Chapter One-Violet
"Violet! I'm starving! What are you doing? Get over here right now!" Dahlia screamed. Sighing, Violet put down her book and got up to prepare a Danish croissant for her Dahlia, her sister's favorite.
"My feet ache! I need a massage!" Calla, Violet's other sister practically yelled.
Violet, the youngest, had always been the hated one in her family. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving the rest of her family to grieve. It'd turned her father cold and cruel.
So now, they blamed it all on her.
It's your fault, they'd say. All your fault. Mother is gone, and father has been left like... this.
Older than her by seven years, the twins had known their mother for a while and grown to become fond of her. Occasionally they'd told her snippets of her. Mother had been a kind, loving woman.
It didn't help that Violet had been born with a stutter. And a birthmark that tracked from the right side of her neck, down the ridge of her right shoulder and then to the bottom of her spine.
Ever since then, the two sisters had been laughed at for having the weird, different, cliché sister. And so, they turned their anger on her.
Violet hurriedly darted up the stairs, stumbling over her own feet as she did so.
"Violet!" Dahlia screamed, voice shrill. "VIOLET!!!"
"Yep, yep, c-coming!" Violet replied. She pushed open the door to her sister's room, setting down the tray on the table beside the door.
At twenty-three, Dahlia and Calla were both immature for their age. And their room was proof of that.
Dahlia's side was a rich purple, with a queen-sized mahogany bed. The bed-frame stretched out, old-fashioned yet pretty, flowers and magical creatures engraved into the wood. Gowns, dresses, miniskirts and other purple clothes were strewn all over the floor.
However, Calla's side was even worse. It was all the same—but it was a in a hot, barbie-pink instead.
Right now, Dahlia was adjusting her makeup. She pursed her ruby-colored lips in front of the little mirror she was holding, batting her eyelashes at her own reflection. Calla, meanwhile, preened in front of the wide mirror they shared, trying on different dresses and scowling at herself.
"Violet! There you are! My feet are so sore, you must help me massage them immediately!"
Rude, Violet thought. But she knew that although Calla could come across as mean and mannerless, she was really just an empty flowerpot. Where her brain should've been was more likely just empty space.
It was Dahlia that was the real, venomous one trying to make her life miserable. Calla just followed along.
Sighing, Calla flopped down on her perfect, princess bed, cherry-colored gown pooling out all around her. She peeled off her creamy, silk gloves, tossing them onto her bed.
Violet crouched on the floor, reaching for the bottles beneath Calla's bed. One read 𝐿𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒾𝓁, another 𝐻𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓈𝒸𝓊𝓈 𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒾𝓁 and the last 𝓈𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒾𝓁.
Violet opened them all, pouring a little each onto each palm, and then proceeded to rub them into her sister's skin.
Calla insisted this twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. Violet always obliged, though the work was tedious and unpleasant.
YOU ARE READING
Survival (May undergo editing)
Fantasy"You are my prisoner. If you wish for freedom, you will have to earn it yourself. But remember this: If you ever leave, you won't leave as the same person you were when you arrived." ~~~ Violet has always been the unwanted daughter in the Laurier Fa...
