The Cursed Russian Doll

Birthday Party

Matthew stood curiously in front of a tall mirror. His parents had forced him into more formal attire for the occasion. All because they were planning to capture every moment on their camera, which strangely Matthew had no complaints against, he rarely had his photo taken as his hate rooted from his body structure.

His petite size meant he was easy to pick on, not that he would let the bully go without letting them witness his sharp tongue, he felt more like a clothes hanger than a human. He frowned at his double, who copied his actions effortlessly, in a sterile white shirt lined in red, charcoal black vest and stormy grey trousers. His hair mimicked the colours of the sunset, hanging like soft wavy curtains.

"Mon petite Matthieu!" His papa entered with a joyful smile, border lining flirtation, without any reservation he latched himself onto Matthew's sturdy frame.

"Oui, Papa?" Matthew questioned emotionlessly, concentrating on not allowing his papa's immaturity distract him from smoothing out the fabric of his vest.

" You look zo beautiful, ai can't keep mon 'ands of you, mon son!" Matthew dodged his papa's eager hands and gave him a pointed look, warning of the consequences of his actions. His papa, fueled more by Matthew's rejection, smiled and helped check if his clothing was in order. He stilled and looked into Matthew's eyes with pride.

" You 'ave grown mon son, eet feels lik on-lee yestairdai zat ai was 'uldeng yur 'and and teachéng you to walk. You makng papa cry, why do you 'ave to grow up!?" The man wailed, his voice breaking in the middle of his melodramatic speech. Pulling Matthew into an inescapable hug. Pulling away just as quick, the tears in the corner of his eyes disappearing just as fast as they had appeared.

"Smile mairé mon petite Matthieu, eet eez yur 18th birthdai!" He finished with a gentle smile, a dangerous clang from a kitchen made his papa wipe his head to the exit in frustration.

" Ai tuld 'im not to go een ze kitchen, sairry Matthieu but papa needs to savé ze kitchen from yur fathair befaire 'é burns la 'ousé down." Matthew
nodded and smiled slightly before replying carefully.

"You might want to hurry..." His papa groaned and lunged for the door and muttered curses. After a few moments came another bang and clash.

"You bloody twat!" His father swore. Matthew returned to the mirror and stared at himself, was he probably the most normal and sane on of the family, something he was happy about.

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"Blow out the candles, bro!" Alfred jumped next to Matthew leaning in closer than ever, only inched away from getting his face cover in cake. His father, being the lovely man he was, grabbed onto Alfred's collar, having been forced into a dress shirt, and growled.

"Slow down brat. We need to wait for fancy-pants to get the camera ready. That did not help Alfred's situation who proceeded to pull Francis away from the camera forcefully.

"Come on! I wanna have some cake!" Alfred whined. Pulling at his papa's sleeve adamantly, Matthew watched the scene and hoped that his father would not join in. Unfortunately, his father decided to just that and the trio spent the next ten minutes battling out what to do. This argument consisted of the father, Arthur, scolding Alfred, who was more interested in forced Francis, papa, to take the photo already so he can get out his formal attire.

No one seemed to notice the bell ring and Matthew quietly stood from his seat, in front of his black forest cake Ludwig had advised him to try, and opened the front door to nod a greeting to the newcomer.