The Disavowal

Unfamiliar

"Ana," a voice spoke softly.

Is someone talking to me? Anabelle thought.

"Ana," she spoke again, her voice sounding like wind chimes in a lazy breeze. "It's time for you to wake up now, darling."

Anabelle felt tears prickle from behind her still-closed eyelids, the darn things eventually betraying her and falling down the sides of her face. The amount of love in the strange woman's voice was so unbearably foreign to Anabelle's ears that it almost hurt her as much as it did soothe her.

"Shh now, my love," the woman spoke again, wiping the tears from her face. "I know you are waking. Were your dreams troubling you?"

With a barely disguised frown, Anabelle tried peeling back her eyelids at a slow pace to adjust to the brightness of the room. When she managed to blink without having to squint, her eyes found the haunting pair like those in her dreams.

More tears streamed down her face, openly this time, as she began to sit up. Pushing back the covers laid over her, Anabelle soon found herself at eye-level with the woman sitting by the bed she was currently occupying. Without meaning to, one of Anabelle's hands hesitantly made its way towards the woman's hands. She looked so ethereal sitting there that the teenager thought she would fade away like a mirage if she wasn't careful.

Anabelle's eyes told her that this woman was her mother, but something in her said otherwise.

Elegantly high cheekbones were highlighted by the most loving smile Anabelle had ever seen directed at her. A pert nose sat with its bridge between two clear blue eyes that the girl almost swore she could see herself in, but her hair was different from her mother's. It looked like waves of silk flowing to her mid-back like her mother's did, but instead of onyx hair, hers was white.

Not just any white, though. It was the shade of white that was like Anabelle's fur coat when she was in wolf form, pale blue strands twinkling at her every now and then under the sunlight flowing into the open room.

"Who are you?" Anabelle asked, her voice sounding small, but a bit cracked. It made her sound like gravel in a blender in comparison to the angelic woman.

 "My name is Yvonne," she replied soothingly, a delicate wrist coming up to brush one of Anabelle's frizzy locks away. "I know you have many questions for me, but I feel it would do you good to start your day off with a bath rather than an interrogation."

Almost instantly, Anabelle prepared herself for the onslaught of soreness, tenderness, and gods know what else at Yvonne's words, but none of those things came. Feeling her limbs and checking the skin not covered in the sleepwear she suddenly found herself in, Anabelle realized that she was completely healed. Wanting to see what she looked like, blue eyes surveyed the room, and the sixteen year-old found that she absolutely adored where she was.

Huge arches in the pearl white walls framed open large bay windows, allowing the breeze to flow in and out as it pleased. Despite everything that she had been through, her heart would always lighten at the feel of a gentle breeze caressing her skin. She quickly took in the rich wooden floors, the matching dressers, and the occasional piece of art on the walls before spotting the large vanity just across the canopy bed she laid in.

Stretching out her limbs with a satisfied groan, Anabelle quickly made her way to the mirror on the vanity.

Her short hair was in a black whirl of tangles (something Anabelle was unfortunately getting used to), but everything else was fine. She still spotted a few smudges of dirt here and there, but no bruises, gashes, or that hand-shaped imprint on her neck that also seemed to strangle her heart.