Forbidden Enchantment (Book One)

Forbidden Enchantment: Chapter Two

Joanne handed me my two bags and I slung them over my shoulders, with little problem. She pulled my only suitcase along the cobbled driveway and here I was, yet again, at another new beginning.

Chapter Two: Change can't all be that bad

I knocked heavily on the door and pounded the doorbell, my thoughts solely on peeing. Joanne looked at me cautiously, probably mistaking my behaviour for something else.

‘I need to pee’, I said stiffly, gritting my teeth.

‘Oh’, Joanne looked away, probably smiling. Well screw her.

The door was opened a few seconds later by a woman, probably in her mid thirties. Before she could even get a chance to greet us, I had dumped my bags on the wooden hallway with a thud and ran to the door under the stairs, which I assumed to be the bathroom-I was right.

As I locked the door, I heard the woman say, ‘Oh my!’ but whatever. First impressions were last impressions, right? I would be out of here in no time, then.

When I was done peeing, I let out a heavy sigh. Ah, that felt good. I washed my hands under the gleaming silver taps, and took a look at myself in the mirror.

Well it could be worse. My face was all sticky, as were my clothes that were glued to me body. My blue eyes were evidently tired, just as I was, and they had lost their usual gleam. The t-shirt I was wearing was clinging to me, and the thick hoodie over them made it worse. Suddenly, I got a realisation, and took off both of them, leaving only the hoodie back on. Now what to do with the t-shirt? I shrugged and put it in the hoodie’s pocket, before washing my face roughly, causing all the eyeliner to smear. By the time I was done, I looked nothing close to a panda, my translucent skin making the contrast between the black and white even clearer. Pandas were an endangered species though, right? Might as well join them.

After a quick hand through my limp hair, I turned on my heel and walked back into the hallway. In my haste, I had not taken much in, but now, I stood with my mouth hanging open. Imagine a house from the seventies; that olden, granny look, with cream wallpaper and small, round wooden tables holding pictures of family dating back to the dawn on man; imagine little lamps and flower shaped lights. Oh dear, we were in a bit of a predicament here, weren’t we?

This house held a fixed image of itself, and the people, I could assure you, would be the same; they all were. 

I heard voices coming from what I assumed to be the living room; right again. At my arrival, all chatter ceased, the people’s eyes resting intently on my face.

‘Yes?’ I asked, daring them to say something, but all were silent. They were always quiet.

‘Oh, erm, hi! My name is Betty, and I shall be your new foster mom!’ The woman who had opened the door stood up, and gave me a hug, but my arms just hung by my sides. Trust me lady, I have had enough ‘hugs’ to last me three lifetimes. Betty, I had not noticed before, was wearing a floral dress that reached down to her knees, the perfect criteria for this perfect house. With her immaculately curled, auburn hair in a tight bun, and strikingly pink lipstick, she looked straight out of a home magazine cover. ‘Look at my house! It’s perfect! Like me!’ It would read, and other home makers around the world would look at her and sigh, ‘Oh if only my life was as perfect as hers!’

You see, I knew people, but what still bugged me, was why they had chosen to foster me. I was like Hurricane Katrina wreaking havoc on Perfectsville. But who ever said perfection wasn’t scarred?

The woman laughed nervously before sitting back down, patting the seat next to her. ‘Come on, sit with me’, she smiled, but as expected, it didn’t quite reach her eyes.