Page 44 of Dancing with Vipers and Shadows

I swallow the lump in my throat, realizing I may be the reason my parents finally get a divorce.

Not only does my mother not want me, but she blames my existence for the reason she’s no longer a Nephalem…

Lowering my head, I try to ignore the boiling disappointment that bubbles in the depths of my stomach. My heart clenches in agony, and I wonder if Odessa ever felt this…

Hated.

Despised.

Disappointed in herself.

“Sorry,” I quietly state without looking up at the mirror. “If… you need any updates from now on, feel free to contact Headmaster Atlas.”

There’s no need for me to call her… or Dad anymore…

“O-Ophelia, wai—”

“Goodbye, M—” I can’t even say it. “Bye, Ella.”

I bet she wishes I was never born.

“Ophel—”

When I lift my eyes to the mirror, all I see is the first set of tears that run down my flushed cheeks. Attempting to blink them away, I smile at my sad reflection, noting the way I clench the ends of my buttoned-up white blouse.

Deciding the black tights and white blouse combo will be good enough, I take a few breaths and work to gather my hair into a messy bun.

Slipping on the other strap of my mini backpack, I don’t realize I’m already out of our suite and into the hall until I crash right into someone. Neither of us makesa sound, even as the impact knocks us off our balance. I’m not in the mindset to cast a spell, which is why I brace for impact.

Arms quickly wrap around me, hugging me against a chilled body that cushions the fall.

Without much choice, I open my eyes and press my hands against a firm surface to lift myself enough to see who’s beneath me.

Whose chest I’m firmly pressing my hands against?

Ruby-colored eyes stare back up at me.

They’re brilliant to look at, shimmering with a spec of admiration as they bore into mine. For a single moment, they remind me of Odessa.

Reminds me of how whenever I was frustrated with our family dynamic, I could come to her and cry my eyes out in a silent embrace.

The memory is all it takes to make my eyes blur with tears, and those very droplets fall upon the cheeks of the person beneath me. I try to stop them. Fight how they pool in my eyelids or prevent their descent down my flushed cheeks, but how can I stop something that makes my heart hurt so damn much?

My hands slowly curl into clenched fists, and I bite my bottom lip to prevent the whimpering sob that threatens to escape my trembling lips.

“Why…” I finally whisper the question. “Why aren’t they proud of me?”

That’s always been the hidden question I asked myself.

Why wasn’t I enough?

Why couldn’t I make them see the accomplishments that everyone else acknowledged without a hint of denial?

Why can’t my mother ever be proud of what I’ve achieved?

Despite it all.

Being abandoned by my sister and having to carry the torch of our legacy all on my shoulders was almost unbearable. Encouraging myself day in and day out that attending this school would finally prove to them that I’m worthy of being praised took every ounce of motivation to finally reach this moment in time.

---