The Art of Aberration

. 01 .

I remember her well.

I remember her eyes. The two irises full of life with vivid green that captured every single moment as if it were of utmost importance to let the memory linger as long as possible.

I remember the sound of her voice, each word she spoke rolling out from in between her lips sounding through the room as a soothing melody and eventually lulling me to sleep.

I remember her faint flower scent, the freckles staining her tan skin in the summer, her long copper hair and her way of moving, so delicate and elegant, so simple, as if nothing mattered.

I see her every time I look in the mirror.

The only thing left of my mother is a memory. A memory that I try to keep grasp of, but only for it to start fading away with time. My own reflection is the only way to keep her memory alive in my mind.

Because I also remember her laying there, cold and lifeless on the ground. Pale skin, eyes wide. And him sitting on the ground beside her, knuckles bloody, thinking: "what have I done?"

But that memory, I never let in. Although sometimes it creeps into my brain at night, when the sleep I yearn so for does not come. And when it does, I see her in my nightmares.

I never got to say goodbye.

I blink once, having to hold back the tear that is about to roll down my face. I take one final look at my reflection, not knowing if it is me that is looking back. A strand of hair has made its way out of my bun, but I pay no attention to it. I just tuck it behind my ear and turn my face fully away from the vanity, toward the open windows.

I can feel the sunlight hitting my face in between the movement of the curtains. The heat of the rays make a wave of euphoric emotion wash over me. The crisp morning air fills my lungs, acting as a wake up call for my shuddering body. The cold air of early spring makes me feel alive more than ever.

I stand up, and take my novel from the bedside table. I open the door and let my feet take me on the path towards the gardens. Through the hall, down the stairs, to the terrace doors. The momentI step into the wet grass, I feel at ease. Within only a second, the hem of my dress is covered in mud. I open my book to page two-hundred-eleven.

"there once was a little white rose
that grew between the reds
she all felt but alone
sad
and different from the rest
the white rose feeling lonely
made her blind of her beauty
for there is art
in aberration
as there is beauty
in the little white rose
that grew between the reds."

My breath hitches as I let my fingers graze the ink on the page.

Reading has always been my greatest joy. It grants you an opportunity to learn and to discover what would otherwise not be known. Most importantly, it is a way for me to escape, for me to live a day as another in far away lands and in hopelessly romantic plots.

It's a way for me to forget.

Since coming to the Berkeley estate, many have not been shy to point out my difference to others. I have always known my unlikeness to the rest of respected society, it is not exactly something that can be avoided. My station is no secret and in no way am I ashamed of it, but that does not mean I like the way I am being treated at times.

Guests will turn their heads as I walk by, calling me an outcast when it seems like I am not listening, and even when they know I am.

I have gotten used to the disapproval of others, to bury my emotions deep inside my core and to not let anyone see the real version of me. It is almost as if I am living a half life. I feel like the sun in an eclipse, shadowed by the moon, never being able to shine.

I am after all, only but a governess. A poor little girl saved by the Berkeley family, to be spat out by society's standards.

I am easily disposable, easily replaceable and if it was not for Isabelle, I would have been.

With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Isabelle is the definition of astounding beauty. Everything about her is hauntingly perfect, from head to toe. Not only her beauty is what makes her so special, even her abilities are beyond the usual. She has a way of making people tremble with every word she says. Each word she speaks, each flutter of her eyes, every single breath she takes, is more than enough to make men fall to their knees right in front of her, praying to god for her to acknowledge their affection. And not only men.

I don't know where I would be at this moment if she had not noticed me. Would I still be in Amsterdam, wasting away my days in the orphanage? Or would I be somewhere else? If I had not been on the bridge that day, If I had not saved her I do not know what would have become of me. I might have saved her, but what Isabelle does not realize, is that she is the one that saved me.

I snap back from my thoughts when I see a hand waving before my eyes. I quickly look up, only to see two piercing blue eyes gazing back at me.
"My word Belle, you might as well have scared the life out of me!" I say, as Isabelle's laugh sounds through the air.

She likes to scare me at times. I have always been very jumpy.

"Are you telling me I frightened you by just a wave?" She immediately responds. "Is it my manicure that does not fancy you?" I laugh raising my hand to my mouth.

"How did you find me?" I ask her, closing my book and leaning my head against the oak behind me. "I thought my new hiding spot was the best one yet." Isabelle sticks her hand out to me and I take it thankfully. She pulls me up from the grass.

"You do know about the existence of windows, do you not?" Isabelle hooks her ams trough mine, and her presence alone makes my heart quicken.

"Why no I did not! You would have to teach me about those windows you speak so highly of, mis Berkeley." Isabelle slaps my arm. "Oh quit the act Aspen, I have something to tell you." I raise my brow in question, not knowing what Isabelle could possibly have to ask me. She always tells me everything, and I can not imagine her having any secrets from me. She turns to me, grinning widely. "How would you like to take the carriage up to town today? We could stay with aunt Madeleine at our townhouse this weekend."

I stop walking, forcing Isabelle to do so as well. "Oh I don't know, I'm not fond of the city and what about Mary and Benjamin?"
She sighs and pouts. "Sara can take care of them for a few days, you needn't worry! They are always to be found in the kitchen anyway, besides, I am not leaving without you."

I set my pace toward the house, leaving Isabelle on the grass. I watch her as she tries to hold up her dress, preventing it from getting dirty. She does her best to catch up to me, but has trouble in doing so. "I already asked mister Woods to prepare a carriage. It would be a waste if he had done that for nothing." I turn around and watch as she struggles to get to me. "Very well," I say. "But only because I need a new book to read and I know of a shop around the corner from the townhouse." Isabelle rolls her eyes. "Of course, if you say so."

...

. author's note .
hello and welcome to the first chapter of taoa!
thank you so much for reading! i'm sorry this is kind of a short and boring chapter with a lot of introduction in it, but i had to get that out of the way before getting to the rest of the storyline. i have decided to rewrite this first chapter, because i was not satisfied with the first version and where it would take the rest of the storyline, so i hope you all don't mind.
thanks again for reading an don' forget to vote and comment! <3
— ds.