Why She Drowned [1]

the seventh gulp

• viii. •

CAROL DIDN'T PER SAY WALK as much as she did stride. Clair's cousin was a flawless imitation of a porcelain doll, stiff and glassy as she strutted down the tiled walk-way to Clair's room like it was the red carpet. Older by two years and a head taller, Clair might have felt intimidated if she hadn't been unimpressed by the haughty aura her cousin grossly exuded.

Flicking her recently manicured nails over her shoulder, Carol didn't bother to smile. "I've been an only child for the past sixteen years, so I'm not going to say I like having to get rid of titles. I'm a titles person, you see." She bared a pearly smile, her bright lipstick leaving not a single smudge. "It's how you survive in this world. You'll need to learn it."

"I'm Clair," Clair introduced herself, frowning at the way her cousin seemed too sharp for a glass doll. "Your mother said you would be here after two weeks. It's been four."

Carol raised her eyebrows. "Was that a condescending tone to your voice? I'd watch how I'd talk to me, kid." Carol pushed her head down to Clair's level so that her cousin could hear her whisper. "I might be the only one letting you out of this caged place. You've met my parents, right? They won't make this easy."

Clair said, "I like your tattoo. Is that a flower? Gorgeous. Has your mother seen it yet?"

Carol took a step back, frantically shoving her shirt over the top of her jeans, the flash of bright ink only visible before the hem was pulled down.

Clair didn't bat an eyelash when Carol's hand snatched her arm, digging crescents into her forearm. "Why, you little brat! Are you testing me right now?"

"I said," Clair repeated, shrugging off Carol's touch. "That I liked your tattoo. Will your mother?"

Carol's barked, a guttural sound escaping from her diaphragm. It sent shivers up Clair's spine. "Is that a backbone? Hah! Be ready to lose it, bitch. You either become soulless like me or," the corners of her red stained mouth turned up wickedly, "you become a monster like my mother. There's no need for spirit around here. Our world consumes it."

Carol adjusted her shirt before walking away, her high heels clacking. "Nice to meet you, darling cousin. I may not be there to hold your hand, so don't trip up too badly."

Clair remained silent, even as she turned to close her doors and lay back into her bed. Pulling up her covers, Clair thought of her cousin's gorgeously made face and wondered why it reminded her so much of her mother.

My mother might have once been this pretty, Clair thought. And maybe so is Carol, with her hairline fissures and stiff limbs.

For glass dolls are so truly beautiful until they're fractured. 

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