TWELVE

Mae

It had been a normal day – the day that I was plucked from my life and plopped carelessly into another.

After all, every day of my life began and ended much the same.

I would awake in a haze – unsure if the orange light that bled through my windows was from the sunset or the sunrise.

Time means nothing when you never go anywhere.

My room was well-furnished and opulent. My life well-polished and clean. Yet it was - for the most part - empty.

I would rise from my bed, wrap myself in my morning dress and plait my hair before making my way down the stairs.

Where my parents would already be sitting at the dining room table, breaking their fast.

This was also normal.

My parents would discuss the bags under my eyes, whether I had gained or lost weight, whether I was over-exerting myself too much.

She should practice the piano some more.

No, no she shouldn’t strain herself too much.

She is far too fragile, our darling girl.

It was also normal for my parents to talk about me rather than to me.

In this life of mine, I am nothing more than an extremely delicate flower. Pretty to look at but never to be held – lest the petals fall to the ground.

As a child, I had been sickly. Colds often turned into fevers and cuts turned into infections. And so, my mother kept me trapped inside. Fearful that the world would one day snatch me away and take me to a place she could not follow.

I am the only child to a wealthy family – and so I was protected as such. I was wrapped in delicate silks and kept inside my stately manor where I was waited on hand and foot. Servants brought me sugared sweets and freshly squeezed lemonade. I would roam the estate like a ghost, sleeping sometimes through the day and wandering the corridors at night. Playing piano in the early hours and reading books deep into the night.

And every day, I would look out of my iron-led windows and stare out at the world beyond. And wish and wish and wish.

Wish for a life outside of those walls.

On the day that I vanished from my own life, I heard a voice.

It was soft and low and warm. The voice beckoned to me, a whisper on the wind so quiet and hushed that I could not quite make out all the words.

Yet I heard my name.

Mae, Mae, Mae….

Like a chant or a song, my own name seemed to summon me.

And so, in a trance I let my feet carry me toward the voice. I finally did what I had always fantasized about, I opened my bedroom window and climb down, one slippered foot after another.

And then I fell and landed into another time.