Artemiss

[bumbleebumblebee]

My family returned home after their trip, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of hope. I wanted to show them who I could be, to prove I wasn’t just the girl hidden away like a secret shame. I set up my easel in the grand hall, surrounded by the heavy silence that usually pressed down on me. I poured my heart into painting a bird, its colors vibrant and alive, a reflection of my yearning for freedom.

I thought maybe, just maybe, they would see the beauty in it and in me. I thought, maybe, she wouldn't see the inks my father gifted as wastes of coin. I thought, maybe, she wouldn't see my hobby, my escapism, and my passion, as a waste of time.

The moment she walked in, she formed the familiar sneer when her gaze fell upon me. My father rushed to my side, with confusion etched into his features. I looked at them both and smiled, and with a flick of the wrist I finished my first masterpiece.

The bird peeled itself away from the canvas, exhaling a loud caw the moment it was liberated. The bird took flight, soaring above me, wings fluttering with life. I was breathless with joy, imagining my mother’s face lighting up with wonder. More than eager to show them more of my new gifts, more than willing to bring anything but shame, and escape my cursed fate.

What a fool I was.

In an instant, she lunged at the bird with a candlestick, calling it a creation of her “abominable child.” I was frozen, torn between wanting to protect my art and the crushing realization that, to her, I would always be a monster. I called out, tried to explain, but my words were drowned in her rage.

As the bird vanished, leaving only a shimmer in the air, I felt like a piece of myself was lost. Standing there, exposed and vulnerable, I realized how deeply I craved acceptance from her, and how much I cared for my art. 

But I also understood something else: I could never change her mind.

"Lock her away, we'll be sending her to the barracks under a different name."
"No."

Even now I'm unsure if it was said out of disbelief for the death of my creation, or outright disobedience. But, what I do know is how I felt in the moment. It was the first time, in my entire life, that I'd felt anger. All the beatings, the way she treated my father, the isolation. I didn't like it, but it was normal, for me. It was what I deserved for being a blight on the family name, so I'd been lead to believe. Yet, this anger, it was such a nasty emotion, that made me feel sick for even feeling it. It was raw and overwhelming.

When she came towards me with that same candlestick in hand, there were no thoughts behind my next actions, and it all happened in a blur.

A beam of light from my palm, my father jumping in the way, his life vanishing to protect hers. His final act, a pointless one, as her corpse lie atop hers soon after. 

...I'm assuming you know why I was panicked, and shaken, when I found you later that day.

Just as I'm assuming why you know good and damn well our journey together does not end in this desert.