It had rained heavily that dreary summer's day, but she didn't mind one bit. She loved the feeling of nature washing her skin with its tears from the sky; the loved the refreshing scent of dewy grass as she passed by the lawns of neighboring houses; she loved the security of her favorite plain, gray hoodie as the raindrops fell mercilessly against the concrete of the sidewalk. She put her hands in the warmth of her pockets, her green eyes turning them up to the sky. Her girlish face was the victim of the downpour as she closed her eyes and parted her lips, concentrating on the clouds above.
Through her closed eyelids, she could see darkness gradually becoming light as she continued walking down the street back to her house. She felt a soft breeze caress her skin as the raindrops lessened in density; the clouds above slowly parted to reveal the golden sun, its rays cutting through the rain and solemnity of the day to shine down upon her rich, light blonde hair as she pulled back her hood. She grinned slightly, continuing to walk to her house that was only a few down the street. Suddenly, she gasped, seeing a ruckus in front of her abode.
"Get out!" a voice hissed loudly.
"Oh, c'mon, Helen," said an older man as he walked down the steps in a rush. He was pulling up his pants in the process, and as he was redoing his belt buckle, he looked up at the woman who had gracefully slinked out of the house dressed in nothing but a black, silk robe. "Not even a kiss goodbye?"
"Let me think," the woman said sarcastically. "No!"
The girl was scared out of her mind at the scene; she had never seen this man before, and he had never visited the house for any reason. She walked closer, taking her time and seeing the woman she called mother; her platinum hair, almost a white color, disheveled and her bright red lipstick smeared down to her chin and around the corners of her perfectly-shaped mouth. Her mascara, which was clumped in her thick, black eyelashes and dispersed on the delicate skin below her intense hazel eyes, made her look ghastly, as though she were a raccoon. Her black, silk robe did nothing to hide the enormous size of her breasts, and her nipples poked through them like sharp points. A cigarette was between her fingers as she told the man off, and the girl walked closer to the steps only to feel a tight grip overpower her upper arm—it hurt.
"Eleonora! Where have you been? Get in here!" her mother shrieked. The girl went along, intimidated by her mother as she was dragged in to the slamming of the front door.
Eleonora looked around, but then saw the dirtied-up face of her mother, who took a drag on her cigarette and sighed with aggravation, feeling the nicotine burn her lungs like it always had. Even under a heavy mask of makeup and garish cosmetics, Helen was an extreme beauty—her hair, when brushed and neatened, was wavy, shoulder-length, and platinum blonde. Her face was sculpted like glass, her cheekbones prominent with a heart-shaped jawline. Her eyes were an intense hazel color, and every time Eleonora, or anyone for that matter, looked into them, they felt a sense of fear—there was pure fire in them, and they burned with either love or hatred, feelings as intense as the heat of fire itself. Men drooled over her and quarreled with each other just to be in her bed after she got divorced from her husband; she was, in fact, quite youthful for someone of forty-six. Eleonora continued to look at her, but said nothing.
"Where have you been?" her mother hissed, furrowing her defined, darkly-filled eyebrows at her to express disdain.
"I…went for a walk," the girl replied timidly.
"It was raining, you could've caught a cold," Helen sneered, smoking her cigarette. "Are you stupid?"
"I like the rain," Eleonora said—she was used to her mother calling her names. She had done it for so long, she couldn't remember a time when she was actually nice to her.
"Well, it sure as hell don't like you," Helen chided, leaning close to her daughter and staring into her green eyes menacingly. "You stopped it, didn't you?" The girl turned red, looking at her mother before looking away in shame.
"N-No, I didn't," she replied. Helen scoffed and walked into the dining room, which had dark burgundy walls and black wainscoting—almost every room in their house was a shade of red or black.
"Please, if you're going to lie, be good at it," her mother sneered, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray on arrival to the dining room.
