The Child

The first thing I noticed were the bricks. They were... nauseating. No two were the same shade of pink, varying from blinding fucsias to cloudy pastels, making the house look like it fell through a car wash of paint. The lady who opened the door to greet me approached the same way. Happy, optimistic, endlessly vibrant. Her hair was dyed white blonde, her lipstick glittery rose, and her clothes... otherworldly, to put it nicely. "My name," she said with an exaggerated flair, "is Dolores... though I find it quite boring, so I implore you call me Darling, darling."

"Oh. Ok. Um, where might I find the bathroom, Darling Darling?"

"Not Darling Darling, darling, just Darling, dear."

"I-right. Ok."

She opens the door and leads me inside. “Welcome to the wonderful home of Darling, darling! The bathroom is the third door to the left. Straight down this hallway." She takes my luggage in an elegantly gloved hand and shows me the way. There is absolutely no way this woman was related to my mother in any way, shape, or form.

"I suppose you've observed that your mother and I differ in many areas." Says Darling Darling Dear.... Darling? "But that is only because you never really knew your mother. Oh, she was a spirited one! Predictable, much like you... and your thoughts, for that matter.... but wild indeed!"

My mother. Wild. Ha.

I take a short trip to the flamingo themed bathroom, and ponder whether it’s possible to feel motion sickness from an abundance of color. Mother kept her house gray.

Darling Darling and her… interesting… home are sure going to take me a bit to get used to.

“It may take time to accustom yourself to all the glorious hues of my estate, being as your dear mother preferred an uneventful colored home.”

Darling Darling wasn’t kidding when she claimed my thoughts were predictable.

Soon after, Darling Darling’s chef, Ms. Phillips (who has personal chefs now, anyways?) prepared a warm home cooked meal of barley soup. Mine was steaming and beige; Darling’s was lukewarm and pink.

I practically scorched my tongue devouring the meal, a perfect rich concoction with just the right amount of everything. When my bowl is clean, I feel suddenly drowsy.

“Ah yes, see, this is why I always have my soups cooled, dear. Warmth tires the mind!” I try to tell her that I think I might go to bed early, but my words merge and slur. I stand up to leave the table, and collapse onto the floor.

Darling

Upon her arrival, I sent a quick word to the Child’s senders to notify them. I received a response hastily.

She will never need to know that I am indeed not the sister of her oh so boring yawn of a mother.

She will never need to know that that woman is dead.

Her blood on my hands.

And soon I will do the same to her daughter.