one

I felt Mama's fingers comb through my soft waves of blonde locks, mumbling french words to herself as she continued to twist her long fingers into angles that arranged my hair into loose braids that oddly stayed in place, she pulled the braids up onto the top of my head and wrapped them around to form a crown.

I looked up to the mirror hanging on the wall, noticing the look of awe in my mama's blue eyes that were an exact match for mine.

The memories of my mama ranting about my hair from when I was small was a permanent story that would never go away, the times when she seen my hair as a burden.

"She looks bald!" Mama would cry, "with hair so white and short, she looks like an elf with ears too big!"

But Mama assured me all the time that as I grew my looks developed and my mama swore that she never once seen a more beautiful woman. My hair, platinum blond and flowing down past my waist in even waves.

My mama had eyes of judgment. She was able to look at anyone and find a problem, either it was something to do with their looks or their general personality. My mama always bragged to my papa about how I am the best looking in the village, in my mama's eyes she had a nose too big and even my papa was too rough looking to be called handsome.

I sighed thinking back at the memories from when I was younger.

"Mama," I said, voice gentle, "I'm eighteen today."

"I know, mon petit amour," my mama spoke, "what do you want? Your papa could get you whatever you want. A new comb, peut-être?"

Mon petit amour; my little love. A nickname as old as myself, ever since I was a baby my mama called me that. She felt it fit perfectly, I was small and held all of my parent's love, the name suited me well as Mama said.

I may not remember but my papa told me that there were nights that my mama would wake up hearing my cries because I was too cold. My body was small and fragile which left Mama feeling sick with worry more often than not.

"Oh, ma douce!" Mama would cry at Papa, "Is something wrong with her?" Papa would reassure her that everything was fine but Mama would insist, "She is so small, trop petite!"

I knew that I was still smaller than most but Mama and Papa were happy that they no longer had to fear that I wouldn't wake up in the morning due to my size.

"I-I think I would like to go for a walk," I began and added just a bit quieter, "outside."

My mama paused just for a moment, finished the last bit of my hair and hummed with approval before answering me with a simple, "No."

"But, mama, please!" I begged, "That's all I want!"

I turned to stare my mama in the eyes, Papa said I have puppy dog eyes that always makes him say yes.

"Mama, please!" I said, making the 'e' long, "I want to go outside! I don't want to spend the rest of my life locked away in the basement!"

"Amoret, mon petit amour, I can't do it. Look at you-" Mama grabbed me by my chin, moving my face so that I could look at myself in the mirror, "-so beautiful. Skin so clear, it looks and feels like silk. Eyes so blue that they could make a man who has never seen the ocean feel lost at sea. Hair so soft and beautiful, you could be a goddess."

"But, Mama," I whispered, "I don't care about that. Please, Mama, all I ask is for you to take me out into town."

"Oh, my sweet Amoret, if I let you walk out that door and into town you would have suitors lined up at our door in seconds," my mama laughed softly.

"I don't want to be locked away," I whispered again as my throat closed with a warning. I couldn't cry and I wouldn't.

"I know but it is best, it's what will keep you safe," my mama kissed my forehead as she whispered her next few words, "I fear that if you ever go outside, you will not come back."

"Mama, I promise that I will come back. I will always come back to you and Papa."

"I know, mon petit amour, I know you would come back but sometimes things happen and I would never forgive myself if those bloody beasts get the chance to take you," Mama said.

The beasts; werewolves. They are my mama's biggest fear, for a reason I don't know of.

We both heard the door upstairs open, causing the conversation to end and the heavy footsteps above started a new one. "Papa is home," I announced.

We heard him move the table, the scraping of the legs proved it and soon enough, he began pulling up the secret door and walking down the stairs.

"Claire, Amoret, my two beautiful girls," Papa greeted us.

"Oh, Papa!" I threw myself into my papa's open arms.

"Happy birthday, dear," he smiled and hugged me close.

"Papa, can I please go outside?" I asked, looking up at my papa with wide, puppy dog eyes.

"Amoret!" I heard my mama behind me scold, "I told you no!"

"Papa?" I tried again, "It is my eighteenth birthday."

Papa rubbed his chin, pulling on his beard as he looked back and forth between mama and me.

"Claire," he began, and she sent him a quick glare that she did to warn him not to say anything she wouldn't like, "she is an adult now."

"That doesn't mean she's safe!" Mama exclaimed.

"Yes, but nobody knows she's here. Maybe, just for today? It'll only be a few minutes," Papa negotiated.

"Yes, Mama! Only a few minutes!" I agreed, nodding along with Papa.

"Oh, I don't-I don't really know-I just-okay! Just for a few minutes," Mama cracked under pressure, she smiled as she watched me grin with excitement.

They took me upstairs, I only ever came up here at night and even so, it was never for long. Papa pulled down the curtains, the sun no longer there. The room only full of darkness besides the few lamps lit.

"I'm going outside anyway, Papa, there's no need to cover the window," I said.

"That's right," he said, smiling down at me as he opened the front door.

"Wait!" Mama stopped us, "take this cloak."

I let Mama wrap one of her old cloaks around my shoulders, covering me completely.

"Gloves?" She asked and I nod, looking down at the white, silk gloves that my hands were in. "Good. You practically take all your nails off and rip the skin, creating ugly hands."

"I know, Mama," I agreed.

"That's the only thing wrong with you," she said.

"I know, Mama," I agreed, my smile faltered.

"Good, mon petit amour, good." She nodded, satisfied with my answer.

Ugly hands.

I felt Papa reach for my hand, holding it in his own, he pulled the door open and my other hand instantly went to shield my eyes from the new kind of light.

"You get used to it," Papa assured me.

I walked as far as to the garden, just next to the flowers that Mama liked to grow. I gently slid off one glove and gently caress the petals on a rose.

Before I can do much more, Mama is gasping and Papa is quick to pull me inside.

W O R D C O U N T : 1361

So, like, I like this. I don't know how good this will be but it's better than the last.

Also, I don't know French, so, the French words are me googling it hardcore which means I'm sorry if any of it is wrong.

Feel free to correct.

T R A N S L A T I O N S

Peut-être? - Perhaps?

Mon petit amour - My little love

Ma douce - My sweet

Trop petit - Too small