Obliviate

Belle

My Father, Orpheus, kindly left the room to allow his precious daughter to prepare for the day ahead. I paused, allowing myself to summon the courage to brace the cold crisp air of my bedroom.

As I stood up, the bottoms of my long silk pyjamas fell like tipis over my feet, as they were ever so slightly too long on my short legs. I smiled as though bidding farewell to an old friend, stroking my feather down pillow.

"Oh how I'll miss you" I said aloud. I'd been mentally preparing myself for weeks, for what I could only imagine to be rickety old beds I'll be subjected to sleeping in at my new school.

I assumed they'd provide bedsheets thin as paper, so my Mother kindly packed my own. I took the gesture as a non-verbal answer to my fears, seeing as she'd stayed there long before me.

I slipped out of my ivory pyjamas. Every single pair I owned matched the colour scheme of my room, my Mother was a stickler for such details.

I ran myself a hot, steamy bubble bath, deciding to take my time and make sure I looked my absolute best. I hoped that the nicer I looked, the more welcoming my student body would be.

I pictured my entrance to the school in my head a hundred times over. Every eventuality was horrid and cringe-worthy, but I just hoped all of the boys would fall at my feet and all of the girls would be dying to be my friend, just like in all of the films..

Although I couldn't be positive that truly would be the case. I could be utterly unbearable for all I knew, stuck in my muggle ways of doing things.

Despite the fact I were quite good at it, I barely ever felt the need to use my magic. I'd oftentimes forget that it could provide a much more efficient way of doing things.

I had an awful nagging feeling that I'd be an outcast, coming into the school in my 5th year not knowing a single soul.. I gulped hard, what if I had no friends? What if I never got a boyfriend.. fuck what if I never even kissed anybody.

I shook my head violently to rid of my pessimistic thoughts, playing with the bubbles surrounding me like little islands in my bathtub ocean.

After what felt like hours, I dried myself off and took a seat in front of my dressing table. In front of me lay all the most amazing perfumes and cosmetics a 15 year old girl could dream of owning. I felt them somewhat wasted upon me.

I didn't quite care for materialistic things, but still always appreciated the gifts my Father would give me.

As well as those from his best friend, who felt more like a blood relative than a family friend, fondly known as uncle, he showered me with gifts from the moment I was born.

If I ever sat and thought about the money they must of spent on me throughout my life it sent a shiver down my spine, perhaps my Father thought it made up for the absence of paternal affection I'd experienced growing up.

The lack of said affection I experienced boiled down to the absence of my Father for weeks at a time, with no explanation when he returned.

When I was younger I often asked my Mother, who had never worked a day in her life as far as I was concerned, what my Father was doing whilst he was gone.

It was pretty obvious he was working, because how on earth would they afford our house on a single persons wage if not the case. But my Mother, Agnes, always managed to divert my attention elsewhere.

I decided I'd no longer ask questions, I was sure I'd find out in due time. Yet after 15 years I was still non the wiser.

I loved to do my hair and makeup, it was a creative outlet for me. I daren't say it but I feel I care almost too much about my appearance at times.