MARBLE & SALT (Lesbian)

Chapter 16 (Part 1) LIKE QUEEN LIKE PRINCESS

When I was walking along the stone corridor accompanied by the indifferent witch, I imagined anything but not what I saw when I met Angerona. In my head I painted vivid pictures of the throne room, either imagining it in the spirit of lush rococo, or, on the contrary, I pictured a harsh medieval hall with a throne of swords like in 'Game of Thrones'; I expect to see at least a fancy office for a big she-boss... Anything, but that!

"Please come in, Mistress," the blue-eyed witch said in an exhausted voice. "Queen Angerona is already waiting for you." She opened the door to let me in and immediately closed it behind me.

I'm left alone in a beautiful boudoir that doesn't at all correspond to the gloomy atmosphere of the medieval castle residence.

Mauve colour of silk fabric with metal threads, delicate pattern of floral ornaments, and soft lines of expensive furniture create boudoir's sophisticated and at the same time cozy impression. A huge gilded bronze chandelier, that softly reflects in the multiple mirrors, complements the spectacular interior decoration.

"Come here and help me," I hear Angerona's voice from behind the screen.

I'm always a little afraid of Danya's and Dasha's parents, although, they treat me even more tenderly than their own children. Being alone with Hebe's mother is a hundred times worse. In Angerona's private room, I feel like a beggar who dared to defile her noble daughter.

"I-I'm coming!" I nervously answer the Queen. I don't know how to address her. 'Your Highness', 'Your Majesty', 'Queen', 'Mistress'? I don't even know her patronymic name to address her politely, anyways, it is unlikely that with all the female superiority reigning here, witches use the names of their fathers.

Going behind the screen, I'm taken aback. Angerona is sitting at the dressing table with her back to me. She's wearing a short satin peignoir with lace straps, one of which has coquettishly fallen from her shoulder. I make eye contact with her reflection; my cheeks immediately turn red. She looks like Hebe's elder sister: no blemish skin, silky black hair, a straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and perfectly shaped lips.

"Help me with my hair. Hold this lock," the witch asks me in an everyday tone.

I should have refused, maybe just leave the room and wait outside until she's dressed, but there is something powerful in her just like in Hebe's nature that makes me humbly obey.

I hold her downy-smooth hair while she is making some magic with the bobby pins. The pins are very beautiful: thin as needles with perfectly round emeralds at the very tip. Fascinated, I watch her grayish-blue snakes languidly move along her neck, bare shoulder, and shoulder blades.

"You have questions for me," she says, gesturing to let me know that I can let go of her black hair strand. The witch turns to me with a grin. Her strap is still not on the shoulder (Yeah! You can't think of a more "relaxed" atmosphere!).

"Yes." I can feel my knees trembling. "How can I be one of you? I'm sure my parents are not witches or mages."

Angerona brings her index finger to her plump lips, and they instantly turn slaughterous red; she mockingly gives me her smile. I'm getting even more scared. It doesn't seem such a good idea anymore to come here alone. I don't even know what I'm more afraid of: that she recently threatened to kill me or that she is Hebe's mother.

"You're right. Your parents don't really belong to the wizarding world."

"How did you... This is an invasion of privacy, by the way," I ignite.

The witch laughs at my foolish attempt to preserve a small piece of privacy for me and my parents.

"I ordered to find out everything about you as soon as I realized that you were sleeping with my daughter," she says with a grin as she watches my face becoming Rudolf's nose colour.

Not asking her permission, I powerlessly sit down in a beautiful armchair embroidered with golden threads and images of paradise birds and monstera's leaves. Angerona doesn't mind: she is watching my reaction with pure pleasure (only a bowl of popcorn is missing on her laps... but she's a Queen, so... maybe foie gras or truffles).

"Then how? Why?" I rub my eyes and face as if trying to get rid of the mirage.

"You are not their daughter," she says in a dull tone, fixing a pin.

"But that's impossible," I jump out of the chair. "They would not hide this from me. At home we have a bunch of mama's photos when she was pregnant, and my baby pictures when I was taken from the maternity hospital. This is some kind of nonsense! I don't believe you."

Her snide smile fades from her face. Angerona stands up and puts her hand on my shoulder, "They don't know that you are their adopted daughter too, Evelina. It always happens when someone wants to hide a little witch. Her powers are sealed, and she lives as a mere human until she understands who she is or, more likely, she is prompted to understand when the right time comes. You are a witch's changeling."

"Could I never have known who I am?"

"Even if you did not meet any irritant magical factor like strega, you would still understand who you are at forty something." I look at her in surprise. She seems happy: she gets the right reaction from me. "You'll surely understand that you are special, since you'll still look like a twenty-year-old girl when you are forty, fifty or two hundred years old. Forces always find a way out, whether we want it or not. Even the 'raw' power of witches is strong: it's like a sprout that is making its way through the hard asphalt to meet the Sun."

"It's all very poetic," I gaze into her eyes, "but the changeling story seems too far-fetched. Where did my mother's real baby go then? Where is she now?" I say, and goosebumps run down my skin.

"I'm afraid she's dead, dear. The story is much more believable than you think. All stories with witches' changelings are very simple... Was there anything unusual about your mother's pregnancy?"

I swallow with difficulty. My stomach begins to ache, because I'm too nervous and excited: one unusual situation really took place...