A Life Earthbound (3 page)

Her fingers itched to touch, grazing lightly over glass and fragranced silk, marveling at the loveliness of it all. Her mother’s dressing table, covered by dozens of perfumes, powders, jeweled boxes and silk flowers…it was like something out of a fairytale; a little girl’s dream come true.

Sunlight poured through the window, filtering through gauzy silk curtains. It shimmered and sparkled over the glass bottles, giving everything a rosy glow.

This was her favorite place in the castle. Her parents’ room and the dressing table with its soft, plush stool and pink silks draped everywhere. And, the best part was, it smelled exactly like her mother.

The mirror above the dressing table was broad with an elegant, gilded frame. It was attached to the glass table, which had legs in the shape of scrolls with floral accents.

Rhiannon sat tentatively on the stool, knowing her mother was in the bathroom taking one of her hour long baths with all the frothy scented bubbles. Glancing around, her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror over the table, and she briefly stared, lost in thought.

Where her mother had long, generously curled hair the color of honey, Rhiannon’s hair was stick straight and bark brown. Where her mother’s eyes were clear and blue as the morning sky, her own eyes seemed a dull green. Her mother’s face was heart-shaped and beautiful, while Rhiannon’s cheeks were still chubby in a rounded face with no trace of beauty she could see in her four years of age.

Reaching carefully, she lifted the top from one of the bottles, pulling it toward her to smell. With a gentle sigh she set it back down in its exact place, knowing her mother would notice if it had been moved. Then she reached for her mother’s powder with its lovely puff. She glanced up at the mirror and pretended to put it on, mimicking her mother as she had often watched her. Next she reached for one of Serendipity’s many lovely scarves.

Draping it over her shoulders she looked back in the mirror, wondering if she’d look like her mother now. But, no, she still didn’t.

Putting the scarf back, she cautiously opened one of the many jeweled boxes, lifting out a glittering, diamond-encrusted necklace. She held it to her neck, watching the light catch and imagined getting ready for a lavish party. Her mother always smiled when there was a party to attend, and her father always wore a suit and looked so handsome.

Thinking of him, she put the necklace away, slipped off the stool and tiptoed toward his solid oak dresser, where he kept his bottles of cologne, cuff links, watches and cigars. She sniffed one of the colognes, relishing what she recognized as his scent. She replaced the bottle delicately, then wandered over to sit on her parents’ giant four-poster bed to wait for her mother to finish her bath so they could go downstairs for dinner.

She glanced around the room, content; comforted by the surroundings of her parents. Her mother’s tidy silk draperies in cool pastels, and her father’s oak furniture and bookcase housing his favorite novels. She’d looked through them before, at least the ones she could reach, but she’d only flipped through the pages, unable to understand most of the words. But doing so was like spending time with him and that was something she cherished.

Soon her mother would be done with her bath and would begin primping at the dressing table. She always said it was necessary for a woman to look her absolute best when in the presence of others and that proper manners were of vital importance. Rhiannon learned early on that her mother didn’t tolerate dirty hands or wrinkled clothes.

She imagined herself growing up to be just like her mother; tall, slender, beautiful…to her, her mother was perfect.

Sometimes, Rhiannon looked at the other children with their parents–especially Capri with her mother, and she wondered why hers acted so different. Heidi was always holding Capri, always kissing her and tickling her. Her own mother never did anything like that. But she was beautiful, so maybe she wasn’t supposed to.

Inspired, Rhiannon slid off the bed and padded back to the dressing table, eyeing herself in the mirror again. Maybe if she could make herself more beautiful, like her mother, then maybe her mother would kiss and hug her. And maybe her father would swing her up and spin her around the way she’d seen Lucian do with Liam. Liam had laughed and laughed, and his father had smiled so brightly. Her father never smiled like that.

She heard her mother pull the drain on the bath. She hurried to sit back on the bed, content with the hope that one day she would be beautiful enough to be loved.

A few days
after her fourth birthday, her education began.

Not only was she taught general studies such as writing, reading, mathematics, science, and the history of humans and Euphora, but she would also begin her lessons with her father on how to use her Dryad powers.

Though she didn’t show it, Rhiannon was thrilled to finally get the chance to learn. For a year she had watched Liam studying in the classroom the Muses used for teaching, while she herself had been forced to sit with the babies. She was more than ready to put her already active mind to use.

For centuries, the Muses were responsible for educating the children of Euphora in general subjects. They utilized a room on the second floor of the castle with big, airy windows that let in lots of natural light. Scattered throughout the room were desks and tables, the walls lined with bookcases filled with art books, history, literature, math, science, and more.

Depending on the amount of students, either one, two, or all three of the Muses would participate in instructing the children. Currently there were only four students so Serendipity was the only teacher.

She led Rhiannon into the classroom, pointing at one of the desks in the front.

