'love?' when you live as long I have, 'love' is a surprisingly rare occurrence, something that many would have given up on. Yet, as I look into the eyes of the man in front of me - his innocent blue eyes filled with hope of what life holds and fear...
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I've been starving myself, carving skin until my bones are showing, what more could I do?
Somewhere around the beginning of 11th century
(before the existence of vampires)
Isabella
I sat before my dressing mirror, my breaths shallow and labored, while Esther, my mother, tightened the corset around my waist. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
"Mother, please," I pleaded, my voice strained with discomfort. "Don't pull the corset too hard. It's too tight."
Esther's hands paused momentarily, her expression cold and indifferent. "Nonsense !!, Isabella. Nobody wants a waist over 6 inches. You know that."
Suppressing a scream of frustration, I bit my lip. Esther's words cut deep, a relentless reminder of her unattainable standards of beauty.
"Maybe," I began tentatively, my voice trembling with uncertainty, "maybe you would love me better if I looked more like Rebekah."
Esther's eyes narrowed, her grip on the corset tightening once more. "Rebekah?" she scoffed. "She's everything you're not, Isabella. Blue-eyed, blond hair, perfect body. Maybe you should try harder to be like her."
My heart sank, the weight of mother's expectations suffocated my spirit. "You should lower your expectations," I whispered, barely audible. "Mother, I was never cut out to be any beauty queen like Rebekah."
For a fleeting moment, Esther's grip faltered, a hint of pity flickering in her eyes. But it vanished quickly, replaced by cold indifference.
"If I get prettier, would you like me better, mother?" My voice trembled with desperation, the corset constricting around my waist. But Esther only tightened it further, devoid of warmth or affection.
"If you're pretty, perhaps then you'll be worth something." she said coldly.
As I struggled to breathe, a torrent of thoughts flooded My mind. Why does mother hate me so much? Will I ever be enough ? I've been starving myself, carving skin until my bones are showing, what more could I do? I realized, the truth hitting me like a sledgehammer. I will never be pretty enough for her. I will never be Rebekah, I will never be the blue eyed, blondie. But as I stared at my hollow reflection, I knew no amount of beauty could bridge the chasm between me and my mother. Deep down, I understood that I could never be enough.
My heart ached as I grappled with the reality of my existence, trapped in a cycle of unattainable standards and maternal disdain. And in that moment, I vowed to find my worth beyond mother's expectations, to discover beauty in my own reflection, no matter how distorted it may seem.
