❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
❝Never forget, Cyril.❞ The blonde woman whispered in the small child's ear, the smell of herbal paste and mint in her breath. "Never forget who you are."
A single, wordless nod.
The bedridden woman smiled warmly at the small, slender figure crouched beside her straw-stuffed cot, gaze glassy and unfocused. Her gaze fell upon their hunched shoulders, strands of light brown, almost golden hair just brushing the worn and scratchy brown gardener's vest that they donned. "Your hair's getting longer again. Your father wouldn't like that."
Another noiseless nod.
"You best chop it off before he comes for dinner, then." She hooked a chocolate-coloured curl that fell straight across their forehead.
"Have I ever told you that it looks just like his when he was younger, except longer? I suppose that's why he wants you to cut it short."
Patting the little child's cheek, she giggled. "You look just like your father. From your hair to your eyes, from your nose to your mouth, and even those perky little ears of yours."
Another nod, then the petite brunette took off their newspaper boy's cap and brought it up, showing the inside of the hat. Inside lay a white flower with a golden yellow center, the colour of the woman's hair, slightly scrunched up from hiding under the little child's hat. The woman raised a slender hand slowly to inspect the flower.
The little child looked up hopefully, there wasn't any yelling yet, so maybe today was the lucky day that their mother would be happy with the flowers. After all, it was the colour of the hair sitting atop her crown that she prized oh so very much.
SLAP.
"HOW DARE YOU!" Her pale bony fingers wrapped themselves around the soft locks of hair of the child, causing them to whimper and tear up. "FLOWERS ARE FOR THE WEAK, FOR SHAMEFUL COWARDS THAT ARE BETTER OFF ABANDONED! DO YOU WANT TO BE ABANDONED, DO YOU?"
Her now-cleared grey eyes were maniacal as she pulled the child's face closer to hers. And the little one could do nothing except to let out those pitiful sniffles and hiccups as salty tears drizzled down their face. "The sooner you let go of these childish and girly habits, the sooner your father will accept you, the sooner society will accept you."
The figure bowed their head, wiping away the tears with their palms, sniffling. The mother's eyes became glassy once more, and she cooed softly, letting go of the child's hair. "Oh my, my dear Cyril. Shh, shh. It's alright now."
Her slender hands, now stained with brown clay, cupped the pale face streaked with tear marks. "Oh, my darling, why are you crying so?"
The child could do nothing but bury themselves into their mother's bosom. Tears silently leaked as they clung to the thin fabric of their mother's nightgown. Too many times has this happened, too many episodes have elapsed. It's been a month since the woman was diagnosed with hystero-epilepsy, and everyone had already come to accept it.
Yet, the pain never lessened, nor did it get better with time. Instead, it buried the stake in the little child's innocent heart deeper and deeper, widening the permanent hole in their heart.
As the child started to calm down, the woman gently pushed the child off, smiling warmly again, eyes yet again glassy and unfocused.
"Your father will be waiting downstairs. Give him my love."
Taking one hand in hers, her thumb rubbed circles on the back of their palm. "I love you, my son."
The little girl's face cracked into a broken smile. "I love you too, Mother."
