Page 3 of Grotesque Love

She’s perfect.

Arianwen.

Her hair is like spun silver, fanning out on her pillow, framing her delicate features. It needs some bursts of colour, flowers maybe. Perhaps I could weave her a flower crown.

I frown as she tosses and turns, face twisted in pain, the urge to soothe her pushing me forward as my claws tap against the window pane.

There is something about her.

I know it, just as I know the sky is blue and the sun is warm.

Maybe this time will be different.

Maybe she’s the one to finally break our curse.

Our missing piece.

CHAPTER ONE

ARIANWEN

“Ionly want what’s best for you, Ari.” His voice is an oil slick, sliding over my skin and leaving behind a toxic residue that makes it hard to breathe.

When I don’t reply, his words slipping through my memory like sand, he sighs, making the weight of his disapproval known.

“You know your mother would never want to see you like this.”

The word ‘mother’ stings, like something sharp pressing into my skin. There’s an uncomfortable pressure swelling in my chest, like the ocean pulling back the waves. The sensation just lingers on the periphery, but it doesn’t break through the haze.

I’m locked up so tight. Hidden.

Tucked away, even from myself most days, just existing as a hollow shell. Lost in my own foggy thoughts.

A hand reaches out, gently stroking my hair. It’s gotten long now, I haven’t cut it since…well, since before. The pale white blonde strands seem almost silver in the moonlight.

The irregular pitter-patter of raindrops land on the glass, filling the stretching silence, and I watch as they race and run inrivulets down the cold glass. My breath forms in smokey little wisps as I exhale slowly. Even breathing feels like an immense effort most days.

What if I just…stopped?

What if I never took another breath and my lungs didn’t expand, and my heart just…stopped?

I want it to stop.

“Arianwen? It’s time for your medication. Come on, my little Rapunzel.” He snorts, the nickname dripping with sarcasm. I know he hates how wild my hair has become, how untameable. He often threatens to cut it, making me shiver every time he does.

There’s a hint of bitterness on the tip of my tongue. It’s muted, but it’s there, like an almost-taste. A memory. I want to say something. I want to tell him that I’m nothisanything. But I don’t seem to be able to find the words.

I don’t remember the last time I spoke to someone. It might have been at the funeral. Or perhaps the hospital? Time passes in a blur now, the dusky sunrises filtering in through the large windows, eventually fading into the darkest nights.

Four months.

Or was it five?

Ten or eleven since that night.

I don’t know.

There’s no one else out here. No cars, no noisy neighbours, nothing but foggy fields, forestry, and waves crashing onto a pebbled beach below. There’s only us, in this large house filled with shadows and shrouded in secrets.

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