Wendy Bird

In the billows of the white skirts, I saw Cinderella. Aurora lied in the soft buttery curls arranged over the suddenly bare shoulders. The lips painted red spoke of nothing but Snow White, the breadcrumbs clinging to the hands reminded me that I was no more a woman than Gretel.

That night, I was a living, breathing fairytale, pruned to perfection for the devouring of the public. But in the murky gray-blue waters of my eyes in the looking glass, I saw nothing but Hook.

"Wendy - Oh, dear, they never do listen. Up!" My mother was much more of a queen than I, her back straight, hair swept up regally on her head, full bosom heaving in and out of her bodice as her anxiety mounted. It should be her night. But she would reside in the shadows, smiling, placing her hand in the paws of men who would never meet her face.

"Come, darling, we don't have much time." She drew me up with the tenderness of an innocent first kiss. "You will not be able to fasten your dress if this isn't tighter. I told them this."

My eyes drifted shut as she brought me to to the bed post. "Mother, I'm not used to wearing them, and they know that too. I cannot faint!"

"You also cannot have your back out for all of London to see," she muttered as she started yanking the stays tighter with more strength than her small hands should've possessed. "I know it hurts, lamb. That's the cost of it all."

I whispered, "Of what?" She always spoke of these costs, these sacrifices, these duties that must take place. When would I be old enough for her to give these monsters names?

"The cost of being a woman," came her soft reply as she gave a particularly mighty yank to constrict my body enough. "The price is high and the tangible rewards are few, but it is a burden that you may share with your aunts and cousins and sisters, blood or not. We have a kindred spirit that men do not find amongst themselves."

Her words didn't stick in my mind as she floated toward the dresser. "Wendy," she began again. "I could never count how many times I prayed for a girl. With how many brothers your father has, I knew the boys wouldn't trouble us, someone to pass along the family name." She returned with a dark velvet box. "But I yearned for a daughter, and I knew that my heart would never be satisfied with only scratched knees and torn breeches and toy soldiers. You, my angel, with your petticoats and hair ribbons and creative mind and tender heart is what makes this life rewarding."

Such confessions never came from my mother's mouth, and she always kept it in perfect check. Yet here she was, spilling her heart's desires as she clasped a heavy and cold sapphire necklace around my throat. "You are supposed to wear family jewelry tonight." She paused to press a kiss against my powdered cheek. "We are not wealthy no matter the airs your father puts on, but this is one thing of value I may give you."

"It's beautiful," I whispered even though I cursed the weight on my chest.

"Come, we could go on like this forever." She forced a smile onto her lovely face, untouched by grueling time and the smog of London. "I am sure that Charles is waiting for you."

Charles, a respectable boy who didn't have anyone richer to escort to the debutante ball. Charles, the boy who dipped the ends of my braids in his inkwell when my mind caught on Neverland for too long. Charles, the boy who kissed me on the lips as if he was stealing something precious and he would be slapped on the wrist with a ruler after. Why would he think that he wasn't the first to snatch it?

"Mother, I - "

She stopped me before I could say anything more. "Hush. I understand. This is something you must do. I was presented this way, as well as your grandmother, her mother, and her mother before her. It is simply the way it is. Now, you can decide to hold your chin up high and be the radiant girl I love so, or you can sulk in the corner, mourning boys who never grew into men."