[A/N]:
This is my first EverWorld fic. I haven't even read any of the books in at least six months, andI'd never meant to write anything related to it (I love it, but it just wasn't something I was inspired to write about) but I was sort of absently going through the EverWorld stories yesterday, and that started me thinking about EverWorld, and this just sort of popped in my head while I was trying to go to sleep. It's from the POV of April and Senna's mother (well, Senna's stepmother, to be more accurate.) I remember reading the #3, I'm pretty sure it was, the first with April narrating, and April commenting offhand at some point that her mother had not treated Senna any differently from April. Then, in #9, we get a totally different tale from Senna. At the time, I decided April must be a liar and hated her guts. Later on, it occured to me that there were more possibilites: A) Both could be consciously lying or at least exagerating to justify their hatred of the other, or B) Both told the truth as they saw it (or wanted it be).
Senna, I could admit privately to myself, was a very strange girl. I wondered what her mother had been like. I had never met the woman, and every time I saw some trait that I knew did not come from the O'Brian family, I wondered if she shared it with her mother, or if it was just some quirk that was Senna's own.
She shared little with April. Grudgingly, I could admit she was pretty girl, as much as April. Every now and then, you would see some gesture, some familiar gesture that you couldn't quite place, and then realize it was the mirror image of something the other had done. Then you knew they really were sisters, as difficult as it was to believe sometimes.
This is Senna. She's mine.
Those words, spoken one night seemingly out of the blue, had reverbrated down through the years, changing everything. I had tried to accept her, she was just a girl. A strange, solemn, wide-eyed girl, but a girl nonetheless. I wasn't so petty, was I, to blame a child for being born, something she had absolutely no control over? I told myself I wasn't, not really, and I managed not to blame her, most of the time.
Most of the time. I was ashamed of my lapses. I didn't hate the girl. I really didn't. But, at first, she was a constant reminder of things best forgotten, and I couldn't help but be curt with her, choose April's company over hers. This was a stranger, the child of a strange woman I had not (and would never) meet, who had abandoned her own daughter to the cares of virtual strangers. How could I love her? Later, I told myself, I could grow to love and appreciate her, I was sure. In time. But it never happened. She was so strange, so standoffish. Perhaps it was my fault. Looking back, she must have been terribly lonely.
Senna's appearance in my life did more than re-open old scars - it brought up ones I hadn't even realized existed. Call me stupid or naive, but I had had no inkling of my husbands infidelities. I nearly left my husband after he brought Senna home one night. But in the end, I decided April - and Senna - needed a family more. Maybe in the end it could all work out.
It didn't, of course.
But Senna, as I said before, was strange. It was never something you could put your finger on. It was just something in her eyes - those strange, strange eyes - as if she could see right through you, and was laughing. For a long time I thought I was imagining it, that I just resented her so much that I was making things up to make her look worse. But then I realized that April and her father knew it, too. They were uneasy around her, never sure what she was thinking, what she would do next.
I remember the year April begged to go riding for her birthday, during the few years she was obsessed with horses. We took them to a local stable. April had ridden happily around the paddack, smiling the whole way, her curls bouncing. The same gentle horse had been terrified of Senna, wouldn't let her near it. I had stared at her in a mixture of fascination and horror, thinking, Even this animal can sense her strangeness. What is she, this girl that lives iin my house?
Her father suggested we change her last name - Wales, which I had never asked but assumed to be her mother's name - but I wouldn't allow it. She did not belong to us, and never would.
I watched uneasily as she and April fought over the years, attacking each other with childish cruelty, breaking each other's toys, stealing the other's books. I told myself they would grow closer as the years went by, but they never did. Was it my fault? Because I could never love her as I did April, she could never be my daughter, and she knew it? I never meant to hurt her.
I didn't.
After Senna disappeared, their was almost relief, in the house, as cold as that sounds. We pretended - hoped - Senna had gone off to find her long-lost mother. I don't think anyone believed it. April knew more than she was letting on. I could see it in her eyes. She could never lie to me. Perhaps Senna can be happy, where ever she's gone. She never was here.
