She was eight when she decided that her mother was insane. It came in no great flash of insight, no sudden understanding, just the gradual and simple realization that Angeline Marlowe was not quite right in the head, and never had been. After that day, Guin treated her mother with the sort of caution that she would have given to a rabid dog. Whether or not Angeline noticed, Guin never knew, only that so long as the doll-faced woman did not harm her, she was happy.
The days when Angeline wished to impart lessons on her daughter, however, were what Guinivere dreaded. Sometimes, Angeline would force her to watch as she tried out her inventive new curses on captive Muggles and wizards alike – a particularly nasty one involved turning the skin inside out. Sarah fretted as her charge tossed in her sleep, always silent. The whimpers that escaped were muted in the pillow, as though Guin was afraid to make a sound.
Her concerned inquiries in sign language bought only solemn shakes of the head from the girl, who refused to admit that the strain of living with Angeline was affecting her. "Mumma, I'm fine," she would tell the older woman. Angeline was always Mother, but Sarah, warm, loving, stupid Sarah, was Mumma perennially. Guin had long ago stopped sucking her thumb, and instead bit the knuckle of the index finger on her right hand, until it bled.
Sarah watched mutely and bandaged the hand, rubbed it with foul-tasting oil to discourage the gnawing, but nothing worked. Always, the skin would be peeled away, revealing raw pink flesh beneath. One day, as Sarah watched Guin playing quietly with a doll, she had a flash of a thought. The girl looked so much like both her parents, their tragic legacy. Pale crystal-green eyes rested in a face that was much like Edmund's, his blunt features softened a bit by Angeline's curves. The hair was a combination, a sort of dark reddish-brown.
"Guinivere, what are the three Unforgivable Curses?" Angeline would ask, as usual no expression in her voice. The little girl would parrot back to her the answers, until Angeline's eyes snapped with delight. "Good, good. You will do well at Shadehurst," the woman remarked amiably, handing her daughter a small white cake, iced and decorated with pink whorls and rosettes of spun sugar. "Eat, child," she prodded gently.
"Shadehurst?" Guin asked, in just as calm a tone. The child munched thoughtfully on her treat, careful to not drop any crumbs on the delicate, white-laced table set with an antique silver tea seat.
"It is a boarding school," Angeline replied, twirling one golden curl around her finger. At twenty-eight, she was still beautiful and youth-filled. "For the Dark Arts. You will attend there for three years, until you are eleven. Then, you will receive a letter from Hogwarts, and remain there for the rest of your grade schooling." Angeline reached out a hand to touch Guin lightly on the arm, and she allowed a small smile to curve her lips. "You will make me proud. I know it."
Guin's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Subconsciously, she wanted only to be loved, and was not fully immune to Angeline's deadly charm. She was a parched, starving child; and Angeline had just given her food and water, and oh, it was good. 'You will make me proud.' Praise from Mother came rare and was treasured. Guin gulped away a lump in her throat and blinked at the table.
Her fingers played with the intricate lace, gently fraying a piece away from the rest. She wanted to make Mother proud, but.. What Angeline did to her captives sickened and frightened the girl. Do what was right, and risk punishment, or make her mother proud and save herself pain and grief? A choice no child should be forced to make, but it was presented now before Guin. Stalling by avoiding her mother's gaze, she began to chew on her knuckle again, re-opening the scab.
"Stop that," Angeline told her. "Well, dear?"
"Yes, Mother," Guin whispered, fighting the urge to gnaw on her bleeding hand. Crimson blood dripped from it and trickled downwards in a stream as Angeline moved her mouth into a smile, clapping her own hands together in a motion of childish delight.
"Thank you, Guin," she said soberly, "That's where both your mummy and your daddy went to school. You'll love it." The lips curled up again, and Guin was not sure whether the last sentence had been an assurance or a threat. "Sarah!" the woman called, waving a dimpled pink hand, "You may clear the tea things away, and after that, assist my Guin as she packs her bags." Turning an eye back to Guin, she finished. "You will leave tomorrow."
