𝓡𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓢𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 (𝓡𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓑𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓞𝓷𝓮)

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮

"Catherine! It's time to wake up!" Mother screams from a distance.

Ugh. Here we go. 

I sit up and rub my eyes. It has to be only like seven. There's no way it's later than that.

She gets closer to me and screams into my ear, "Let's go. No time to waste. You have to get walking. The academy is pretty far away." 

I got to get walking? She's not even gonna drop me off? I have no clue where to go, I haven't been outside this area in years.

Charlotte leans on our dresser, "You're not gonna walk her Mother?"

She shakes her head, "I have four other children to watch, she'll be fine. Now Catherine, take a bath and get dressed. I'll do your hair for you. You need to look your absolute best," She smiles as she exits the room.

I'm sure I'll look great after a forever-long walk into the abyss because I have no clue where this stupid academy is. 

This is already becoming the worst decision I've ever made in my life.

I grunt and get up. I take my towel and walk to the bathroom. I stay in the hot bath for a few minutes, and make sure to scrub my body well enough. I put on another beige dress, and black short-heeled shoes. 

I walk downstairs to the kitchen, and Mother is sitting at the table with her "kit" ready. That kit has been the bane of my existence for years. She has every little device to make a woman "pretty," and utilizes it whenever she can. It contains a comb, scissors, brush, nail clippers, these weird boards, and something to pull out hair. 

Obviously, these things don't make a difference for me considering I still look like a mess.

She gestures for me to stand in front of her, and I comply. She takes the scissors from her kit, and measures down my body with her fingers. She stops her small hand right by my waistline.

According to Mother, once girls in the country reach the age of thirteen, they must have waist-length hair. Nothing longer or shorter. My hair has grown a couple of inches past that so she trims off the extra length.

She takes the comb, and combs out all of the tangles. My hair is straight, but so long that the tangles just keep appearing. She finishes combing it, and takes the brush to the ends to fluff them out.

I don't know what any of this will do to make me look any better, but she can try. 

She forces me down on the chair, and takes my face in her hand. She takes the hair-pulling thing, and starts pulling random hairs around my eyebrows. Each tug she makes burns my skin, and makes my eyes sting with tears.

What is she even trying to accomplish? 

She takes the nail clippers and boards, and starts going to work on my nails. She clips and scrapes my nails down as neatly as possible. 

She puts everything down and looks at me. She just stares for a few seconds before giving me a genuine smile, "You might hate this now, but you'll come to figure out that this whole thing is the best for you." 

That's ridiculous for her to say considering I'm literally her last resort for this thing. If she could of sent someone else, she would've. 

I simply nod and she follows, "Just be normal," she mutters as she puts her tools back inside of the kit. 

I'm normal. Painfully normal. 

I don't know what else she expects from me.

She walks over to the edge of the kitchen, and brings me some sort of bag, and my black jacket. I put the jacket over my dress, and the bag over my back.