Threading the Wrong Needle | Twilight [2]

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4 years old, 1797

Estelle had never not been cold while in her maman's arms. It was simply something that was at this point, one of the first things that came to mind when she thought of the brilliant woman that never failed to draw warmth to her heart despite all this. Another thought was pretty yellow eyes, a yellow like golden sun rays and hair a long brown that was the opposite of her own pretty blonde. It was one of the many things that reminded her of her mother.

She questioned it all the time, why she was so different, so warm and soft compared to her mother and uncle, with eyes an electric blue, that she wondered if the kids her age were right -- that they weren't really her family, that she wasn't pretty enough to be their family.

Because pretty was the word her mother used when she described her, spoke her name with it attached as though they were always intended to be paired eternally together. The young girl could never quite fit together how it matched when she knew she only looked average in her home, average in comparison to what was presented to her at each waking moment passed in her home.

Her maman always said she was silly when she asked such things though, always told her that she was prettier than she ever was and than they ever could be, and that the cold, the cold was something she as lucky not to have. Estelle believed her. She always believed her maman.

So when the cold weather hit and snow began to line the earth, she believed her maman when she said that she needed to wear a coat, that she would fall ill if she didn't. Estelle didn't really understand, couldn't really put a finger on how when the cold was something that had permanently chilled her bones from too long hugs with her mother or bedtime cuddles with her uncle, but she listened anyway, loving the feeling of joy that filled her when she spotted her maman's happy smile that she sunk into her coat and held it close to her as she played -- occasionally running her hand over the material just so she could recall the way she had made her maman happy. Estelle loved when maman was happy, she always wanted maman to be happy.

It was in the cold weather that she dragged her maman out into the snow where the day was brightly hidden behind the clouds to play, with the help of uncle Hugo it was a job easy done that often called her to giggle and shriek with laughter as uncle put snow in maman's hair. Estelle had wondered why they never got cold, why their fingers were never nipped pink from the kisses of Jack Frost like hers were, but she never asked, never even mentioned her own -- because how could she ruin the fun when she was only a little cold. The cold was something she was used to anyway.

And she was four now. A big girl that knew when she had played too much, and she just wanted to play a little bit longer, please, maman?

(But maman was always there with a watchful eye ready to whisk her away to the warmth of their small fire, monitering her in case she pressed her chilled skin too close to the flames that were ready to lick their way over her, burning her up in angry kisses that sometimes haunted her dreams. Estelle's nightmares told her that this was what maman's kisses would feel like if her love ever ran out -- if the cold was ever gone and she was no longer given the happy, pretty smiles that made breathing so much easier.)

Estelle was lucky to be cold in the summer, when the heat was high and her skin was so sticky with sweat that it caused her hair to cling to her skin and her cheeks to grow red. She was able to lean back, able to attach herself to her maman and breathe a sigh of relief as the coolness that she was so familiar with lifted the heat from her lungs, washed away the summertime dryness that burdened her in a way that it never bothered them.

She never wanted to say anything, opting to keep quiet because they never complained about being too hot in the summer like she was, but they always seemed to know, letting her wear only her thinnest dresses and held her in their laps at night to help her fall asleep comfortably because they were never really tired, were they? Was it something that happened when you got older, that you no longer needed to sleep as an adult? Estelle did not understand but she wanted to be like that, like the adults that could stay up all night and not waste hours that could be spent playing on dumb sleep no matter how tired she became.