She rose, viridian gems absent for a moment as an unearthly shriek echoed through the house, cutting off abruptly as it culminated in a silence worse than the noise. Guin's ears felt raw; they rang uncomfortably. "Ah," Angeline said vaguely, "The new house-guest is settled." Twirling her wand between her fingers like a grim cheerleader's baton, Angeline kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek and glided from the room, leaving behind a faint scent of lavender, violets, and fear.
-----
She hated Shadehurst from the moment she saw it. Guin's hand, caught fast in Angeline's, was unavailable for attempted consumption, and so the girl examined the scenery instead. Though she didn't know the exact location, Shadehurst Preparatory School was located somewhere in the English moors, in a scene straight from Bronte. The wild landscape stretched for miles on either side, with only sheep and scrub-brush in sight – and rocks.
Many rocks in all manner of shape, some in forbidding circles that to her seemed to emanate menace, exuding a feel of terror and dried blood. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Angeline asked softly. Guin didn't think so, but she nodded and stared wide-eyed at the structure that was the pre-eminent school for the Dark Arts in all of Britain. It was large, though it seemed larger, and possessed a palpable aura that made one pull cloaks closer around oneself, in a vain attempt to ward off the unseen force that chilled to the marrow.
It was built of dark gray stone, a rambling building with black shutters and ivy curling along the better half of the rear side. Guin remembered a story about two dolls that lived in an Ivy Cottage, though Shadehurst was far from the cheerful haven depicted there. There were five gables that made up the main body of the school, a ramshackle Gothic glory, the shingles on the roof peeled and faded.
They were greeted by the Head Clerk, a greasy looking man who took care of the technical and detailed business of the school. "Mistress Marlowe! Welcome! Your daughter? Wonderful!" he gushed, gesturing with one withered hand to vacant-eyed servants, indicating for them to take away the few small bags that Guin had carried with her. Angeline, still lightly clasping Guin's hand, started forward ahead of the Clerk, to his delighted exclamations. "My, I see you still remember the way, after all these years and isn't that the truth—"
"Herrin," Angeline broke in, "If I recall, twenty years ago you were not my friend. You looked down upon me and gave Edmund and I much grief indeed. I would not, if I were you, pretend that I have any sort of amicable feelings of nostalgia towards you. My daughter is here for an education, and that is what she will receive – I have not paid money to hear you babble."
During the exchange, Herrin's face had gradually soured until it looked as though someone had shoved several large lemons into his mouth. "I had forgotten, Mistress Marlowe, but I do recall now. As you wish, Mistress Marlowe." Muttering to himself, Herrin gestured for them to follow. "And you, Miss Guinivere.. you will be most welcome here."
As Guin stared up at the darkness of Shadehurst, she thought sardonically to herself that she'd rather not be.
-----
"Concentrate!" Professor Hopkins ordered, staring down his nose at the class as they attempted to make precision cuts in slabs of raw, bloody meat that had been provided for that purpose. Guin bit her lip and fought back nausea as a jet of red fire sparked from her borrowed wand and slashed an incision through the thing in front of her. Other students were also looking sick, but Guin noticed several that seemed to be enjoying the exercise a bit too much.
"The Corteo spell is quite useful for many different applications, as it can cut through most organic material. It focuses a tight beam of magical energy that acts much the same as a knife.." Professor Hopkins informed them, aquiline features twisted in a smirk as he watched his pupils struggling with the scarlet meat. "It has no use in dueling, as it requires constant focus. But in torture, however, against an immobile prisoner, the Corteo incantation shows its mettle." A smile yanked skinny fish-lips upward.
Guin looked quickly away from him and back down at her meat, and immediately wished she hadn't. I will not sick up, I will not sick up, the girl chanted in her head. No expression, like with Angeline. She must show nothing.
Suddenly there was a loud pop, a boy across the room had lost his concentration and accidentally sent the subject of his experiment flying across the chamber, where it landed against the wall with a wet thump and slowly slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Abruptly, a girl several seats away vomited noisily onto the ground, face pale-tinged with green. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stood ignoring the stares of the majority of her class.