She took a seat, her heaving bosom making her silky bathrobe tighter as she positioned herself on the deep red cushioned chair at the head of the table; he crossed one of her smooth, flawless legs over the other, pointing one of her bare feet out as if to seduce a man, something she had always been good at. She watched Eleonora enter the room, and she looked her up and down condescendingly—her daughter, aged nineteen, was pretty in a girlish way, and even resembled her own mother to a degree. She had a lithe, willowy figure with small breasts and a small waist, her long, straight light blonde hair flowing down and framing her pretty face. Her eyes were a lively green color, and the bridge of her nose was dotted with a generous amount of freckles. The girl had also inherited a very unique set of gifts from her mother, who had got it from her own mother, and all the way back. It made Helen sick whenever her daughter denied the use of her abilities.
"Where do you think you got them from?" her mother sneered.
She stood up for a split second, and Eleonora's attention was grabbed by her mother's effortless concentration on the wicks of the candles in the center of the table. Helen had her finger extended, her manicured, blood red-painted fingernail noticeable as a flame was conjured from her mind. As she repeated the process with the other three candles, the girl felt a frigid chill move down her spine, making her weak in the knees as her green eyes fixated on the three flames.
"No matches needed," her mother cackled. "I also got something in the mail. Has your name on it."
"From who?" Eleonora asked. Helen pulled an envelope out from the inside of her black, satin robe and tossed it on the table in front of her, clasping her hands as if she were hoping to hear some news as Eleonora noticed the strange address before opening it, careful not to destroy the paper casing as she unfolded the letter and read:
"Attn: Miss Eleonora Mortenson;
It is with great pleasure that we inform you of your acceptance into Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. We strongly urge you to take this once in a lifetime seriously, and we look forward to seeing you on our campus soon.
Sincerely,
Cordelia Foxx
Headmistress"
Eleonora had already applied for college, and was accepted to a community college in Tallahassee. She already had a literature major lined up for her, but she never remembered applying for this school in particular. She looked at her mother strangely, but kindly, and held the open letter up—the school's symbol, a triquetra with a serpent, mask, and bull's head, made itself known.
"Mom?" she asked. "What is this? I don't remember applying to this school."
"That's right, because I applied to it for you," Helen replied, taking a cigarette from her metal, floral-engraved case and putting it to her mouth, using her fiery powers to ignite the end before inhaling.
"Mom, I thought the plan was to go to Tallahassee for school. I'm going in September," Eleonora replied.
"And it's only June!" Helen exclaimed; her tone was manipulative. "We can change our minds."
"How did you apply for me?" Eleonora asked, keeping calm and careful of her words—she did not want to incur her fiery wrath.
"I have my ways," her mother replied slyly.
"Mrs. Mortenson," Cordelia said with reluctance, staring at the woman in black sitting down—Helen's almond-shaped hazel eyes stared up at her, her sizeable cleavage shown at the top of her strapless black dress as she smoked a cigarette. A smirk was set in her ageless face, her cheekbones defined from the expression.
"My daughter is a verygood girl, ma'am," Helen said, using her free hand to push her virgin snow-colored hair up and back to get a clear view of the tall blonde woman with deep brown eyes looking down at her, a peaceful look on her face.
"What can she do?" the woman asked. Helen tapped the ahs off her cigarette in the ashtray and sighed.
"She was bornwith these powers, ma'am," Helen began. "She can control the weather on a whim. She can lift objects with her mind. Hell, I even saw her when she was five years old. She cried when our cat died. She lovedthat cat, and the moment I see her pick it up, I tell her to put it down. She instead holds it close," Helen held out her arms to demonstrate her point, reflecting on the memory she was sharing with the headmistress of the academy, "just like if it were alive. Its eyes opened. It began to breathe, have a heartbeat! She brought it back to life, our own, sweet kitty. She was incredibly happy, and I was shocked out of my mind. We never had powers in our line like this, at least not to my knowledge."
"Wait, your line?" Cordelia asked, taking a seat next to Helen, interested in what she had to say.
