Post by Brenna Gordon on Mar 12, 2016 10:49:54 GMT -5
To say that Moira Gordon never shared well was the mother of all understatements.
For most of my childhood, I was exempt from that rule-- she viewed me as an extension of herself, after all, and so she wanted me to be able to partake in the finer things she too enjoyed. However, anyone else that even so much as breathed the idea of wanting her to give up even so much as a glass of water from her faucet, well... let's just say that she'd only consider the idea if she could get an uneven trade in her favor out of the deal. I saw her once get away with charging fifty dollars for a neighbor to borrow a roasting pan. Not to buy it, but just for the privilege of getting to use it for a weekend. Nevermind that she hadn't used it since before I was born, or that it was so dusty she had to wash it for a good five minutes or so to make it presentable-- it was hers, and as such that meant that it was worth its weight in gold to any poor bastard that wanted to borrow it. At least, anyone that she deemed to be as a mere mortal compared to the blood of the divine that ran through her veins and mine. Perhaps she had all of those stories about how my father died to cover up what it cost him to have her body for a night, or who knows? Maybe becoming pregnant with me was payment enough. I'd act indignant at my mother thinking of me as an item for barter, but let's be honest.
She never truly saw me as my own person.
"My little one," her voice washed into my ear with the same persuasive tug as it always did as I stood before the sink, my hands beneath the sudsy surface. I wasn't tall enough to reach the bottom of the sink if I stood on the floor, so she had hauled out a slender wooden box for me to stand on. While the paint upon it was so well-worn I couldn't make anything out, I liked to wonder just what it had carried once upon a time. My eight-year-old mind ran wild with possibilities ranging from pearls to precious stones to bars of gold and platinum and silver, all of it offerings for the sea goddess that was my mother. Her arms encircled me as she rested her head upon the crown of my head, amidst dark curls so like her own-- and that touch was enough to make me think that all the world's riches would not be enough to match her magnificence, an impression that only grew when I could hear her smile in her words. "Did you have a good day at school?"
"Uh-huh," I all but chirped in reply-- the plate in my hands carefully lifted from the soapy side of the sink. I put it down slowly into the clean water as if I was moving an injured baby bird before going back to wash its mate. My head tilted upward slightly, turning just enough to let me look up at her. The sun's indirect light seemingly made her shimmer about the edges, her smile brighter than the sun. I couldn't have rivaled it if I wanted to, but I tried all the same, my smile awkward and overwrought to the point that my cheeks hurt in an attempt to mirror her own. "Anthony's mom came in today with cupcakes for his birthday. They were pretty, but I don't think she put enough sugar in the frosting." At my mother's light and approving chuckle, I continued. "She also said that she wished that her little girl had hair like mine. She said she wanted to bring a brush in and braid it someti--"
"She said what?" Those three words came out low and slow and sinister as an undertow curling around my ankle. I could almost hear her smile shattering as she snagged my shoulders and bodily whirled me around, the dishes forgotten in favor of the maelstrom that was coming my way. An involuntary startled sound started leaving my lips, but the way she snagged me by my chin and jaw cut it off, my lips smashed together and my gaze forced upward to meet her own. "That little soith said she wanted to do what to my daughter as if she was worthy of that privilege?!" It felt like she was crushing my jaw, so tightly she squeezed... inadvertently doing me a favor in keeping me from crying out, though I wasn't the least bit appreciative of it. Instead, I did the only thing I could think of to appease the--no, my goddess.
I desperately made an offering to her pride.
"I-I told her that she'd have to ask you!" Even though her grip distorted my words, they came through clearly enough for her to understand them-- but I didn't stop there. I didn't dare let up after a single sentence, not when I had her to appease. I didn't even think about what I was saying, how dangerously close I was to lying. It didn't matter to me, in that moment. Nothing did but seeing that smile again. "A-And I told her that she'd h-have to wash her hands a lot before she even thought about laying a hand on my hair!" For a moment, silence reigned as painful as her vice grip on my chin... but after a moment? She sighed softly, the sound fading into a chuckle that was joined by a faint smirk.
"Good girl, Brenna." Her fingers relaxed, caressing their way down along the side of my neck before she gently rubbed my shoulder-- right over the crescent-shaped scars she had caused a mere handful of weeks before. It took all of my self-control not to recoil, to stay still as the calm washed over her just as I had seen it happen numerous times in the past. Her head descended, a kiss pressed to the middle of my forehead. I don't remember what she said after that, what she suggested we do as a reward for 'not letting that wench desecrate you with her hands'... I was too tense to enjoy it, too worried about setting her off anything to do anything more than just be drawn along in her current, agreeable to her only whim. If I had known what I know now about just how much worse that would have made things for me down the road, I couldn't guarantee that would have changed anything. Nothing could have changed me as I was back then, much less her.