Professor Hopkins left his desk and stalked lazily forward, stopping in front of the cheesy-pale student's desk as he peered at her, much like a vulture in front of a rotting carcass. "That, Miss Shiftlet, is the third time this year. I think, Miss, that you are not suited to Shadehurst."
The girl Shiftlet looked more terrified than queasy, now. "No, Professor, you can't! You can't! My parents! They'll—"
"Did I give you leave to speak?" The girl was led away sobbing, and Guin focused her attention on flaying the meat into four perfect pieces.
-----
"What is it, Marlowe, too good to play with the rest of us?" the taunting voices demanded, mocking her. "Oooh, oooh," one of them continued in falsetto, "I'm Guinivere Marlowe and I'm too scared to have fun and hurt a cat! Look! I'm so scared I wet my pants!" The girl was an ugly, sharp-faced creature, who had a name like Petunia or Pricilla or something like that.. It suits her, Guin thought, and closed her arms tighter around the cat she had rescued from the miniature mob.
With one hand, she raised her wand thoughtfully, pointed it at Pricilla, and muttered something under her breath. Instantly, the girl really had wet her pants, a damp patch appearing there, and the other girls shrieked with laughter and forgot their previous victim. It allowed Guinivere to escape, letting go of the cat. "Go far away from here, little one," she whispered to it, watching the skinny feline streak away across the moor. "You're lucky, cat. I can't run."
-----
She was ten years old and had been enrolled in Shadehurst Preparatory for almost three years. Guinivere had learned to appreciate the brooding beauty of the place, but hated everything else about the school. Her only solace was daily forays into the untamed moors. One of her common hiding places was a stone circle, though not one of those tinged with fear. This one, and the accompanying reflective pool, were calmer, even joyful, and when the darkness of Shadehurst grew too oppressive, they were a welcome relief.
Guin examined her face in the pool: she had many of her mother's features, large eyes; thin, straight nose; and a small brown birthmark where her jaw connected to her skull. The rest, she supposed, were her father's – though mother didn't speak of him often. How had he died? Sometimes, feeling morbid, Guin would invent heroic ends for him, to keep herself from hating Edmund too much for leaving her alone with Angeline. Angeline. Guin loved and loathed her at the same time.
Wan, thin, child-features were suddenly not the only ones in the pool. Next to hers, was a face that looked as though it was underneath the water instead of above it! With a yelp of surprise, Guin jumped backwards as the head and shoulders of a blue-haired young woman rose from the water. "Hello, Guinivere Marlowe!" she said in a liquidly musical voice.
"Who – what – who are you?" she stammered.
The woman looked amused, and rose up from the pool a few more feet. Guin noticed absently that her body was transparent, made of water, with only the head, shoulders, and arms seeming solid. "I," the apparition said, "am one form of water-nymph. And you, you are a troubled human-child." The voice burbled and steamed in the fresh tones of a mountain stream.
"I'm not troubled," Guin said automatically.
"You are. You are about to return home, and wonder if you are like your mother. I have watched you as you have watched me, though without knowledge of my existence. And I tell you that you will never be like your mother unless you so wish. Always, you have a choice."
Guin absorbed this in silence, then her naturally suspicious mind took over. "How can you know this? Why do you care?" She sat back on her rear, taking the weight away from her heels. Never had she met a magical creature face-to-face – there were of course dragons in the moors, but they were rare and never close to the school. This, on the other hand – a real live nymph!
"You told your troubles to the rain one afternoon," the woman said, "And the raindrops nourish me." This made some semblance of sense to the girl, and she opened her mouth to speak again. So many questions to ask! Suddenly, the water-nymph glanced sharply at the sun and continued hurriedly. "The time! End-of-term has almost begun. If you have need of me, whisper the name of Aua!"
