Proluge

Proluge

     I remember the day my mother died like a distant painting. The outlines, the colors, the solid facts are visible, but the details are obscured by the smoky haze of grief.

     I remember her pale cheeks and the way her blue eyes appeared to have clouds covering their crystal skies. Occasionally they would suddenly fix themselves upon me and her parched lips would form my name, “Arella.” Then just as suddenly her mind seemed to travel to a different place, tearing her gaze away from my face. It was during these episodes that she would begin to mumble about talking mice and fairy godmothers. I heard the maids whisper together about their mistress’s madness, but my Father and I just held her hands, nodded our heads, and hung onto every word, knowing that in all likely hood they were her last.

     The rest is a blur. I think at some point in that long, cold night I fell asleep because I remember the warmth of my father’s arms around me and his gentle voice whispering words of comfort. After that I lived in bubble with only my father as an occasional companion. People came and went, but their words fell on deaf ears. I knew meant well, so I managed small smiles and warm thankyous. Eventually the steady flow of sympathizer’s ceased and daily life began a new normal for myself and my merchant father.

     In time the pain reduced to a dull ache and my father eventually found himself lonely. He loved me very much, I had no doubt of that, but he felt heavily the absence of a women’s touch in our home and her pleasant company. Finally on a cloudy day, while we were having tea in the parlor he breached the subject.

     “Ella,” he had said, nervously fingering his painted china teacup. “It has been some time since your mother’s death and I think maybe it is time… Well what I mean is… You are growing from a girl into a young lady and it is at this stage in your life that I think you need a mother most. So…”

     “So…,” I had urged him on with an encouraging smile.

     “So I have asked Lady Madonna Tremaine to marry me.”

      His declaration had taken me by surprise, but for his sake I had tried to show some joy. Leaning forward I had taken his hands in mine and said, “Dear Father. If this what makes you happy, then you don’t have to be ashamed of it or afraid to tell me. I am happy if you are.”

     “Ella, sweet, kind, Ella. I think you of while making this decision. I have only your best interests at heart.”

     “I know, Father. When is she coming?”

     “Within a fortnight.”   

     And that is how Lady Tremaine and to my surprise, her two daughters, Drizilla and Anastasia, were added to our family. But were they family? Lady Tremaine always seemed to be occupied with the next party or social she was planning and Drizilla and Anastasia only had minds for dresses and money. It was a busy life that which we had in those day, but it is hard to say if we were really happy. Because we had so little time to find happiness.

 

     I remember the day my father died, like it was yesterday. He had gone to look after a shipment of goods that he was selling to an old merchant friend. It was not a dangerous journey, nor a long one, but somewhere along the way his carriage overturned. He was dead before help could reach him.

     When my father’s valet arrived with the news, I just stood by the door, as rain poured from the sky, filling the air with damp. The valet had seemed rather lost for words, wondering if he should go or stay. I was about to send him to the kitchen when my stepmother approached from behind. Upon hearing the news, she did not freeze as I had done, but fell in a heap of skirts to the ground, all the while bemoaning her fate.

     “We are ruined. Ruined,” she had wailed burying her face in her hands. I had felt sorry for her then and I wanted to comfort her, but there was nothing to say. She was right.

     After that day, my life changed. First the servants were dismissed because in the times to come we would not have enough income to support a full household. I said goodbye to them with a heavy heart. They had known my mother. They could share memories of her with me, but they left and I was alone in my grief.

     It was at this point that my stepmother began to ignore the fact that I was what most would call family. It began with her commenting on how Drizilla and Anastasia had shared a room since they were little and needed some time away from each other. We had multiple guest rooms that either of the girls could have moved in to, but many times I had entertained the idea of sharing a room with a sister. I had thought that maybe if we finally got to know each other we could become better friends. So I had suggested it saying, “One of them could sleep in my room.”

      Before I had been able say another word Lady Tremaine had exclaimed, “Yes, Ella. It is a wonder I didn’t think of it myself. Drizilla will stay in your room.”

      I had been about to offer to rearrange my room to accommodate Drizilla, “I’ll...”

     “You will sleep in the attic. If you start now, you can have all of Drizella’s things moved in by tonight.”

     “What about my things?”

     “Never mind your things. Go help Drizilla,” she had dismissed me with a wave of her hand and from then on my life was not my own. Every waking hour was filled with obeying every whim of my stepmother. Stepmother? Eventually I did not even call her stepmother, just Lady Tremaine or madam. I became their servant, but I could not leave. It was my home. And it was all I had left of my parents. Leaving would be disloyal to them. 

     So even though my hands blistered and my muscles ached, I did the work. It was a distraction from my grief and kept me from feeling sorry for myself. I guess it wasn’t so bad, I had all of my animal friends and I was home. Maybe there were occasions when I felt lonely for another person’s company, but I told myself if I just had faith for a little longer, things would change.

     And eventually they did.

             

Reviews

[ApKWrites]

I love the idea and the fact that it's written from Arella's point of view. Very well written but I have noticed a small mistake that I do often myself: "It was during these (this) episode that she would begin to mumble about talking mice and fairy godmothers." and "Prologue"
Great Story;)

[Emma]

Thank you so very much!
Ah yes i see the mistake although, I do believe I meant it to be "these episodes" :)