Demon Stories

Violette: Lies, 1905, New York

Violette

Lies

1905, New York

I'm crouched on the floor of the wrap-around porch our large Victorian home has. Its the height of summer, and all I hear is the crank of the ice cream maker turning. 

"Hand me the salt," Diana says, sweat beading on her brow, "its so hot. Why is New York so hot?"

I shrug and hand her the salt which was next to me. "Its cooler out here, at least."

Then a thought strikes me.

"Where's Beau?"

Diana stops cranking for a second and thinks. 

"I thought he said he was going down to the city for a few days," she says thoughtfully. Her eyes go half closed, relaxed, in her thinking. They say something more which she is not telling.

"Why did he go there?" I prod. She looks at me with the same eyes, but with different meaning. She knows I'm trying to get more information which I am not allowed to know. She doesn't say anything, but instead begins to crank the ice cream maker again.

I roll over onto my back, the fabrics of my dress making an audible crinkling in their thickness, inappropriate for the summer heat.

"Now then, don't tantrum about it," Diana sighs.

I blink, staring up at the intricate woodwork of the porch ceiling. My small child hands fold up near my head, on top of my inky black ringlets which are tied in pigtails on my head. This child's fashion. This child's body. The way they treat me like a child.

"Why do you always treat me like a child," I say to no one in particular, just a thought in the open air. 

"Don't even joke," Diana says commandingly, getting into a rhythm with the cranking. "You know you enjoy looking as you do. You enjoy being in the dark about heavy happenings like a child would be. We don't talk to you because you don't want to know. That is how it always will be."

My lips pout in a familiar habit. A childish habit. 

"See, you're doing it right now. You can't tell me different."

My lips go normal, but I feel the familiar anger swell in me, making me want to splay out my limbs and scream. But this is met with a different anger, a feeling almost born from shame. It comes out of my mouth like I don't even know it. 

"Tell me where he is," I say quietly, "the time for keeping me in the dark has ended."

I hear Diana lean back against the house on her bench. I feel her looking at me, with pity. A burrowing kind of look. I look up at her, leaning my chin up so I see her upside down.