And with that, she sunk back into the pool, only a disembodied voice whispering, "Never like her unless you wish." Guin stood, staring, wiped her eyes and then turned and ran as fast as she could back to Shadehurst, heart lighter than it had been in years – she was finally leaving the school behind.
The days when Angeline wished to impart lessons on her daughter, however, were what Guinivere dreaded. Sometimes, Angeline would force her to watch as she tried out her inventive new curses on captive Muggles and wizards alike – a particularly nasty one involved turning the skin inside out. Sarah fretted as her charge tossed in her sleep, always silent. The whimpers that escaped were muted in the pillow, as though Guin was afraid to make a sound.
Her concerned inquiries in sign language bought only solemn shakes of the head from the girl, who refused to admit that the strain of living with Angeline was affecting her. "Mumma, I'm fine," she would tell the older woman. Angeline was always Mother, but Sarah, warm, loving, stupid Sarah, was Mumma perennially. Guin had long ago stopped sucking her thumb, and instead bit the knuckle of the index finger on her right hand, until it bled.
Sarah watched mutely and bandaged the hand, rubbed it with foul-tasting oil to discourage the gnawing, but nothing worked. Always, the skin would be peeled away, revealing raw pink flesh beneath. One day, as Sarah watched Guin playing quietly with a doll, she had a flash of a thought. The girl looked so much like both her parents, their tragic legacy. Pale crystal-green eyes rested in a face that was much like Edmund's, his blunt features softened a bit by Angeline's curves. The hair was a combination, a sort of dark reddish-brown.
"Guinivere, what are the three Unforgivable Curses?" Angeline would ask, as usual no expression in her voice. The little girl would parrot back to her the answers, until Angeline's eyes snapped with delight. "Good, good. You will do well at Shadehurst," the woman remarked amiably, handing her daughter a small white cake, iced and decorated with pink whorls and rosettes of spun sugar. "Eat, child," she prodded gently.
"Shadehurst?" Guin asked, in just as calm a tone. The child munched thoughtfully on her treat, careful to not drop any crumbs on the delicate, white-laced table set with an antique silver tea seat.
"It is a boarding school," Angeline replied, twirling one golden curl around her finger. At twenty-eight, she was still beautiful and youth-filled. "For the Dark Arts. You will attend there for three years, until you are eleven. Then, you will receive a letter from Hogwarts, and remain there for the rest of your grade schooling." Angeline reached out a hand to touch Guin lightly on the arm, and she allowed a small smile to curve her lips. "You will make me proud. I know it."
Guin's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Subconsciously, she wanted only to be loved, and was not fully immune to Angeline's deadly charm. She was a parched, starving child; and Angeline had just given her food and water, and oh, it was good. 'You will make me proud.' Praise from Mother came rare and was treasured. Guin gulped away a lump in her throat and blinked at the table.
Her fingers played with the intricate lace, gently fraying a piece away from the rest. She wanted to make Mother proud, but.. What Angeline did to her captives sickened and frightened the girl. Do what was right, and risk punishment, or make her mother proud and save herself pain and grief? A choice no child should be forced to make, but it was presented now before Guin. Stalling by avoiding her mother's gaze, she began to chew on her knuckle again, re-opening the scab.
"Stop that," Angeline told her. "Well, dear?"
"Yes, Mother," Guin whispered, fighting the urge to gnaw on her bleeding hand. Crimson blood dripped from it and trickled downwards in a stream as Angeline moved her mouth into a smile, clapping her own hands together in a motion of childish delight.
"Thank you, Guin," she said soberly, "That's where both your mummy and your daddy went to school. You'll love it." The lips curled up again, and Guin was not sure whether the last sentence had been an assurance or a threat. "Sarah!" the woman called, waving a dimpled pink hand, "You may clear the tea things away, and after that, assist my Guin as she packs her bags." Turning an eye back to Guin, she finished. "You will leave tomorrow."
