Threading the Wrong Needle | Twilight [2]

trois

18 years old, 1811

Estelle had only been young when she understood fully that her family was different. Moving constantly due to the nature of her maman's and uncle Hugo's peculiar habits, she had never questioned much. 

She had been explain, only a few years back, that Marion and Hugo drank the blood of animals. It was the only way to assure their eye colour remained the same, so that they might stay close to Estelle as she grew. 

It was the night that she had snuck out of their home at only fifteen to meet with a young boy of equal age who fancied her did she learn the truth of her family -- piecing together the details by the stories that were told of demons in the night. 

Vampires, as it was, were not nearly as terrifying as he townspeople believed they were. Not even when she had met those vampires that came wandering through with the red eyes and dark cloaks who spoke to her maman. 

The terrifying part was the subtle phrases and promises spoken by her family that swore they were to leave her to live her life as she ought to have, to live a life that hadn't been stolen away too short. 

The thought of being alone reminded her of growing, of being cold and without breath. It made her chest burn and scream. It would either send her into a frenzy of emotions unbecoming or shock her into a stillness that locked her limbs and kept her prisoner. 

As she notices that their things begin to disappear one day, the little trinkets and reminders that she knew her mother would never part with unless forced, Estelle realized that they day had come. 

It was the middle of the morning, early in the hours still. The sun was high, shinning brightly over their little cottage at the edge of the village. With the young men often making an appearance with the request to court her, she knew that they would not leave her truly alone just yet. No, she imagined that her maman would see it more appropriate to leave her as a ward to a dear friend and their husband.

She would be left a large dowry, that much was certain, and a yearly allowance was guaranteed to whomever should be stuck with her. 

It was a terrible, horrible thought. 

Estelle expressed as much to her mother and uncle, that being left behind would be akin to leaving her for dead 

"You are not viewing life as you ought, my little bird," her maman says. "You are afraid to live the world amongst your own kind." 

"I fear never seeing you again, being parted before the rightful time has come for us to do so," Estelle argues. "I wish to stay with you always. I wish to never be parted, mother. Please, let me stay with you now and eternal." 

"My darling girl, I cannot have you leave me for this existence. I would not allow you to throw away these opportunities solely because you desire it." 

Estelle seethes, fear burning in her throat. "Do not make me so alone, mothe. Do not make me so sad for the remainder of a short life. I will be miserable. I will be troubled and without love." 

Her mother's eyes water with tears that will not shed. The pain etched in the stone appears as though smooth and flesh. It appears as though there were no difference bar the inability to shed real tears. 

"Mother. Mother, please, do not go. Please, do not leave me," she begs, crying in earnest. She feels as though she will succumb to hysterics as she clings to her mother as a young child clings to theirs. 

A cold hand brushed through her hair, smoothing it down and tidy. She is held sturdy, strong. The arms around her support her like she was none still so small and tiny, barely knee high. "I will not leave you here, not to grow accustomed to this transition without a word. I will linger until you settle to ensure you are joyful before I go, my Estelle."