Of Silver and Swans | #nanowrimo2019

one

"Let's go."

Lynette's eldest sister shook her awake. There was nothing gentle about the gesture, but Circe had never been known for her sisterly affection. After all, they had a job to do.

That didn't stop Lynette from moaning as the bright light pierced her vision. She longed to press her cheek against the sleepy softness of her pillow, but she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. Bitterness swelled in Lynette's heart, as it did every night, but she pushed it aside.

Only girls sweet and honeyed can be swans. That's what Maman always said. To some, it might've sounded like a compliment, but Lynette knew what it really meant. Her mother was warning her. Girls who were not gentle and lovely could not be swans, and if they were not swans than they were not family.

Circe's amber eyes trailed over her, distaste tugging her lips into a frown.

"Freshen up," she ordered. She put her hands on her hips, flaunting the way her nightgown draped flatteringly across her body. It swept across her shoulders, the silk edged with whorling patterns of lace. Pure white and slightly sheer, it rippled in the moonlight, blossoming with moonstone shades of pale pink and purple.

Lynette smoothed out the wrinkles of her own nightgown, combing her fingers through her tangled, flaxen hair. It was a routine she was too familiar with, having performed it every night for as long as she could remember. Despite being surrounded by her sisters, all doing the same, she was not comforted.

They were putting on a show, and she was sick of being nothing more than a puppet.

Her sisters finished getting ready, filing into the hallway and down the stairs. Lynette pretended to brush her hair until she couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. Finally, she let a sigh escape from her lips, slumping back against her bed.

Someone hurried back up the stairs. From the cadence of their steps Lynette knew it was Odette. Her twin sulked into the room, her soles slapping against the wood.

"Maman says we can't leave until you come down," she huffed, leaning against the doorframe. "So get moving!" she added when Lynette didn't move a muscle.

"No," Lynette said. She set her face in a childish pout, but Odette stayed by the door, her hands creeping to her hips.

"Lyn."

"No."

"Lyn!"

"Fine!" she shouted, slamming her hands down on her bed. As much as she hated the ritual, she knew she had to participate. The moon would kill her, if Maman didn't get to her first.

Satisfied, Odette spun away, leaving Lynette to seethe in anger.

Odette and Lynette were twins, two halves of the same heart, but sometimes it didn't feel like it. Odette loved being a swan. She loved clasping the cloak around her neck and shedding her skin, gliding across the moon-dappled waters as a graceful, white bird.

Lynette despised it.

She hated having to give up her nights to the moon, and she hated not having a choice in the matter, but she didn't know why she bothered protesting. Her fate had been decided the moment Maman had given birth to her and Odette. In the de Cygne girls, moonlight ran through their veins and feathers haunted their bones, as it had been for generations and generations. Every night, they were blessed - or cursed, in Lynette's opinion - to drink the moon's nectar, imbuing them with enough magic to transform into swans for a few hours. But magic always came with a cost, and this was no exception.

Drinking it felt amazing, like music singing through your veins and silk against your skin and sugar melting on your tongue all at once. But once you took a sip, there was no going back. Once you became a swan, you could never become fully human ever again. A part of you would always be moonlight and feathers instead of blood and bones.

-----

Lynette descended the stairs, gripping the railing tight. Her sisters' whispers were hushed, but she knew they were talking about her. Unlike Lynette, they were all obedient, never stopping to fight the urge to transform like she did. None of them ever wondered if this gift wasn't as glorious as it seemed, not even Evelyn, the youngest, and certainly not Circe, the eldest.

Lynette's mood soured as she reached the bottom step, her eyes meeting Circe's. Her sister was not pleased with her disobedience. Maman relied on Circe to maintain order in the household, and it reflected poorly on her when Lynette misbehaved. She could not deny that she felt a glimmer of pleasure every time she saw a scowl mar her sister's beautiful, sculpted features, but her triumph quickly turned to shame at the worry she had caused the others

"Maman's mad," Evelyn whispered, rushing over to hug her around the legs. Lynette stroked her little forehead soothingly.

"Don't worry," she reassured, swallowing the bitter lie. "It'll be ok." It was for the best. Evelyn was too young and too innocent to be involved in the tension.

"Lynette." Maman cut through the air like a knife, her words sharp and clean. Her sisters stiffened instinctively, straightening their spines and tilting their chins up. Maman demanded elegance and poise at all times, and Lynette was the only one who dared to slouch. But Evelyn was peeking at her out of the corner of her eye, so she swallowed her fire, letting it burn its way down.

"Yes, Maman?" she asked, careful not to let a shard of impertinence sneak its way in. Maman sauntered across the floor, her gauzy nightgown trailing behind her. She was not bold or pretentious, but there was no other way to describe the confident, queenly way in which she walked. It was a mannerism Lynette had never learned, despite the many days she had been forced to walk around the house with a pile of books stacked atop her head, an undignified crown fit for an ugly duckling.

"I heard you were reluctant to come tonight?" Maman asked it like it was a question, so there was no doubt she already knew the answer.

A faint smirk spread across Circe's cheeks. Lynette had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Of course Circe had been the one to tell Maman. She never passed up an opportunity to get her troublesome sister into Maman's bad graces. Circe hoped to be just like her one day. The thought made Lynette mildly disgusted.

"I'm sorry, Maman," she answered, keeping her tone flat. She could not let even a hint of annoyance slip through, or Maman would have her head. After all, swans never let their emotions overtake them, and they definitely never sassed their parents. "I meant no disrespect."

She held herself still as Maman appraised her with her deep, sapphire irises. She did not flinch. Swans did not show weakness, either.

"Do you promise to behave?" she asked. Lynette almost cringed at the condescending note. She was fifteen, not some child that could be ordered around.

"Yes, of course, Maman," she smiled, meeting her mother's gaze. "I promise."

Maman nodded curtly, turning her penetrating eyes away before she could spy the fingers crossed behind Lynette's back.