Please note: This is a supernatural story with magic and such and I'm only working on getting the main parts written. Important details will be added in later.
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Heartless cerulean eyes stared back. Never breaking contact as the world around them burned.
There will always be a monster.
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Marie-Klaire couldn't break away from the reflection. Her eyes were always so cold, bright but frigid. They were the brightest, palest blue and yet.. held no light. Am I really what they say? She wondered. Her steely gaze shifted to her dark brown hair. It was an un-brushed mess of waves that poured over her shoulders, down to the middle of her back. How can I be?
Cold steel scissors weighed heavily in her left hand. Oh, how easy it would be to chop all of that hair. But would it make her feel better? Would she finally feel.. comfortable?
"Klaire! Honey, breakfast is ready!"
"Be down in a minute!" She yelled back.
With a heavy sigh, she tossed the scissors into the sink. Maybe tomorrow. A silent promise whispered in her thoughts. Nothing would change tomorrow. She knew that deep down. Her heart would always feel heavy and her body would forever be covered in bruises.
Marie-Klaire knew how she felt probably came with the whole not quite a woman, but no longer a girl age. She would be sixteen in a few weeks and it felt far from perfect. The teen twisted her hair into a loose braid, applied her usual too-dark-but-who-cares make up and left the bathroom. Each step towards the kitchen filled her with discomfort.
"Have you seen my jacket?" It must have been almost 80 degrees outside but there was no way she was leaving the house wearing that green camisole without anything else to cover her feminine figure.
"Honestly Klaire, a couple of bruises doesn't mean you can't dress up once in awhile. Even then, who says you have to look like--"
"Like a boy? Oh no, some one call the police, there's a girl who doesn't know her place!" She mockingly waved her arms in horror.
"I'm just saying, I buy all those cute dresses and you always wear the same torn jeans." Her mom complained. It pained her to see her only child covered in bruises. Yellow and purple marks decorated her skin more and more over the past year. They were always below the neck and easy to hide, but nothing escaped a mother's eye.
The women shared the same chocolate colored hair and slender face, but that was nearly all. The teen already stood a good four inches over her mother. In many ways, she already looked more mature than her.
"So, you want the school to call child services? You know what they'll think." Marie-Klaire was trying to hardest to keep her tone civil. She loved her mother, but the woman didn't think of consequences among the mundane. "And it's not the same pair. All of my jeans look like this."
"Are you sure? Because I never see them in the laundry!" Alaya half joked, the laughter clear in her warm honey colored eyes.
"We both know I've been doing my own laundry for years." It killed Klaire not to roll her eyes.
"You're always so serious, just like your father." She joked again. "Eat your breakfast before it gets cold. Do you need a ride to school?"
"No."
"Is Carmen bringing you? Damn, maybe I should cook more eggs." She barely finished her sentence before opening the fridge. Mk barely noticed when she left her seat at the table.
