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2. Veil of Shadows

After dinner, there’s a knock on my door and I can tell by the quick succinct raps that it is my mother waiting on the other side. I sit up, but she opens the door before I even have the chance to respond.

She walks in, placing clean sheets at the foot of my bed.

“Thank you for washing the laundry. I’ve folded most of it.”

I lift the sheets and place them on my lap, running my fingers through the soft fabric.

“Your father is going to the market tomorrow. Write him a note of what you would like and you can give it to him after breakfast.”

I jerk, lifting my gaze up to hers. Not once has she ever suggested that I do that. It is always me begging her to let me ask for something. Again, an odd sensation runs through me, but I nod, pursing my lips. I refuse to smile, refuse to utter a thanks. She isn’t doing this out of love, but to ease her own guilt for constantly scolding me today.

She looks down at me with her hands intertwined in front of her apron. She always wears that thing and she can never stay still. She cleans and cooks and cleans and cooks as if the world revolves around that. I resent her for trying to teach me in her ways while father leaves home every day to go the village, or the market.

How I resent her and envy him.

I run my tongue across the front of my teeth and click my tongue. “Can I go with him?”

Her patience disappears and the softness in her eyes gives way to wide fear. “We’re not having this conversation, Elysia.”

“Why? Why do you never let me go?” I huff, tired of always bringing up the question, only to have her end the conversation before it begins.

“Elysia,” she shakes her head.

“I’m not a child anymore.”

“I am not explaining this to you right now. It is not the time.” She raises her hand as if that could stop the words from leaving my mouth.

“When is the time? You think I want to be here? You think I want to end up like you?”

I see the moment the words register in her mind. She blinks silently, twice, before shaking her head and stepping back.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She plays with the ties on her apron as she speaks.

The pain on her brows halts me for a moment, but I have been holding back for years and it has built up into a pressing point. I know my words will hurt her, but I somehow convince myself that she deserves them.

“I don’t want to be unhappy and bitter. You spend all day doing everything in this house and you hate it. You hate it and you take it out on me. I don’t want to grow up like you.”

She closes her eyes and presses her fingertips to her forehead. Her throat bops as she swallows, and I hear the release of a long and slow sigh.

“One day you will understand and you will wish you could take those words back.”

“I doubt it.” I roll my eyes, crossing my arms on my chest.

“One day, Elysia.” Hurt flashes in her eyes.

She steps toward the door, but I stand up to stop her. One day would have to be now, because I cannot live like this anymore. Her and father’s faces are the only ones I know. Their voices are the only ones I have ever heard. They lock me in this house and I never questioned it because I love them.

Recently, though, there’s been a gnawing in my chest telling me that not everything is as it seems.

“Why are you hiding me?” I whisper.

She spins on her heels, whipping her head toward me. She eyes me up and down with a deep frown. “What makes you think we’re hiding you?”

“Are you protecting me, or are you keeping me prisoner?”

Her eyes widen, and she steps closer. “What happened? What did you do?”

Apart from my dreams? Nothing, but her reaction sets me off alarms in my head and I frown. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

“Well, why would you ask such a stupid question like that?” She blinks in relief.

“I-”

“Can we just…not have this conversation?” She rubs her hands on her temples as she shakes her head.

She leaves with that and the door clicks closed behind her. I feel the prickle of tears behind my eyes, and I let them fall. I grip the sheets between my fingers and throw them at the door. They unfold mid-air, landing on the ground in an airy display of fabric.

It leaves me feeling unsatisfied.

I grab the book I had been reading and rip out the middle pages, throwing the cover to the door before flicking the pages across the room. All the resentment and frustration kicks in, washing me in a cold wave of desperation.

I am suffocating in this house. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t live. Not like this.

I grip my hair, pulling at the roots until my scalp burns. I throw myself on my bed and ram my face into my pillow, screaming until my throat feels as if I ripped it in two.

As soon as rationality seeps back into my senses, I stand. I close my eyes and decide to do what I have always wanted to. Without second guessing myself, I grab my chair and leverage it against my door, making sure it will hold against even my father attempting to open it.

I reach under my bed, pulling out the dark black cloak I had taken from father’s wardrobe. He had given up on finding it weeks ago and bought himself another. I spin on my heels, keeping my eyes on the door and keeping my ears open for footsteps, but the house is silent.

With the cloak over my shoulders, I wrap the hood over my head and tie the mask around my face, covering my mouth and my nose.

With one last look at the door, I reach for the window and prop it open. I inhale, calming my senses and swallowing my fear before jumping down to the ground.

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