Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
✰ 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝. ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
August, 1997
When I was younger I believed in fairytales. I'm sure most kids did. You're childhood would have to messed up if you didn't.
Once a week, our mother would lie with me and my brother in bed and tell us a story from the magical land of neverland. She's ask our sister to join but Maria would say she's too 'grown up' to listen to gibberish our mother makes up on the spot. I wouldn't believe my mother and defend that obviously the stories our mother told us were researched and in fact true.
They weren't.
In fact, most stories she told us were a distant memory of stories she hadn't heard in years.
I was in 1st grade when we read Snow White in class— the princess runs away from the evil step mother, the dwarfs give her shelter, she's poisoned by the queen and the prince saves her.
The version I heard had gone quite different.
Snow White was loved. She was the most beautiful in town. The dwarfs, the ugly, poor and cast out of the town planned on killing her. They sent a hunter but the step mother; the queen stoped him, but innocent Snow wanders to the forest where she meets a prince and instantly falls in love. Now, naive little Snow didn't know any better— she'd fallen in love with an imposter, a dwarf. He tries to poison her and it is the queen that saves her. Motherly love above all.
That story was my favorite. A mother protecting her daughter, strangers were obviously evil.
I'm sure Jasper knew what our mother was doing. I know it in my heart he did but how could he say anything when he believed our mother was god. "Being a Castellan is your super power" she'd say, "you don't need other powers". Jasper, my lovely older brother did believe his last name was his power— and maybe that was his downfall.
She'd tell us "we are untouchable", he'd believe her.
She'd say, "someone like you doesn't cry", and he'd stop crying.
She'd whisper, "you're my favorite" when Maria wasn't looking and he'd open his mouth so wide, you could see his toothless smile. She'd poke his dimples and ruffle his blonde hair and he'd annoy Maria about how mom loved him the most. Our mother didn't say anything, but I did see her sneakily smile, a proud smile.
