What the Morning Brings | #NaNoWriMo2018

[ 10 ]

☽

The girl stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She saw deep brown eyes shadowed by sleepless shades of purple and gray, hair unbrushed and unkempt, and fingernails bitten to stubs.

Her mother placed her hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged away from her mother's touch. She didn't want reassurance. She wanted her sister back.

Her parents may have given up, but she was never going to stop hoping.

"Fine," Mama sighed, withdrawing her warmth. "But people are going to try to reassure you, and you better not flinch away. I don't want anyone spreading rumors about our family. It's hard enough having everyone know she ran away."

The girl had to bite back a stinging remark. Even knowing her beloved daughter might be dead, Mama could only think about the family's reputation. It was always about their reputation. Always about how polished they looked on the outside, even if they were riddled through with cracks.

If her sister was still here, she would've taken her aside and combed her hair until it shone. She would've whispered embarrassing stories about the town girls in her ear, telling her how they were shiny on the outside but rotten on the inside. She would've toyed with her hair, telling her how lucky she was to be unique and how terrible it was to fit in. She would have said that everything was going to be alright, and the girl would have believed it.

But she wasn't here anymore, and the girl needed someone to give her solace. Not her sickly sweet relatives or the snobby townspeople, but someone who actually cared and felt and loved. She didn't want people to hug her or try to comfort here.

She just wanted them to bring her sister back.

The girl stared sulkily ahead, her eyes dull and glassy. After a pause, Mama walked away, giving up. Just like she had given up on her sister.

The girl tugged on the bow Mama had clipped in her hair. It was gold and glitzy, bedazzled with tacky sequins. With a wince, she tugged it out from her hair, the clip catching on her tangled knots.

Giving up, she wrenched it out sharply, the prongs pinching her scalp. Despite its fakeness, she couldn't bear to shut the clip away. Anything with a glimpse of gold reminded her too much of her sister.

The bow turned to a daisy in her hand, its petals pure and white, its head as yellow as the sun. Heaving, the girl caged it in her fist, shoving it into her pocket. She hated her magic, and she hated herself. She hated Mama for being weak, and she hated her sister for leaving.

She glared at her reflection through the tears, scoffing at her frilly dress and prissy makeup. Her sister would've been ashamed to see her so tamed.

She clawed at the fabric, ripping it down the seam. She attacked her dress like a wild animal, stamping and beating it until it was just a heap of rumpled ruffles on her floor.

Luckily, Mama had been kind enough to let her go without makeup, but she still needed to do something about her hair. It was messy and unruly, but it wasn't horrible enough. She smiled viciously as she lit up with an idea, the grief-rusted gears in her mind turning.

Mama would have to pay attention to her now.

----

Oddly enough, the girl was reluctant to step outside. Rebelling against Mama was one thing, but publicly shaming her was a line even she hesitated to cross. Though she had embarrassed Mama on countless occasions, she had never insulted their family's reputation too harshly. It was easy to laugh things off as being a phase when she was a child, with Mama reassuring everyone that she'd grow out of her wickedness in due time.

But she had to do this.

For her sister.

Summoning up all of her courage, the girl stepped out of the shadows. She walked down the stone path unsteadily, gaining momentum as she went.

Heads turned at her appearance, saccharine smiles turning to salt. The other girls her age snickered, but she ignored them. She had never bothered with their frivolous opinions before, and she wasn't about to start now.

She walked with her head held high and her fists clenched by her sides, the bow clasped inside.

The crowd of mourners parted, clearing a path for the pariah.

The girl faced her mother like they were soldiers, except their only weapons were words.

"What have you done?" Mama gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. Her eyes stared at the girl's bare feet and made their way up, slowly taking in her torn overalls and finally settling on her hair.

More like her lack of hair.

The girl smiled triumphantly. Gone were her shoulder-length waves. Gone were her locks of chocolate streaked through with walnut and pecan.

Cutting her hair had been easier than she'd expected, especially given the fact that she wanted the result to look as ugly as possible. The worse it was, the worse it would reflect on Mama. Her remaining hair was uneven and tufty, bits sticking out in every direction like a baby bird's fluff.

"Are you alright?" Mama asked, her eyes darting to the side to judge the other women's reactions.

"Perfectly," the girl answered, tilting her chin up innocently.

Mama narrowed her eyes. They were at a stalemate, and she knew it.

If Mama did anything, her reputation would be permanently stained with the memory of this moment. Everyone would remember the day her daughter had gone mad at her sister's funeral. But if she didn't make a scene, all anyone would remember was the girl.

"Let's get you inside," Mama said finally, hurrying over and wrapping her hand around the girl's. "I think the grief is getting to you."

The tufty-haired girl let herself be dragged away without a fight, but not without a little fun.

As she passed, she reached out with her magic and brought out their fears. The surrounding girls shrieked in unison, covering their eyes with their hands. Briefly, she wondered what kind of rumors that would start, but it was all worth it. It served them right for not caring about her sister.

Hushed, concerned murmurs emanated from the adults as their eyes trailed her. They didn't know what she had done, but it smelled of witchery.

The girl was content with being the outcast, the scapegoat, the witch.

She had finally become what everyone in the town already thought she was.

But instead of feeling completely victorious, there was a shred of shame in her heart. Part of her knew that this wasn't what her sister would've wanted. Part of her knew that this wasn't right.

But the girl buried that part of her soul, stamping out the sparks before they became a conscience.

[ a / n ]

i have midyears coming up and i'm super stressed so idk if i'm going to post until they're over (about 2 weeks), sorry.

anyway, i hope you enjoy this chapter! i can't believe this is already the 10th chapter i've posted here? 

also, idk if anyone's noticed, but i haven't been putting chapter banners at the top because i keep forgetting, so maybe i'll go through and add them when i have the time.