I don't know where April's gone. The kinder of our friends suggest she's gone looking for Senna, not believing it themselves. She wouldn't, I know. She hated Senna. The more realistic think them both dead, and say nothing. I don't know what to believe, and so I only hope them alive, somewhere, maybe Senna has found her mother, and they're happy, and April's there with them, and she's enjoying herself som much she forgot to write.
I can dream, can't I?
I never meant to hurt them.
Senna, I could admit privately to myself, was a very strange girl. I wondered what her mother had been like. I had never met the woman, and every time I saw some trait that I knew did not come from the O'Brian family, I wondered if she shared it with her mother, or if it was just some quirk that was Senna's own.
She shared little with April. Grudgingly, I could admit she was pretty girl, as much as April. Every now and then, you would see some gesture, some familiar gesture that you couldn't quite place, and then realize it was the mirror image of something the other had done. Then you knew they really were sisters, as difficult as it was to believe sometimes.
This is Senna. She's mine.
Those words, spoken one night seemingly out of the blue, had reverbrated down through the years, changing everything. I had tried to accept her, she was just a girl. A strange, solemn, wide-eyed girl, but a girl nonetheless. I wasn't so petty, was I, to blame a child for being born, something she had absolutely no control over? I told myself I wasn't, not really, and I managed not to blame her, most of the time.
Most of the time. I was ashamed of my lapses. I didn't hate the girl. I really didn't. But, at first, she was a constant reminder of things best forgotten, and I couldn't help but be curt with her, choose April's company over hers. This was a stranger, the child of a strange woman I had not (and would never) meet, who had abandoned her own daughter to the cares of virtual strangers. How could I love her? Later, I told myself, I could grow to love and appreciate her, I was sure. In time. But it never happened. She was so strange, so standoffish. Perhaps it was my fault. Looking back, she must have been terribly lonely.
Senna's appearance in my life did more than re-open old scars - it brought up ones I hadn't even realized existed. Call me stupid or naive, but I had had no inkling of my husbands infidelities. I nearly left my husband after he brought Senna home one night. But in the end, I decided April - and Senna - needed a family more. Maybe in the end it could all work out.
It didn't, of course.
But Senna, as I said before, was strange. It was never something you could put your finger on. It was just something in her eyes - those strange, strange eyes - as if she could see right through you, and was laughing. For a long time I thought I was imagining it, that I just resented her so much that I was making things up to make her look worse. But then I realized that April and her father knew it, too. They were uneasy around her, never sure what she was thinking, what she would do next.
I remember the year April begged to go riding for her birthday, during the few years she was obsessed with horses. We took them to a local stable. April had ridden happily around the paddack, smiling the whole way, her curls bouncing. The same gentle horse had been terrified of Senna, wouldn't let her near it. I had stared at her in a mixture of fascination and horror, thinking, Even this animal can sense her strangeness. What is she, this girl that lives iin my house?
Her father suggested we change her last name - Wales, which I had never asked but assumed to be her mother's name - but I wouldn't allow it. She did not belong to us, and never would.
I watched uneasily as she and April fought over the years, attacking each other with childish cruelty, breaking each other's toys, stealing the other's books. I told myself they would grow closer as the years went by, but they never did. Was it my fault? Because I could never love her as I did April, she could never be my daughter, and she knew it? I never meant to hurt her.
I didn't.
After Senna disappeared, their was almost relief, in the house, as cold as that sounds. We pretended - hoped - Senna had gone off to find her long-lost mother. I don't think anyone believed it. April knew more than she was letting on. I could see it in her eyes. She could never lie to me. Perhaps Senna can be happy, where ever she's gone. She never was here.
I don't know where April's gone. The kinder of our friends suggest she's gone looking for Senna, not believing it themselves. She wouldn't, I know. She hated Senna. The more realistic think them both dead, and say nothing. I don't know what to believe, and so I only hope them alive, somewhere, maybe Senna has found her mother, and they're happy, and April's there with them, and she's enjoying herself som much she forgot to write.
I can dream, can't I?
I never meant to hurt them.