Abigail

Seraphina

   I wake in a room full of lit candles. I lie for a long time, just watching the small, dancing flames. It's soothing to watch.

Finally, I sit up, focusing on my host, Seraphina Enya Holt. She has a secret love inside of her that almost no one knows about. A secret that almost got her killed once, and could get her killed again if she's not careful.

Seraphina is in love with fire, which explains why there are candles everywhere even as the blinking alarm clock shows that there is functional electricity. Fire makes her feel like a different person, like a beautiful goddess with incredible power. She's built up a tolerance to heat, and doesn't even notice the small burns that frequently scatter themselves along her hands and arms. When she dies, she wants it to be in a fiery blaze.

There have been times when she's been tempted to set herself on fire, because it feels like her only real escape.

I slide out of bed, moving around the room to blow out the candles. One by one, the beautiful ballerinas of light disappear from their wax stages. I don't bother turning on the lamp that's tucked into the corner of the room - Seraphina can see in the dark remarkably well, and the slow sunrise provides just enough light to continue through her morning ritual.

Seraphina has beautiful red hair that tumbles down her back, and warm brown eyes that sit overtop of a small, freckled nose. I find that she doesn't wear a lot of makeup, just mascara and occasionally a bit of eyeliner. I decide to skip on the eyeliner, since I've never been very good at applying it. Her closet is full of greens and blues and grays. Crumpled on her desk is a dark gray denim sleeveless vest that she wears almost every day. I pull that on overtop of a soft, pine green shirt and dark gray jeans. Seraphina's hand practically move on their own to sweep some of my hair into a small braid that loops over my head like a crown.

I look at her reflection, suddenly sad. I feel like I never pay enough attention to how beautiful these girls are. I was so plain when I was alive, if I am right about being Abigail. Just brown hair and brown eyes and pale skin, nothing remarkable.

I realize that I didn't have a dream today.

Downstairs, Seraphina's mother is sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a magazine. She look up as I walk in. "Hi, honey. Look at these curtains!" She points at some periwinkle-colored curtains that are pictured in the magazine. "Wouldn't they look great in the living room?"

"I guess so." I reply, shrugging. Seraphina doesn't really know much about the intricacies of home decor.

I pour a cup of coffee for myself. Seraphina likes it black. Yeck.

"I got a call from the jail today."

Seraphina's body automatically stiffens.

"Apparently, your father was attacked by a couple of the other inmates. They beat him up pretty bad. He had to be taken the hospital."

"He's not my father." The words pop out without me realizing it.

"...Daniel has three broken ribs, a broken arm, and apparently someone stuck something in his eye. Oh, and he has a concussion."

"And they told you that because...?"

She sighs. "I don't know. Must be I'm still listed as his primary contact. I thought Bradley said he had them change the records. Someone didn't get the memo."

I dump the coffee into the sink and grab my school bag off the table, stuffing my phone and earbuds into my pocket. "I'll see you later."

I practically run out the door.