Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch
A/N: I don't really have anything to say so I shall just wave.
This is just a little Drabble-type piece that came to me in work yesterday. :)
Broken
The first time her Daddy hands her a "big girls" glass, she drops it.
She doesn't mean to of course but it is heavy in her little hands and before she can stop it, it slips from her grasp, shattering into tiny pieces on the kitchen floor; her blackcurrant juice slopping over the new tiles like a pool of deep red blood.
It gives her such a fright that she immediately bursts into tears and it takes a further twenty minutes to calm her down. She feels safe as her Daddy scoops her up in his arms and, after checking that his "Princess" isn't hurt, sits her on his knee. With a wave of his hand, the glass is whole again.
He holds it up to let her see and she stares in wonder.
It is as if it was never broken.
She hears her Mummy tell her Auntie Mildred that she is broken.
She knows what that word means now ( it is like the time she dropped the glass on the floor ) but she doesn't understand… she stares and stares but she still can't see any pieces near her Mummy's feet.
Her Auntie tells her its Mummy's heart that is broken; she misses Daddy.
Her Mummy isn't the only one.
She tells her Auntie about the time she dropped the glass and how magic fixed it, her big brown eyes gazing up innocently as she asks if magic can put her Mummy's - and her own - heart back together.
Her Auntie doesn't answer; she just holds her tighter.
A hitch-pitched squeal of pain escapes from her lips as the cold fingers tighten their pressure around her dainty wrist; the long nails digging into her skin and drawing blood and the vice-like grip bruising the unblemished porcelain underneath.
She barely has time to react before her tutor grabs her two middle fingers on each hand, bending them back until she hears the bones snap…until they are broken.
Her scream of pain is a symphony to the ears of the tyrant whose reptilian eyes coldly and calmly stare into her own, telling to her clean up the mess and warning her that if she even tries to cross her again, then she'll break the rest of her fingers.
The message is received loud and clear.
She stares down at the parchment in her hand. She knows should feel proud; ecstatic even. They tell her she's bright and brilliant. They tell her she's scored the highest marks in the class — and not just her class but all the schools' across the board.
They tell her that she's broken a new record and made history.
She traces the grade with her finger, tentatively biting down on her lip as her mind wanders.
If the achievement is so great, then why does it feel as though she's failed?
The mirror reflects back what is invisible to everyone else as she stares at the deepening purple bruise on her cheek. She knows she's gotten off lightly from one of Broomhead's 'little chats' thanks to the untimely interruption of the P.E teacher.
(She makes a mental note to let her win their next argument as a way of thanks. )
She takes another sip of wine, feeling the burn in the back of her throat. She's not one to usually indulge in alcohol but after today she needs something to take the edge off as she goes over what happened, thinking about the lucky escape they have all had.
Heckitty Broomhead as headmistress…
She shudders.
She's still lost in that thought as she goes to put the glass down on the table. It catches the edge and, as if in slow motion, falls to the ground before shattering; just like all those years before. With a heavy sigh and a gentle wave of her hand she magically repairs the damage.
To the untrained eye, it is clear-cut perfection but all she can see is the ugly crack down the middle.
Just because something can be fixed, it doesn't mean that it isn't still broken.
She whispers the words.
It is a while later when she realises she's no longer talking about the glass.