I want you close

Chapter three

Another letter

I spent each day picturing the most horrible life I will get to experience not so long into the future. While my mother kept a smile on her face planning what to do with all the money she will be receiving.

A few days later, we got another letter from the ruling family...

Dear Harriet Wright,

Tomorrow afternoon a royal carriage will arrive at your place containing king Aiken Dandridge to speak to you about the arrangement.

The ruling family, Dandrige.

Mother clapped her hands excitedly and soon got up heading to her room.
"Come along" she said, so I did.

I walked into her room and watched her open her wardrobe reaching for a beautiful dress I have never seen her wear before. "I knew this will come to use, and now is the time." She handed the dress to me and asked me to iron it.

"Pick a nice dress to wear tomorrow" she demanded.

"But mother, I have none." I admitted, "you never got me nice ones."

"What do you mean?" She frowned, "that I am not a good mother?"

Yes.

"That is not what I said, mother." I shook my head no, "I mean, we are not as wealthy as they are. I'm not complaining but I have not a single nice dress."

"Hm" she closed her eyes for a split second to think as she took in a breath, "I will borrow one from the neighbours."

I nodded, without questioning why we haven't used the green one yet. "may I be excused?" I asked as she waved her hand, shoving me out.

I turned around and walked to my room. My dark, boring, room of seventeen years. I sat at my bed and thought of what kind of life I own. I don't know what I did wrong to deserve this. I thought I might die of my mother's continues hits but- now I believe my death will be cruel by the hands of Clyde, torturing me until I take my last breath.

Tomorrow  will be the start of something new. It will change my life completely, there is a one percent chance to the better, but 99 percent chance to the worse. So guess who is winning? Worst of course.

I threw myself on my uncomfortable bed that kept getting smaller and smaller every time I lie down on it. I stared at the ceiling that is filled with my sketches from all these years.

My eyes landed on a drawing I drew when I was younger, it had a witch flying on a broomstick around a tall building with me looking out of the window on the first floor, desperately wanting to escape.

In reality, I am not a prisoner in a tall building kept in by an evil witch. In reality, it's worse than that. In this reality, there is a door to escape from right in front of me, but I am not able to leave due to lack of money and shilter. And the witch? She is my own mother.