“Sit,” she quietly ordered. Rhiannon obeyed without a word, taking her seat and looking around in wonder. Her serious eyes took in every detail, from the view of the courtyard through the windows, to the stone walls covered with lovely landscape paintings, to the sturdy oak wood of the desk and chair she sat in. In front of her was a stack of blank paper and a wood pencil sharpened to a fine point.

She heard the door open behind her, but refrained from turning around. She was too focused on learning to think about anything else.

When Liam sat at a desk a couple of feet away from her, she glanced over despite herself.

“Hi, Rhia,” he greeted happily, setting down his bag filled with books, papers, pencils and some toys he’d managed to sneak past his father’s watchful eye. He began tapping his hands on the desk, full of boundless energy.

Rhiannon just watched him, noting how his messy, black curls fell over his face, thinking he should trim them. He had peanut butter smudged on his cheek, probably from breakfast, that needed to be cleaned off. And all the noise he was making was going to attract the attention of her mother, who would scold him.

Agitated, she sat rigid in her seat, trying not to think of those things. But her neat and orderly mind couldn’t shut out the noise, so she turned and shushed him, her finger pointed and held against her lips like she’d seen her mother do so many times.

He stopped and grinned at her. “I want to learn to play the drums,” he announced, his fingers itching to start again. But she only stared at him, her face serious, and he looked away, hurt by her disinterest.

“Sit up straight, Liam, and pull out your homework,” Serendipity ordered, her voice as smooth as whipped cream but the message firm. She glided past, her eyes noticing everything, including her daughter’s rigid back and primly folded hands on the surface of her desk. She pursed her mouth, noting a few strands of Rhiannon’s hair had slipped from its hair clip. “Fix your hair, Rhiannon.”

Standing in front of her daughter’s desk, Serendipity watched as Rhiannon hurriedly fixed her hair. Moments later, she looked up with eager eyes, hoping she had met her mother’s expectations. When Serendipity nodded slightly, Rhiannon felt relief course through her. She wasn’t in trouble after all.

Just then, Brogan and Rian entered the classroom, the last two old enough to be taught. Rian was already seven years old, the oldest of all the children on Euphora, and Brogan was four, same as Rhiannon.

“Have a seat, boys,” Serendipity chimed, watching as the two took the remaining desks behind Rhiannon and Liam.

Rian dutifully pulled out his homework. Brogan sat still as a frightened statue, his dark eyes big as saucers. It was his first day of school, too.

“Rian, please pull out your math book and begin working on your multiplication tables. Liam, begin reading the short story
The Cat and the Hare
on page 176 of your English book.” Serendipity stood, watching as the two boys got to work. Nodding, she looked down at her daughter.

“Rhiannon, I want you and Brogan to come with me over to the workstation under the window. We’re going to work on your writing skills today.”

Without a word, Rhiannon slid from her chair and neatly gathered up her paper and her pencil, then walked purposefully toward the large, round table under the window. She took a seat in one of the small chairs, tucking her skirt underneath her to avoid wrinkles before folding her hands in her lap and waiting patiently.

Brogan glanced nervously at Rian, who nodded at him in reassurance. He trudged over toward Rhiannon, only to have Serendipity clear her throat and point at the paper and pencil that he had forgotten at his desk. Blushing, he raced back to gather them and then sat across from Rhiannon, his eyes cast downward.

Rhiannon watched him curiously, wondering why he was so nervous when she felt so eager.

Serendipity strolled over and sat with them, and began her careful instruction.

While other children may have noticed a difference between the studious way their parent talked with them as a teacher, versus the gentle, persuasive way they talked with them as a parent, Rhiannon noticed no such difference.

Her mother was her usual self–cool, removed, stern and critical. She possessed a heartbreaking face but her eyes were sharp more often than soft. And although her voice could sound as enchanting as the chiming of a bell, it could also cut to the bone when she was disappointed.

Serendipity never raised her voice, never cried and rarely smiled unless it was a brief curving of her mouth. But despite this, Rhiannon wanted nothing more than to emulate her mother in every way. In fact, she wanted to
be
her mother because that was all she knew.

After a few hours, Serendipity released them for lunch, the day’s lesson finished.

Liam waited for Rhiannon to gather up her things and slip them into the bag her mother had given her. When she finished, she spotted Liam waiting by the door for her, his own bag slung over his shoulder and a goofy grin on his face.

Unable to help it, she smiled back, feeling pleased at completing her writing assignments well. She skipped toward him, feeling genuinely happy.

“Walk, Rhiannon,” Serendipity scolded, crossing her arms and eyeing her daughter. Rhiannon slowed to a walk, feeling repentant as she glanced back at her mother briefly before disappearing out the door into the hallway.

They headed down to the dining hall together. Liam was rattling on about how Rhiannon was going to love being in class and if she needed any help that he could help her. Then he launched into a discussion of the stories he’d read that day and how he could read them to her if she’d like.