She rose, viridian gems absent for a moment as an unearthly shriek echoed through the house, cutting off abruptly as it culminated in a silence worse than the noise. Guin's ears felt raw; they rang uncomfortably. "Ah," Angeline said vaguely, "The new house-guest is settled." Twirling her wand between her fingers like a grim cheerleader's baton, Angeline kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek and glided from the room, leaving behind a faint scent of lavender, violets, and fear.
-----
She hated Shadehurst from the moment she saw it. Guin's hand, caught fast in Angeline's, was unavailable for attempted consumption, and so the girl examined the scenery instead. Though she didn't know the exact location, Shadehurst Preparatory School was located somewhere in the English moors, in a scene straight from Bronte. The wild landscape stretched for miles on either side, with only sheep and scrub-brush in sight – and rocks.
Many rocks in all manner of shape, some in forbidding circles that to her seemed to emanate menace, exuding a feel of terror and dried blood. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Angeline asked softly. Guin didn't think so, but she nodded and stared wide-eyed at the structure that was the pre-eminent school for the Dark Arts in all of Britain. It was large, though it seemed larger, and possessed a palpable aura that made one pull cloaks closer around oneself, in a vain attempt to ward off the unseen force that chilled to the marrow.
It was built of dark gray stone, a rambling building with black shutters and ivy curling along the better half of the rear side. Guin remembered a story about two dolls that lived in an Ivy Cottage, though Shadehurst was far from the cheerful haven depicted there. There were five gables that made up the main body of the school, a ramshackle Gothic glory, the shingles on the roof peeled and faded.
They were greeted by the Head Clerk, a greasy looking man who took care of the technical and detailed business of the school. "Mistress Marlowe! Welcome! Your daughter? Wonderful!" he gushed, gesturing with one withered hand to vacant-eyed servants, indicating for them to take away the few small bags that Guin had carried with her. Angeline, still lightly clasping Guin's hand, started forward ahead of the Clerk, to his delighted exclamations. "My, I see you still remember the way, after all these years and isn't that the truth—"
"Herrin," Angeline broke in, "If I recall, twenty years ago you were not my friend. You looked down upon me and gave Edmund and I much grief indeed. I would not, if I were you, pretend that I have any sort of amicable feelings of nostalgia towards you. My daughter is here for an education, and that is what she will receive – I have not paid money to hear you babble."
During the exchange, Herrin's face had gradually soured until it looked as though someone had shoved several large lemons into his mouth. "I had forgotten, Mistress Marlowe, but I do recall now. As you wish, Mistress Marlowe." Muttering to himself, Herrin gestured for them to follow. "And you, Miss Guinivere.. you will be most welcome here."
As Guin stared up at the darkness of Shadehurst, she thought sardonically to herself that she'd rather not be.
-----
"Concentrate!" Professor Hopkins ordered, staring down his nose at the class as they attempted to make precision cuts in slabs of raw, bloody meat that had been provided for that purpose. Guin bit her lip and fought back nausea as a jet of red fire sparked from her borrowed wand and slashed an incision through the thing in front of her. Other students were also looking sick, but Guin noticed several that seemed to be enjoying the exercise a bit too much.
"The Corteo spell is quite useful for many different applications, as it can cut through most organic material. It focuses a tight beam of magical energy that acts much the same as a knife.." Professor Hopkins informed them, aquiline features twisted in a smirk as he watched his pupils struggling with the scarlet meat. "It has no use in dueling, as it requires constant focus. But in torture, however, against an immobile prisoner, the Corteo incantation shows its mettle." A smile yanked skinny fish-lips upward.
Guin looked quickly away from him and back down at her meat, and immediately wished she hadn't. I will not sick up, I will not sick up, the girl chanted in her head. No expression, like with Angeline. She must show nothing.
Suddenly there was a loud pop, a boy across the room had lost his concentration and accidentally sent the subject of his experiment flying across the chamber, where it landed against the wall with a wet thump and slowly slid to the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Abruptly, a girl several seats away vomited noisily onto the ground, face pale-tinged with green. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stood ignoring the stares of the majority of her class.
