RS, Author, Novelist on Nostr: #Writever 10.16 — Orphelin (Orphan) I called him Proper. Mr. Proper if I referred ...

#Writever 10.16 — Orphelin (Orphan)

I called him Proper. Mr. Proper if I referred to him.

He was a meany, infuriatingly unflappable, and didn't let me do anything I wanted when Mom was on the road with her manager. Our butler could smile when necessary, but never for me. He walked into the library, expression unaccountably stiff, wearing black—not his usual brown livery. Shiny, our maid, carried a little black dress in her hands. Her eyes looked puffy and red.

I closed the grimoire and the toothy thing latched loudly. I self-consciously let it settle to the table in a cloud of sparkles. Proper's caramel eyes watched my wand moving and I quickly hid it up my sleeve. Magic wasn't "lady-like," despite how much it pleased Mom.

"Why are you crying?" I asked.

Shiny looked to Proper, stepping behind him. He said, "Your mother, Lady Black Midnight, has passed—as has her consort."

At almost 5 years old, I new many words, especially if they let me do magic, but I could recognizes words designed to /not/ say things, to make them "softer" and "kinder." My heart beat faster, suddenly, and I got flutters in my tummy.

That day I learned the word /intuition/ and that I could trust it.

Did you know... That... When you realize someone will never return home—that you feel them not being there? There's a vacuum. Nights become quieter. Your bed becomes colder. The dark shadows become denser. Certain special touches become harder to remember. Black becomes a nice color because the absence of color makes the loneliness feel better.

I gathered up my copies of Mom's albums, holding them away from me. You figured out she was Lady Midnight, the big popular opera star, right? I dropped them on the wide table in the salon, covering them with a throw pillow so I didn't have to see her face. I knew I'd cry if I saw it and I'd vowed never to cry again.

Beside the phonograph, I found a few records her "consort" had collected with songs that talked about sad and unfair things. They made sense, suddenly. I played them on my perky pink record player, after I wrapped a black blouse around it.

When my magic friend climbed over the fence that afternoon. We listened together and floated autumn leaves in the air. He was a boy, but he kept the stupid things a boy can say to himself and snugged next to me to keep me warm on that blustery day.

People from across the nation started arriving late-morning the next day. I hid in my room. Mr. Proper insisted I eat, that a lady did not faint because she didn't take care of herself. Gentle Shiny took me to the servant's kitchen and I ate with the grounds keepers, stabler, temporary wait staff, and event magicians who came and went. Everyone smiled but said nothing as we ate together.

I learned the word /camaraderie./

I didn't know that I could get a thousand adults to quiet in my presence, but the softly chatting crowd—a muted roar by any other name—silenced in a wave washing out from the driveway and across the lawn. White linen strung between poles with black piping fluttered in the breeze. I could, for a few moments, hear the colorful autumn leaves rustle in the woods beyond.

The High Lady cleared her throat.

She ruled our little state, but I'd later learn many thought she actually ruled the world because she knew so many people and their little secrets. Everyone looked her direction. My mother and her manager had died two days ago. No bodies were laid on the pyre, and never would be.

Turned out my mother had been the High Lady's friend.

I'd taken a few hours to look up /funeral/ in the library. Such events were for the living, not the dead. Yet, the High Lady never tried to comfort me despite all the High words in her elegy. Mom had been a spy who'd prevented a war, and was now a hero of the nation. The High Lady talked about "connections," how we were stronger.

In the end, She put two gold medallions around my neck. Mom and her "consort" received titles and lands, so I instantly inherited everything within one day's gallop from our town.

The High Lady whispered in my ear that she "liked" my magic. She told me, "It is better than your mother's," while slipping something into the pocket of my black robe. "Please keep practicing."

Everyone left and Shiny put me to bed without supper because I felt sick to my stomach.

That night, I cried under the covers because I wanted nobody to see.

I'd learned what /power/ meant. I wanted none of what I'd gotten. When the High Lady had approached me, all I'd really wanted was for Mom's friend to hug me and tell me everything would be okay.

I'd found a wand carved from a human bone. My next word I'd truly understand was /hate./

[3hrs. Author retains copyright.]

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