2
863 Words
Chapter 2 — Mira
My head was pounding when I opened my eyes.
I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the pain settle into something I could manage. The clock on the wall said evening. I had been out for hours.
My face still throbbed where the coffee had hit. Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious. I didn't know who. I didn't want to think about it.
My stomach cramped hard. I was so hungry it hurt.
The door opened and Celia walked in carrying a tray.
I felt the tension move through my whole body at once. I didn't have the strength for her today. I didn't have anything left.
But then the smell hit me. Food. Real food. My stomach twisted toward it before my brain could stop it.
She set the tray on the bed in front of me. A plate of spaghetti and meatballs, rich and hot and smelling like something I hadn't eaten in a very long time.
I looked up at her.
"You fainted," she said, her voice soft and her face arranged into something that looked like worry. "I was scared something bad would happen to you." She tilted her head a little. "It's your birthday, Mira."
I stared at her. Something in my chest pulled tight.
I picked up the fork anyway. I was too hungry not to. The food smelled too good and my body was begging. I looked at her one more time.
She smiled.
I put the spaghetti in my mouth.
The burn hit instantly. I spat it out before I could stop myself, coughing hard, my throat closing up like it was on fire.
Wolfsbane.
Celia started laughing. High and bright and delighted, like this was the funniest thing she had ever done.
I kept coughing, grabbing the cup of water off the tray and drinking before I thought it through.
That was worse. I spat it across the bed.
Wolfsbane in the water too.
"You witch!" Celia shrieked, jumping back. "You got it on my dress!"
She snatched the plate off the tray and threw the food directly into my face. Then the water. All of it, over my head and down my neck and arms.
I screamed. The wolfsbane burned everywhere it touched my skin like a hundred small fires all at once.
"Such a b***h," she said pleasantly, and walked out.
I heard her calling down the hall as she left. "Nadia! Nadia!"
I sat there on the wet bed covered in spaghetti and cried. Every birthday. Every single one, they found a way to make it worse than the last. I looked down at my arms. The skin was red and raw and angry.
Nadia appeared in the doorway a few minutes later. She stopped when she saw the state of the room. Her eyes moved to me and something passed across her face, quick and careful, gone before anyone else could have caught it.
She was the only one in this house who ever looked at me like I was a person. But she never showed it openly. She couldn't afford to.
She glanced behind her before she spoke, keeping her voice low.
"There are leftovers in the lower cupboard, far left corner of the kitchen."
I nodded.
She stopped me before I could go.
"Change first. And find your strength." She hesitated. "Your father signed you up for the pack fighting contest tonight."
I looked at her.
She didn't say anything else. She didn't have to.
I changed my clothes and moved through the house slowly, staying close to the walls, listening before I turned every corner. Avoiding his voice. Avoiding Celia's.
The kitchen was full of maids. They all looked up when I walked in and not one face was kind.
I kept my eyes on the cupboard Nadia had told me about and moved toward it.
A maid stepped into my path and knocked into me hard, on purpose. In the state I was in I nearly went down, catching myself on the counter at the last second.
Before I could straighten up, the maid at the chopping board beside me brought her knife down fast and close. I yanked my hand away and lost my balance completely, landing on the floor.
They laughed. One of them kicked my leg out of the way as she walked past like I was something on the floor she didn't want to step in.
I got up. I always got up.
I opened the cupboard and pulled out the leftover plate. Cold spaghetti and half eaten meatballs. I found a fork and stood right there and ate every bit of it as fast as I could without stopping, without looking up, without letting myself feel anything about it.
My life depended on eating. So I ate.
I put the plate in the sink.
"Mira!"
My father's voice hit the walls like a hammer and my heart stopped.
"Mira!"
Closer now. Moving fast.
He filled the kitchen doorway a moment later, eyes already burning with something I had done or not done or simply been.
My stomach dropped.
What now.
- Writer
