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CHAPTER FOUR THE MAIN CHARACTER
SOMETIMES MARE LIKES TO WONDER HOW HER LIFE WOULD'VE TURNED OUT HAD SHE BEEN BORN INTO A PLAIN OLD MUGGLE FAMILY. How would the people in her life fit into this fictitious narrative? Would Antionette be a loving, doting mother? Would the stick lodged up Milo's arse be finally freed? Would Lester have been born with social skills? Would Bea still be convinced she's in a monogamous relationship with fucking Sirius Black? What about Robbie? Where would he be?
Her fight with Bea had put Mare into a self-reflective mood. Did some of the things she'd said carry some truth? Its not like she purposely pushed her sister into her shadow. Back at her mother's party, Orion Black had greeted Mare first, noticing Bea a split second later—why? Bea had a point: why Mare? For lack of a better term, Mare was the screw-up, the black sheep of her family. Yet, people still seemed to notice her first, whether this be boys or even relatives—it was always Mare. What made her more important than her sister. . . like, they were identical for Christ's sake!
Even though her and her mother bashed heads constantly, Antionette had always been determined to marry Mare off. She could never remember a time their mother tried to do the same for Bea.
And then there were the other things Bea had said; had Mare really been so unintentionally self-centred? She didn't really remember making everything about her but then again, she hadn't noticed Orion Black's treatment of her twin until she really thought about it. Maybe she really was a whiny bitch like Bea had made out. (Robbie thinks Bea is the whiny bitch).
Mare just wishes she could talk to her but her stubbornness wouldn't let her.
Maybe it was a twin thing, but Mare had never gone longer than a day without talking to Bea. It didn't feel right. She felt almost. . . incomplete without her. Like, there was that whole nine months they shared a womb, of course she was going to have attachment issues.
"So, how're things with you?" The brunette in question asks, staring out at the great lake. She held onto half a bread roll, breaking off pieces every few seconds (or whenever a duck looked at her 'the wrong way'. . . hey, she's not dying from a pissed-off duck.) She'd come here the last few mornings, rather than staying at breakfast, to avoid her sisters glare. Today she had company.
