Celestial Sisters

Chapter 3: They Call Me Devil Child

Devil Child.

It was funny how two simple words could strike through a heart and infuse it with poison. Twyla still remembered the exact moment when she had first heard the nickname the town had given her. She was ten, at the time, lounging on her bed in the attic. The attic looked much different from the time mommy first brought her up there. Back then, the attic was completely bare, the wooden support beams were visible, the floor planks were uneven and creaky and large, intricate cobwebs stretched across the length of the room. She had been scared when mommy first said that it would be her new room but as the cobwebs were cleaned and the furniture from her old room moved up there she began to think that it would be cool. The attic was actually a lot bigger than her old room and mommy had promised to buy as many toys as her little heart desired. By the time mommy told her room was ready she was excited. She practically ran up the stairs, clutching her bear, Mr. Cuddles, close to her chest.

The attic had gone through a complete makeover, the beams were covered by silk multicolored sheets and wooden floor planks were covered by a comfortable shaggy rug. Her twin sized bed was pressed against the large bay window and beside the bed laid a mountain of toys. Her eyes began to well up with tears as she shuffled into the room, her jaw dropped in awe. It was all so beautiful then she heard the noise of a locking door behind her- and suddenly, it wasn't. The beautiful room turned into a prison. For five years she was looked in the attic, isolated completely from the outside world. Her mother came to visit her regularly. After Luna went to school she would come up to the attic, give Twyla her food and homeschool her. Twyla still learned all the fundamentals of math and reading like her twin but her mother also reserved an hour for what she called: Meditation practice.

For an hour they would sit cross legged, with scented candles scattered about, as Twyla's mother tried to teach different techniques to keep her calm. At first Twyla thought meditation was a normal class for all kids, just like science or history. But as she got older it was apparent in the way her mother acted towards that she was everything but normal. It was evident in the way her mother avoided eye contact when she asked about leaving the room or refused to let her see her sister or dad.

"We're not doing this to hurt you, sweetie," her mother cooed, while rubbing Twyla's back as she sobbed. Her toys shook violently on the floor as her emotions got the best of her. "We just want to help you, we love you."

It appeared that way to Twyla though. She just wanted to say her daddy's smiling face again and run around the backyard with Luna once more. But she was confound to the attic, left with dimming memories of happiness. When she turned ten, Twyla was sure her mother would let her out of the room, even for a minute, just to see what her sister's party looked like but the door stayed locked. Fisting her tiny hands, she held back her tears and tried to go to her happy place like mother had taught her to do. Her happy place had always been sitting in her father's lap, in his study. She spent most of her time nuzzling her head into his neck and taking a peek at the long list of numbers on his scattered papers. The office always had the same smell, the sweet fragrance from his freshly laundered suit and the spicy scent from the mints he placed in a glass container on top of his desk- it smelled like happiness. Twyla missed her daddy so much. In that moment, all she wanted to do was see him in the office. Her mind was preoccupied by the distant memories she didn't notice her surroundings fade and morph into a new place.

"Twyla..." a man said. His voice was, deep, and raspy and very familiar.

Opening her eyes, Twyla blinked rapidly in shock as she stared into her daddy's chocolate brown eyes. He had changed since she had seen him last. His suit was bit tighter around the belly, wrinkles lined his forehead and the frayed ends of his sideburns were turning white. The study, however, looked just like it did the last time she was there. The back wall was covered in book shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling, a fine layer of dust coated more than half of the books- daddy had once explained to her that they were actually just there for decoration. It seemed a little silly to her, why have a book that can't be read? Overlapped rugs with strange tribal patterns were scattered across the floor. The only source of light came from the floor length lamps that were shoved in the corners of the room. Daddy's desk was the focal point of the room, there wasn't a piece of the desktop that could be seen due to the overwhelming amounts of paperwork he had. And behind all of the paperwork, Daddy sat in his overstuffed, leather chair.