I did not exactly know how to approach my parents with all this new information but I knew they had to know. Even though their belief in the Ghost of Frost had shaped them as individuals, I was sure they'd understand, or at least believe, what I had to say. That is why, at noon the next day, I awkwardly approached my mother, who had returned from her friends house to get her stuff so that she could move in with them for a little while.
She was in her room, folding the few clothes she was going to wear in a horrifically outdated bag, which looked like it was about to collapse and give way to the luggage tearing at its insides at any moment. The dark circles under her eyes indicated a very peaceless night.
I stood at the doorway, looking at her for at least a few painfully silent seconds until I finally got the courage to say,
"Hey mom, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."
She didn't bother looking up as she continued folding her clothes. I cleared my throat.
"Mom, there's something I want to talk to you about."
She sighed, yawned and looked at me.
"Yes, Rosalie, what is it?"
"Well, last night, this woman visited me and she told me about the... you know, the accident in more detail..." I began, trying, and failing, to sound like I'm not crazy.
"What woman? What are you on about? Is there something we don't already know about what happened to Robin?"
She gave me an accusatory glance, as if assuming what had happened to Robin was somehow my fault. That pissed me off.
"Yes mom," I finally replied, after taking a deep breath, "The woman I saw yesterday, introduced herself as the goddess Winter, would you happen to know anything about that?"
My mom sighed in exasperation.
"Yes, Rosalie, as you know, the goddess Winter is the sister of our great leader the Ghost of Frost. She willingly resigned from her position as a ruling deity, since everyone, her included, believed that he was better suited for the job. Does that clear stuff up for you?"
"Well, no, since when I met her, she seemed to look down on her brother a lot and also mentioned that she was part of an 'upper circle of divinity'," I started, "Do you know anything about that?"
"No she's not. That's a lie. Hillwood's only ruling deity is the Ghost of Frost, anyone who says otherwise has been either misinformed or a malicious heretic. Don't lie to me, Rosalie."
I sighed and cleared my throat.
"Mother, that was not the only thing she said."
"Rosalie, do not speak of that witch again. That is not the true goddess but a vile fraud and shameless heathen! If you dare to mention such blasphemy to me again I will-"
"That's not the only thing she said. She also said the Ghost of Frost was the one who caused the avalanche because he was using his Reliquiae Divinitatis while drunk!" I blurted out, before I got too intimidated by the consequences she was about to mention.
She was so taken aback by my statement she simply blankly stared at me, unable to utter a word. However, the way her stare intensified into a glare spoke more than she ever could. The mix of indignancy, rage and shame was even more intense than the judgement of the aforementioned goddess herself.
Finally, after an eternity of silent seething, she slowly walked up to me. For a brief moment, we exchanged glances. She raised her hand...
𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐩.
It was not a light one either. My face burned red.
"Rosalie Silvavova, I am ashamed of you. Don't ever speak such heresy again, do you hear me?" she bellowed.
I remained silent, still in shock. I didn't know what to do or think. I thought I had been prepared for the worst kind of outcome, but this caught me off guard. Even for such a deeply devoted believer, I had never believed that her reaction would be that bad.
But now I finally fully realized how far the roots of her faith went. Even before, when I was little and I had asked her if she loved me or the Ghost of Frost more, she had changed the subject. But despite that, I never even suspected that she actually loved a being she had never even seen with her own two eyes more than me.
Naturally, the realization was really painful. However, I somehow accepted it in an oddly calm way. The tears that had started welling up in my eyes disappeared. I turned around to face the door, making my way towards it.
"I SAID DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" my mother yelled after me.
"Yes. I understand." I responded, almost coldly. I was surprised at my own attitude - underneath my almost calm words, I was sure that I was burning up with rage. I just seemed to be locked out of my own responses. Considering how much trouble I'd get in if I continued this argument, maybe it was for the best too.
I reluctantly walked back to my room. I had planned on telling my father about the situation too, but judging by my mom's reaction, I considered it'd be safer if I didn't. She was probably going to tell him herself anyway.
I locked my door and sat on my bed, yet again. At this point, I was just waiting for my dad to burst into my room, screaming the consequences of my actions to me. Although many years have passed, I still find it hard to find humor in those events. Despite that, when recounting this day to anyone, even to myself, I have done my best to satirize it.
Exactly after fifteen minutes, as if still on his tight work schedule, my father arrived in a very businesslike manner. He pushed up his square glasses like he always did in meetings, loudly cleared his throat and sat in front of me. I must admit, I was quite surprised at how calm he was.
"You already know why I'm here." he stated.
Despite the impulsive urge to play with fire and say I didn't, I reluctantly nodded.
"We know that you are in a very... disturbed state of mind at the moment," he began, "So me and your mother have decided to let your misconduct slide, for the time being... By the way, research also shows that people who are stressed or grieving are vulnerable to hallucinations-"
"I WASN'T HALLUCINATING! IT HAPPENED! IT'S TRUE! IM NOT LYING! WHY WON'T ANYONE BELIEVE ME?" I screamed, leaping up from my bed. Naturally, looking back, that was not the smartest thing to do. I suppose that's one of the things I've judged others for, but not myself.
Coming to my senses, I reluctantly sat back down on my bed, looking apologetically at my dad but feeling unrepentant.
"KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN WHEN TALKING TO ME, YOUNG LADY!" My dad screeched back as if flipping a switch, "Anyway, me and your mother understand that you are going through a difficult time in your life. That is why, we have decided to have you skip Robin's funeral. It will probably worsen your mental state and if you start going off about your nonsense there, it'll probably be even more upsetting for his family."
"WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I WON'T GO TO MY BEST FRIEND'S FUNERAL?" I sprung up, yet again. Desperation couldn't even begin to cover how I felt in that moment. It was as if my world had shattered to pieces yet again. The worst part was that I could completely understand his decision - he thought I was making up all of this. Of course the ramblings of a raving lunatic would make the grieving family feel even worse.
If only I could get one singular person to believe me. Just one person. Just one persons' support in all of this. Why couldn't they at least try to think about believing me? I felt my eyes well up with tears again, but I furiously blinked them away, forbidding myself from crying.
My dad swallowed another fit of rage and reluctantly sighed.
"We understand this is a very hard time for you, but we've decided it is for the best. Well, I'll go cook dinner now. Your mother has already left the house."
"DAD!" I cried after him, furiously desperate, as he slammed the door after himself.
For a brief moment, he turned around to look at me questioningly annoyed.
"Never mind. It's nothing." I said, finally getting ahold of myself. I sank back into my bed. I heard the chirruping of an unfortunate cricket that had come out a bit too early for its own good. When I strained my ears, I could also hear my father preparing a steak in the kitchen - one of the few things he could cook better than my mother. I knew it was a steak because that's the only thing he cooked when he was on cooking duty. However, I paid no attention to the soon-to-be late cricket or my father clattering around.
Unlike all the previous times, I was not much excited for the beautifully prepared dinner that would soon await me. These two days felt outlandishly tragic to the point where it was almost comical. Even now, it was difficult to comprehend how all of this was very much real and very much part of my life now.
Luckily, I had all the time in the world to figure stuff out.
That is, until my father called me for dinner.