Paula's Prompt: A Cinders Freebie Story

On February 7, 2018, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com Wednesday Word prompt the line, "I refuse to let her hurt me."

Inspiration pulled me in two completely different directions at these words.

One raced off with Cinders, exploring more of her emotions in dealing with Ariella's mother in a At Her Service freebie story.

The other split its perspective between Phaedra and Alkibiadea for a pair of A Symposium in Space tales.

Here is the Cinders story.

I refuse to let her hurt me. 

No matter how much she slaps me, screams accusations of pretender, leech, manipulative whore. 

My father was a whore, too. She never tires to telling me this. He seduced her soft hearted cousin, the weak willed lady of the manor. 

The lady lady is always her cousin. Never my mother. The current mistress of the manor refuses to acknowledge any kinship with me. No, I’m always ‘that man’s daughter. 

Strange. I never knew my cousin. My memories of my father are slipping away like a misty dream I can no longer recall. 

What’s real is her fists, her insults. 

What’s real is the warmth of Ariella’s hand, pressed against mine. The glimpse of Ariella’s ankle beneath her skirt. 

I try to keep my head low to the ground, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The one thing I can observe without drawing too much attention to myself are people’s feet. 

Ariella calms me, soothes me in a way nothing else can. Watching the hem of her gown trail across the floor, trying to catch a glance of her foot makes my heart race. 

I didn’t think anything could ever excite me or make me happy after my father died. 

Back when I was a lady, I recall tedium, a repetition of days. A loneliness emptiness I tried to fill with books and my solitary wandering. 

Something sparked within me when I first met Ariella’s dark blue eyes. My heart began to beat a little faster. The air around me tasted a little better when I breathed it in. 

That sensation hasn’t left me, although I keep it hidden while bending my head and looking at the floor. I’m still exhaling with a natural ease even while my heart aches within my chest.

This is why I cannot let her hurt me. Pride, insults, what’s the meaning in any of this? 

All I need to do is press my hand to my breast and remember the warmth of Ariella’s hand. Heat rushes to my cheeks, warming my body like nothing else can. 

I refuse to let her hurt me. She’s not allowed to become a monster, no matter how hateful the current mistress of the chateau might be. 

She’s still Ariella’s mother.