(no subject)
Title: Beautiful
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Seles and her mother; gen/dark
Rating: G/PG?
Prompt: #3
Other: 315 words, Seles' mother being a bit of a freak. 8D;
The young girl, barely seven years old, stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror as her mother towered over her, running a heavy brush through her red hair over and over again, with a bit of unnecessary roughness. Occasionally the girl would wince as the brush caught a tangle or a streak of caked mud, but she didn't make any complaint.
"You can't keep doing this," her mother scolded, repeated for the third time, her voice just as distant and with as strange an edge as always. The girl wondered if she even realized that she'd said the same thing twice already. "Stop going out to play with him. He isn't really your brother. He doesn't care about you."
The girl wanted to snap at her mother; he -is- my brother, he -does- care about me! But instead she winced again, the bristles of the brush beginning to sting her scalp. "Mommy, you're hurting me."
"Pain is beauty, dear. You'll have to be beautiful once you're the Chosen, you know."
'The Chosen' was only a phrase, meaningless words to the girl. Her brother talked about being 'the Chosen' too, but it upset her mother if she mentioned that. In fact, when her mother started acting like this, talking about 'the Chosen', she got upset very easily. The girl didn't want that. "Yes, Mommy."
The brush stopped (thankfully), and the girl resisted the urge to reach up and rub her scalp (which itched now), not wanting to mess up her hair now that her mother had finished fixing it. But, her mother hadn't moved. A moment later, she rested her hand on the girl's shoulder, face solemn. "You'll understand all of this one day, Seles."
Years later, the girl would stare at her reflection in the dresser mirror, in an abbey half a world away, and still not understand what her mother had ever meant.
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Seles and her mother; gen/dark
Rating: G/PG?
Prompt: #3
Other: 315 words, Seles' mother being a bit of a freak. 8D;
The young girl, barely seven years old, stared at her reflection in the dresser mirror as her mother towered over her, running a heavy brush through her red hair over and over again, with a bit of unnecessary roughness. Occasionally the girl would wince as the brush caught a tangle or a streak of caked mud, but she didn't make any complaint.
"You can't keep doing this," her mother scolded, repeated for the third time, her voice just as distant and with as strange an edge as always. The girl wondered if she even realized that she'd said the same thing twice already. "Stop going out to play with him. He isn't really your brother. He doesn't care about you."
The girl wanted to snap at her mother; he -is- my brother, he -does- care about me! But instead she winced again, the bristles of the brush beginning to sting her scalp. "Mommy, you're hurting me."
"Pain is beauty, dear. You'll have to be beautiful once you're the Chosen, you know."
'The Chosen' was only a phrase, meaningless words to the girl. Her brother talked about being 'the Chosen' too, but it upset her mother if she mentioned that. In fact, when her mother started acting like this, talking about 'the Chosen', she got upset very easily. The girl didn't want that. "Yes, Mommy."
The brush stopped (thankfully), and the girl resisted the urge to reach up and rub her scalp (which itched now), not wanting to mess up her hair now that her mother had finished fixing it. But, her mother hadn't moved. A moment later, she rested her hand on the girl's shoulder, face solemn. "You'll understand all of this one day, Seles."
Years later, the girl would stare at her reflection in the dresser mirror, in an abbey half a world away, and still not understand what her mother had ever meant.