"Yes," the platinum-haired woman said, trying to manipulate her with her silver tongue. "My mother had powers, I have them, and my Eleonora has them. I think she would be the perfectfit for your school. She will make new friends, be able to fully appreciate what was given to her, and she will learn discipline. She lacks discipline, and I have a feeling that is what you are all about here at your…prestigiousacademy."
Helen seemed to have a point—Cordelia's warm brown eyes looked into her fervent hazel ones, and she shook her head slightly with disbelief. The woman then remembered she had power over the mind, and Helen used it to its full advantage, focusing on the headmistress' thought form so she could do her bidding.
"Mrs. Mortenson," she said. "Even though your daughter is not with us now, you certainly…have a unique…uh…approach to getting our attention. We would like to meet Eleonora."
"Excellent," Helen said without expression, taking her focus off the woman and gazing at the fireplace—it was cold, sooty, and without a flame.
"My question is this," Cordelia asked. "How did you know we…house young women o-of power?" They both stood up and Helen carried her bag on her shoulder, looking up into the brown eyes of the tall headmistress.
"Well, 'exceptional young ladies' isn't a term for just anyschool," the woman replied, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray. "They have to be exceptional for something. Don't you agree?"
"Why, yes, Mrs. Mortenson," Cordelia said. "Well, we thank you for your time."
"And I thank you for mine," Helen said with a slight smile, glancing over at the fireplace.
It went ablaze, the force of the fire pushing the iron guard away from the hearth's opening—the clanking sound made Cordelia gasp; for once in her life, she looked at someone other than Fiona in fear.
"You might want to put logs in that fire," Helen said with a sly whisper. "It gets chilly."
Eleonora looked at her mother with disdain, feeling her lips purse down into a weak frown. Her thin eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she saw her mother stand up and approach her slowly with the cigarette, blowing the smoke right in her face.
"Mom," she began. "I want to be normal. I…I appreciate that you went the extra mile, but you do also know I chose the community college. I made a commitment."
"Yeah? Marriage is also a commitment," Helen said. "Meant to last for only a period of time. Like a trial of sorts. Hell, look at your father and I." Eleonora revisited unpleasant memories of her parents fighting over the fact that she had been sleeping with another man; in fact, several at once. Her father had not only abandoned her mother, but ostracized her as well due to her intimidating powers.
"Mom, I'm not like you," the girl whined softly. "I want to be normal. I want to be a writer. I want to live a normal life, mom. Don't you see?"
"And don't you see?" Helen sneered, circling her daughter as she spoke. "Look at you, pathetic little thing. Letting her powers go to waste like it's nothing to be proud of. Hell, I gave them to you. The least you could do is be grateful for good genes." She scoffed, circling her the other way as she dragged and exhaled on her cigarette. "Normal life. You're not normal, Ellie-girl. Neither am I. Get used to it. Get used to it like the fact that you'll never look as good as me. You don't amount to shit, especially with that attitude."
Eleonora was always chided and looked down upon by her own mother, and as she felt her heart crack ever so slightly from her hurtful words, she glanced at her blankly and obliviously—shehated the fact that she had powers. Hated it. She wanted nothing more than to be normal, and if that meant denying the fact that she could control the weather, move things with her mind, or resurrect dead things, then so be it. Aside from that, seeing her mother abuse her own powers made her insecure about her own, and Eleonora did not want to bear that guilt.
"I don't have powers," the girl said quietly.
"You do! Damn it, you do!" Helen shouted harshly, looking into her daughter's verdant eyes, taking a quick drag of her cigarette. "You don't realize how much you are capable of. You let your potential go to waste like a fruitcake at a party. Not fun." She walked toward the doorway and stared back at her daughter authoritatively. "You are going to this school, and that's final!"
As her mother walked out of the room with her usual graceful slink, Eleonora suddenly felt a pang in her chest. A single tear ran down her cheek; she was used to the mental and verbal torment from her mother, but it never failed to bite into her heart like a mad, rabid dog. She held back tears, but not what whirled inside—it suddenly began to rain outside.
A/N
This is my newest fanfiction, so I hope you all enjoy it!
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