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'what motivates me? hatred? is it love? what's more wrong; that i too wish to be great or my mother wished she had a son?' — brutus
— 1929
"My baby." Eulalie cooed as her daughter laid her head gently in her lap. She ran her hands softly through her roots, and pulled down to her ends. And, she was contented to a point— she could give her family the affection it needs.
Eulalie clenched her eyes shut as the grandfather clock in the corner of the room signified yet another hour passed. It was five in the evening when Anwar returned from work. He was a humble worker for the Ministry, working his way up honestly to department head, if he was to stay hardworking. The promotion in their sights was his main source of joy, after all he would have finally made it somewhere without the imposing control his heritage held over his head. Britain meant an escape— and that was what he cherished.
As the woman ran into a knot in her daughter's hair, the girl jolted and hissed quickly. Her action was near-silent, sucking air through her teeth temperately, until she relaxed again.
That was more than enough for the man's head to snap to her.
"What was that?" His eyes darted to his child's every limb, "Have you—?" He was cut off as his own thoughts either ran short or perhaps overwhelmed his lips from continuing any further.
"Eulalie, could you wait in the hall, please?" Anwar watched her frame rise in an almost robotic fashion. There was little humanity to her expression as a battle of thoughts clouded her eyes greatly, her legs taking her away with their own mind.
Anwar crouched down to the girl, hanging off the edge of a royal blue couch. He sucked a quick breath in as their eyes became level.
"You haven't... become a snake at any point— as of recent, have you?" He said.
She blinked a few times, "What, like Nagini?"
Lestari took her words as the incorrect answer, as then her father had slammed his hand down onto the cocktail table and glanced away, likely to collect himself.
"You don't bring up that girl or her family in this house, do you hear me?" Anwar's gaze was sharper than previous, as if he were attempting to ingrain his words into her head.
"Why?"
Anwar was six years old when his sister was born. She was quiet as a newborn, unnaturally so. When the siblings' mother discovered a Burmese Python where there ought to be her child, she was wounded. At the sight of witnessing his mother's hand bitten clean off, Anwar ran. Away from his brother, away from his father. He knew that sister of his was a beast, a villainous entity entirely. There was no possible way could he accept her into their family; an animal could not be a relative to humans.
