bagheera

>> opulence

Hey now, leave it to the wayside like you do, for you
Imagination calling mirrors for you
- Hey Now by London Grammar

The girl was beautiful. That much was certain and no one doubted it. She was tall, lean and elegant with velvet black hair that shone even in the darkness. She never wore anything other than plain shades like grey and black, she was simple like that. She didn't want to be seen and stared at, that was why she wore plain clothes. But it never worked. She was too beautiful to ignore, large eyes and mouth, a curved lithe figure that got people whispering about if she was a model or actress.

The girl played the violin so expertly you would have thought she was taught by a teacher. If anything was going to be remotely unattractive about her it would be her fingers. Strung, bent, gnarled and line pressed from the severe strings of the instrument. But no one cared because she was so perfect at what she did even her dirty hands were beautiful.

***

That's what everyone said about me.

That I was the luckiest girl in the world because of my wealth and beauty. They said that I was so privileged and that I should never take anything for granted. But they were wrong. I had never taken anything for granted. I couldn't. I wasn't allowed to. My brother made sure of that. Not that he did it on purpose. Of course not. He meant well. You see, my brother was sick. Not a common cold or flu, no my brother thought that people were after him. And that the shadows were following him, getting ready to kill him.

It was my duty to protect him to make sure that he stayed out of trouble. My mother always said that I needed to watch him and make sure that he was safe and cared for when she couldn't. My brother was a kind boy, he was smart and handsome. But he was nervous. All the time. He was always speaking to his imaginary colleagues about how to eradicate the voices in his head and how to diminish the shadows whom crept after him.

I didn't mind looking after him. He was kind to me, I was the only one he was kind to. Even our parents he despised for their ignorance on how he felt about things. Whenever they couldn't understand something about him, they just said,
"Marguerite please do something about your brother". Yes that's right, my name was Marguerite DuBois. It was a very perfect, pretty name that told anyone who heard it that yes I was rich and beautiful at the same time.

"Marguerite your brother wants to read 'The Jungle Book' again" my father complained yet again. My brother loved 'The Jungle Book' ever since he was a kid that was the only book that he had ever wanted mother and father to read to us. Not that I minded, I loved those old fairytales and later on I enjoyed works like 'Jane Eyre' and 'Les Miserables'. Mother said that proper ladies read those books that was also why she enforced the need for me to play the violin.

She didn't realise that I already loved to play that instrument. I already had one hidden away and played it whenever mother and father were away, which was a lot. My brother loved to hear me play.
"Mother wants you to get lessons for it" he told me frequently, "but you don't need them, you're so good at it" I was always mid song whenever he said this so I just smiled at him and continued whatever piece I was playing. They say that once you learnt one instrument you could learn them all because you could learn sheet music.

However I didn't really want to play any other instrument, I loved my violin too much. It would feel like I was having an affair. I didn't name my violin or the bow but I kept them in pristine condition, using my pocket money to pay for repairs and polishing and tightening of the strings whenever they got loose. I loved my violin and no one but my brother knew about it. When Mother finally did tell me that I needed to learn an instrument I got out my violin and played for her.
"Marguerite darling you play so beautifully" she clapped her hands and beamed up at me. She was so proud when I did something she approved of.

"Marguerite play 'The Jungle Book Theme'" my brother pleaded to me every day.
"Honey she's probably exhausted she doesn't want to play that right now" Mother told him.
"Well then let's read the book"

It was routine, every day we would read the book to him and then we would go to bed at a certain time.
"You indeed are like Mowgli, such a naughty boy" Mother scolded when we settled into our beds.
"That makes Marguerite Bagheera" I just laughed at that, "she's my protector—my teacher"

I grinned at him and tousled his hair.
"Okay I'll be your Bagheera" little did I know that this was a promise that I would need to keep forever. Little did I know that this was a name that would haunt me, it would label me and be me forever.