Page 5 of Glass Hearts
Bernice looks at me as I plate the lone pancake. “Just remember how generous I am.” She uses her fist to slam down and mutilate my already sad pancake. She turns to leave the kitchen, catching up to her daughters, shadowing their every move.
Occasionally, I feel bad for the Quadias. After all, they are just as much Bernice’s puppets as I am. But they are puppets on a pedestal. I am a puppet doing her bidding. I don’t even want to imagine what she would have me do if she knew of my magic.
The Shadowwould never allow such treatment. But Arabella, the weakling, apparently does. Kip comes out of hiding in my pocket.
“Arabelly, I really hate that woman. I hope your plan for tonight works. I have the cleaning crew coming in with extra help to ensure you and Mistress Lo have enough time.”
“Me too, little one. I hate her too. Thank you for getting them all ready. Want a piece of pancake?”
He takes a little mushed piece in his paws. Though he doesn’t eat on the job as much as Bert, Kip will always grab an offered bite. He is a mouse, after all.
After eating my sad little pancake and cleaning the dishes, I head to the cleaning closet to see about my other tasks assigned to me on the dreaded chore chalkboard.
Belly’s tasks for the day: clean the bathrooms, wash all the beds, do laundry, clean the chimney, and dust and wash all the walls.
My stepfamily must have left, as my animal familiars begin to move around the house. I send them a few tasks and go back to my room to get some baking done for my animals and for Lo. My way of showing gratitude for all their assistance and love.
Baking has always been an outlet for me. Putting in the correct ingredients for a delicious outcome. If you follow the recipe, all will go well. If only life were like that.
Poe, one of the raccoons, had found perfectly good lemons about to be tossed out because they had been slightly imperfect. He had intercepted before they landed in the trash and brought them to me. I think a few lemon tarts would be a splendid idea.
After I allow time for my tarts to cool, I head back inside to help my little crew with our long list of chores. Before I can get to thanking them for all their help, a crow taps on the living room window.
“Arabelly! They are heading back now! Abort the cleaning crew, abort!”
Petra, my trusted crow familiar, flaps away in haste. The birds are always so dramatic. My crew must have heard through the bond, though, as they all scamper away. With just enough time for me to put away the excess cleaning materials, except for the one mop and bucket for myself.
They barge in as I make a fluid swiping motion to the already spotless floors.
“Belly! These floors should have been dry by now! I don’t want to get my feet wet! UGH,” One of the Quadia’s wails. Their luscious brown hair is done up, with a flower adorning the side. The flowers are each of a different color. Assuming it to be the color of the dress they will wear. They can never pass up the chance to match.
“Now, ladies, go upstairs and get your makeup on. We leave in a few hours.” They scramble upstairs, of course, bickering along the way. Bernice turns to me, looking disapprovingly atthe state of the immaculate townhouse. “Arabella, your work has been sloppy as of late.”
“Bernice, I have completed all my tasks twice over the last forty-eight hours. It can’t get any cleaner than it is now.”
SLAP.
She grabs my chin, sinking her claws into my jaw. Tears prickle my eyes.
“Do not talk back to me, child. I am your guide. Your father wanted this; remember that. Nobody loves you; you are lucky we even want to keep you around. Why are you such an ungrateful brat? If I say clean, you bloody well better clean. Have I made myself clear? You are lucky Victor is away on business as of late. But clearly you want to be punished.” She shoves me away, grabbing my wrist to drag me to the cold basement.
The basement hosts many lovely spiders along with the boxes and the dust. When Father died, she banished all my parents’ things to the basement. Redecorating the entire house to be more ‘modern’ and ‘luxurious.’ The basement is also her favourite place to lock me as an alternative punishment. Because of the windowless space, there is no light.
“No, please,” I beg. A strangled cry reaches my lips as I try to pull back. This only enrages her further. “Please don’t put me in the basement. I will be good. I promise to behave!” I beg.
She opens the door and pushes me down the stairs. I curl into myself as I tumble down. After ‘falling’ down the stairs as much as I have, I have learned to fall in a certain way to avoid further broken bones.
“Too late,Belly. Spend this time thinking about how grateful you should be. We continue to allow you to live in our house, even though you have been nothing but disrespectful.” She slams the door. I hear the damning sound of the lock of the door and the three other deadbolts. Half of the torment is hearing those deadbolts latch.
An icy dread seeped into my bones, the impenetrable blackness pressing in on me. My body aches from the fall. Already I can tell my left hip & arm will bruise. The tears I had been holding back finally escape as all the abuse sets in.
“Don’t worry, Arabelly, we are here with you,” I hear the coos of many little spiders. I send feelings of gratitude to them, but I continue sobbing.
Truthfully, I am tired. Tired of being Arabella, Belly. It’s part of the reason I createdThe Shadow. When I am The Shadow, I am more than just their whipping woman, but a woman who others love and appreciate. Moments like these break what little hope I try to keep.
Though I am in pain and I lie on the cold concrete floor, it at least gives me the time to rest. To plan what will become of the evening. I call to my familiars, hoping they are near. My connection to my animals can only go so far. About a two-mile radius.
“Bert? Kip? Are you by any chance there?”
