𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨: 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 1
"I'd love to see you in a pretty silk dress"
"Would you?"
"So I can tear it off you"
"If you rip my pretty silk dress I'll blacken your eye"
____________
Marya Prescott may appear innocent on the su...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A youthful, melancholic voice seeps beneath my pillow, curling around my ears and gently rousing me from slumber in the stillness of the night. "Are you la vie persona amata dello zio?" It asks.
The cushions and the cloud-like mattress cradle me in their softness. My mind feels foggy, and my ears are muffled as if wrapped in cotton. I find myself lost, uncertain of my surroundings, questioning the reason behind this indignity inflicted upon me. Awaken me when the moon shines bright as day against the deep navy sky, and I am sapped of all my strength.
"Nonna says that I am one, which is why I live here and not with my papa".
Everything suddenly crashes on me. For three whole days, I have managed to steer clear of his family within their home. At every meal, he offered excuses like, "She's resting," or, "She's unwell," even stating, "She doesn't want to see anyone." As a true gentleman does, he brought me a plate for each meal I missed, allowing me to eat in peace and come together with my thoughts which is really what I have been doing for the past 3 days, rotting in his hand-me-downs and using his mother's toiletries which I'm yet to thank. Honestly, this has been the most delightful vacation I've had in years, especially when compared to the confines of the hospital where I felt like a prisoner.
Enclosed within these four walls, I found a sense of solace that surpassed any other refuge. This comfort was intertwined with a profound sense of safety, allowing me to fall asleep without the burden of tomorrow's uncertainties weighing on my mind. Yet, this fragile illusion of a secure sanctuary crumbled the moment a nosy child discovered me.
I gather weeks worth of energy and unearth myself from under the blankets, yet I find myself lacking the strength to raise my eyelids. Despite my hopes of feeling rejuvenated, I am far from prepared to confront the reality awaiting me—or, more specifically, his family. Although I am usually lethargic and weak as soon as I am woken up, I would expect to feel at least some control over my body.
"I overheard Nonna saying that you barely eat". It's goddam midnight. And there is a child here, asking me: "How are you still alive then?"
I squint my eyes to a narrow slit and discover her sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in strawberry shortcake pajamas. Her smile is excessively wide, almost irritable. She's round-faced. Redheaded. American girl dolled. Very annoying.
"Who are you?" I ask, partly anticipating a genuine response, but as she swiftly brushes a lock of red hair away from her lips and inhales deeply, I find myself exhaling a sigh of my own.
"Zio says it's very bad for your body if you don't eat, but then I don't see him that much to know if he eats. Does he eat ?"
She is, I would estimate, anywhere between three and a sprightly six. I have no way of narrowing this down any further with this one, my staggering indifference toward children meets my determination to avoid anything to do with waking up and early mornings. And on top of everything, her eyes are striking, perilous pools of amber.