Nothing could change her.
For most of my childhood, I was exempt from that rule-- she viewed me as an extension of herself, after all, and so she wanted me to be able to partake in the finer things she too enjoyed. However, anyone else that even so much as breathed the idea of wanting her to give up even so much as a glass of water from her faucet, well... let's just say that she'd only consider the idea if she could get an uneven trade in her favor out of the deal. I saw her once get away with charging fifty dollars for a neighbor to borrow a roasting pan. Not to buy it, but just for the privilege of getting to use it for a weekend. Nevermind that she hadn't used it since before I was born, or that it was so dusty she had to wash it for a good five minutes or so to make it presentable-- it was hers, and as such that meant that it was worth its weight in gold to any poor bastard that wanted to borrow it. At least, anyone that she deemed to be as a mere mortal compared to the blood of the divine that ran through her veins and mine. Perhaps she had all of those stories about how my father died to cover up what it cost him to have her body for a night, or who knows? Maybe becoming pregnant with me was payment enough. I'd act indignant at my mother thinking of me as an item for barter, but let's be honest.
She never truly saw me as my own person.
"My little one," her voice washed into my ear with the same persuasive tug as it always did as I stood before the sink, my hands beneath the sudsy surface. I wasn't tall enough to reach the bottom of the sink if I stood on the floor, so she had hauled out a slender wooden box for me to stand on. While the paint upon it was so well-worn I couldn't make anything out, I liked to wonder just what it had carried once upon a time. My eight-year-old mind ran wild with possibilities ranging from pearls to precious stones to bars of gold and platinum and silver, all of it offerings for the sea goddess that was my mother. Her arms encircled me as she rested her head upon the crown of my head, amidst dark curls so like her own-- and that touch was enough to make me think that all the world's riches would not be enough to match her magnificence, an impression that only grew when I could hear her smile in her words. "Did you have a good day at school?"
"Uh-huh," I all but chirped in reply-- the plate in my hands carefully lifted from the soapy side of the sink. I put it down slowly into the clean water as if I was moving an injured baby bird before going back to wash its mate. My head tilted upward slightly, turning just enough to let me look up at her. The sun's indirect light seemingly made her shimmer about the edges, her smile brighter than the sun. I couldn't have rivaled it if I wanted to, but I tried all the same, my smile awkward and overwrought to the point that my cheeks hurt in an attempt to mirror her own. "Anthony's mom came in today with cupcakes for his birthday. They were pretty, but I don't think she put enough sugar in the frosting." At my mother's light and approving chuckle, I continued. "She also said that she wished that her little girl had hair like mine. She said she wanted to bring a brush in and braid it someti--"
"She said what?" Those three words came out low and slow and sinister as an undertow curling around my ankle. I could almost hear her smile shattering as she snagged my shoulders and bodily whirled me around, the dishes forgotten in favor of the maelstrom that was coming my way. An involuntary startled sound started leaving my lips, but the way she snagged me by my chin and jaw cut it off, my lips smashed together and my gaze forced upward to meet her own. "That little soith said she wanted to do what to my daughter as if she was worthy of that privilege?!" It felt like she was crushing my jaw, so tightly she squeezed... inadvertently doing me a favor in keeping me from crying out, though I wasn't the least bit appreciative of it. Instead, I did the only thing I could think of to appease the--no, my goddess.
I desperately made an offering to her pride.
"I-I told her that she'd have to ask you!" Even though her grip distorted my words, they came through clearly enough for her to understand them-- but I didn't stop there. I didn't dare let up after a single sentence, not when I had her to appease. I didn't even think about what I was saying, how dangerously close I was to lying. It didn't matter to me, in that moment. Nothing did but seeing that smile again. "A-And I told her that she'd h-have to wash her hands a lot before she even thought about laying a hand on my hair!" For a moment, silence reigned as painful as her vice grip on my chin... but after a moment? She sighed softly, the sound fading into a chuckle that was joined by a faint smirk.
"Good girl, Brenna." Her fingers relaxed, caressing their way down along the side of my neck before she gently rubbed my shoulder-- right over the crescent-shaped scars she had caused a mere handful of weeks before. It took all of my self-control not to recoil, to stay still as the calm washed over her just as I had seen it happen numerous times in the past. Her head descended, a kiss pressed to the middle of my forehead. I don't remember what she said after that, what she suggested we do as a reward for 'not letting that wench desecrate you with her hands'... I was too tense to enjoy it, too worried about setting her off anything to do anything more than just be drawn along in her current, agreeable to her only whim. If I had known what I know now about just how much worse that would have made things for me down the road, I couldn't guarantee that would have changed anything. Nothing could have changed me as I was back then, much less her.
Nothing could change her.