Professor Hopkins left his desk and stalked lazily forward, stopping in front of the cheesy-pale student's desk as he peered at her, much like a vulture in front of a rotting carcass. "That, Miss Shiftlet, is the third time this year. I think, Miss, that you are not suited to Shadehurst."
The girl Shiftlet looked more terrified than queasy, now. "No, Professor, you can't! You can't! My parents! They'll—"
"Did I give you leave to speak?" The girl was led away sobbing, and Guin focused her attention on flaying the meat into four perfect pieces.
-----
"What is it, Marlowe, too good to play with the rest of us?" the taunting voices demanded, mocking her. "Oooh, oooh," one of them continued in falsetto, "I'm Guinivere Marlowe and I'm too scared to have fun and hurt a cat! Look! I'm so scared I wet my pants!" The girl was an ugly, sharp-faced creature, who had a name like Petunia or Pricilla or something like that.. It suits her, Guin thought, and closed her arms tighter around the cat she had rescued from the miniature mob.
With one hand, she raised her wand thoughtfully, pointed it at Pricilla, and muttered something under her breath. Instantly, the girl really had wet her pants, a damp patch appearing there, and the other girls shrieked with laughter and forgot their previous victim. It allowed Guinivere to escape, letting go of the cat. "Go far away from here, little one," she whispered to it, watching the skinny feline streak away across the moor. "You're lucky, cat. I can't run."
-----
She was ten years old and had been enrolled in Shadehurst Preparatory for almost three years. Guinivere had learned to appreciate the brooding beauty of the place, but hated everything else about the school. Her only solace was daily forays into the untamed moors. One of her common hiding places was a stone circle, though not one of those tinged with fear. This one, and the accompanying reflective pool, were calmer, even joyful, and when the darkness of Shadehurst grew too oppressive, they were a welcome relief.
Guin examined her face in the pool: she had many of her mother's features, large eyes; thin, straight nose; and a small brown birthmark where her jaw connected to her skull. The rest, she supposed, were her father's – though mother didn't speak of him often. How had he died? Sometimes, feeling morbid, Guin would invent heroic ends for him, to keep herself from hating Edmund too much for leaving her alone with Angeline. Angeline. Guin loved and loathed her at the same time.
Wan, thin, child-features were suddenly not the only ones in the pool. Next to hers, was a face that looked as though it was underneath the water instead of above it! With a yelp of surprise, Guin jumped backwards as the head and shoulders of a blue-haired young woman rose from the water. "Hello, Guinivere Marlowe!" she said in a liquidly musical voice.
"Who – what – who are you?" she stammered.
The woman looked amused, and rose up from the pool a few more feet. Guin noticed absently that her body was transparent, made of water, with only the head, shoulders, and arms seeming solid. "I," the apparition said, "am one form of water-nymph. And you, you are a troubled human-child." The voice burbled and steamed in the fresh tones of a mountain stream.
"I'm not troubled," Guin said automatically.
"You are. You are about to return home, and wonder if you are like your mother. I have watched you as you have watched me, though without knowledge of my existence. And I tell you that you will never be like your mother unless you so wish. Always, you have a choice."
Guin absorbed this in silence, then her naturally suspicious mind took over. "How can you know this? Why do you care?" She sat back on her rear, taking the weight away from her heels. Never had she met a magical creature face-to-face – there were of course dragons in the moors, but they were rare and never close to the school. This, on the other hand – a real live nymph!
"You told your troubles to the rain one afternoon," the woman said, "And the raindrops nourish me." This made some semblance of sense to the girl, and she opened her mouth to speak again. So many questions to ask! Suddenly, the water-nymph glanced sharply at the sun and continued hurriedly. "The time! End-of-term has almost begun. If you have need of me, whisper the name of Aua!"
And with that, she sunk back into the pool, only a disembodied voice whispering, "Never like her unless you wish." Guin stood, staring, wiped her eyes and then turned and ran as fast as she could back to Shadehurst, heart lighter than it had been in years – she was finally leaving the school behind.