark back into the binding of the book and setting it down on the mahogany bedside table. Within minutes of turning off the light, Mirabelle went to sleep.

A quote that frequently ran through her head was from the magnificent works of Harry Potter. "In dreams we enter a world that is entirely our own". The words were true for Belle, for she had entered an entirely different world, however, whether it was good or bad, was hard to say. She dreamt the house her grandmother occupied, it was warped, unrecognizable, but somehow she was able to interpret the building as one she had firmly planted in her memory. It hadn't been a good dream persay, but it had been a dream close to heart. She knew what would come with each movement. Each step she took lead her closer to the inevitable fate of the chimera.
Belle feared many things. Snakes being one of the supple variety. Each time this dream appeared in her sleep, she knew the pythons would appear, slithering toward her at incredible speed. She ascended the stairs, holding onto the hope that this time would be different, that this time she would find a way to outrun, outlive the snakes. Alas, the dream played out as it generally did, being cornered on the roof of the mysterious house, the twin snakes, one gleaming poison green, the other ink black. Both with hideous, ruby eyes glinting with the reflection of the sun. Belle thought through the scenarios that could play out and decided on the one she too often chose.
The girl braced herself, her ash blonde hair blowing in her face as she glanced at the ground below. The roses shimmered red and gold, the lilacs purple and the violets blue. With a deep breath and the stifle of a sob, Mirabelle jumped from the building. Similar to the others, she woke before she hit the ground, sucking in air so forcefully her throat hurt from the cool air racing down the tubes leading into her vital organs. She checked the pounding pulse in her wrist, getting the result of 150 beats in sixty seconds. Impressive as it may be, it was not in the least bit good for her.
She checked her blue-cased smartphone, resting on her right side table. She had one new message from her father.

Come down stairs if you
want breakfast.
We are going to the
movies at 10:30

Mirabelle sighed inwardly, knowing all too well the ways of her father. The sole purpose of her telephone was for her parents not to communicate with her directly. Of course she used it for other things such as Pinterest or Tumblr but her parents didn't really care what she did on there. They thought social media would be somewhat of an advantage, so their concern wasn't extreme.
Mirabelle moved to her dresser, glancing at her reflexion as she did so. Her hair fell past her shoulders in messy blonde waves. Her pale, lean, face had splashes of pink covering her cheeks. She opened a drawer and pulled out her favorite black leggings with a Hogwarts sweater. She loved the combination, especially on cold days like that day.
She met her father downstairs who was hunched over the stove, a frying pan steaming with clumps of yellow eggs. His face was glistened with sweat as he slid the scrambled eggs onto three plates. Mirabelle sat stiffly at the dining table, where her mother had her nose in a book. Her eyes weren't moving which caused Mirabelle to assume she was creating a diversion, a reason not to commence in a conversation with her own daughter.
Josh came to the table, his slim framed glasses still fogged up from the steam. He set the plates onto the cherry wood table. The pale ceramic clattered down, sending shivers down Belle's spine. She ate quickly and effectively, smiling appreciatively at her father, every time she caught his gaze.
Once she finished, she placed the dish in the sink. She sat down on the couch, stroking the cat on the way by. She logged onto her Pinterest account, checking the notifications. The usual messages covered the tab. "So and so liked your pin," "So and so pinned your pin" et cetera, et cetera. She was surprised to see one of her followers had invited her to a board.

High Functioning Socio-board

Belle hated ignoring invites, but she had no idea what a "High Functioning Socio-board" was and she had no intention getting into something that she didn't know about. So she declined the invitation with a heavy heart, knowing how much she would like to accept.
She heard her mother gathering her keys so she closed out of the app and stood to find shoes. Her blue and silver converse were sitting by the back door, beckoning her to wear them.
The drive was short, only 15 minutes of snowy weather, headlights gleaming through patches of icy bliss, and angry drivers honking at the new drivers who did not know how to drive in this particular weather. Parking was disastrous. The theater was crowded, loads of people planning to spend the day in a dark theater with a virtual screening of mythical people, mythical events, and mythical places. Don't take it the wrong way though. Mirabelle loved movies.