“Violet Du Four, you have the biggest imagination,” Ramona answers, matching my smile.
“You just wait, Ramona. We’ll honeymoon in Paris, because that’s where some of his family lives. I’ll be wearing a dress I designed, and someone will see me, someone important. They’ll want me to work for them, and I’ll become a famous designer.”
“I have no doubt you’ll be famous, Violet. You are special.” Ramona pats my arm as she speaks. “When I get married, I want something small. I’ll wear mymother’s wedding dress and carry a small bouquet of spring flowers.”
“You have to let me design your dress!” I exclaim.
Ramona smiles. “You’re going to be busy being my maid of honor.”
My memory pulls away from the oak tree, moving to the house I’ve lived in my entire life. The house my mother painted pink when I was an infant. I’m sitting on the front step, and she’s sitting next to me.
“Violet, I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. You have a job, earning your own money.”
I scoff. “Not much money.”
“But it’s your own. You work for it and earn it alone. Don’t spend your life being dependent on a man. Live your life and your dreams.”
“The telephone company isn’t my dream.” I laugh.
“I know what your dream is. Do it, Violet. Go to New York.” She pulls something from her pocket. “I bought this for you.”
I take the paper, realizing it’s a one-way train ticket to New York. “Mama? How?”
“Your daddy doesn’t have to know everything.” Worn hands lay on top of mine. “It’s open-ended. When you’re ready, the ticket is paid for.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I wipe a tear from my face.
“I believe in you, baby…”
“Violet, dear,” a man’s voice interrupts. “Oh, look.You have tears. Why are you crying?” He sighs deeply. “Since you refuse to answer, I’ll leave you to them.”
Memories leave, and the pain returns. Memories of Harrison, of our walk by the river, of him draining my body.“We’ll be together forever.”His words play through my mind. Is that what’s happening to me? The world returns to black, and the thoughts disappear.
The fire that’s been burning in my veins stops instantly. The pain, the burning…everything stops. “Violet,” the familiar voice calls my name. “Are you in there?” His voice is faint, but I’d recognize it anywhere. A voice that will haunt me forever.
“I’ll be back soon with something to eat.” The sound of a heavy door slamming makes me jump. My eyes refuse to open, but my ears are working overtime. Heavy footsteps leave my room, working their way down a long hallway. His footsteps sound like explosions, each louder than the last.
The sound of a clock pierces my brain as it ticks the seconds with what sounds like anger and annoyance. Somewhere, water drips from a faucet, hitting the porcelain sink louder than any drum I’ve ever heard.
What’s going on? The sounds are so loud, they hurt. My stomach rumbles with hunger. Not an ordinary hunger. A kind of hunger I’ve never experienced before. A kind of hunger that can’t be met. My eyes shoot open, and I sit up in one move. I don’t recognize where I am, but something smells amazing.
I’m on my feet, standing next to the four-posterbed, a heartbeat later. Grabbing the post of the bed, I steady myself to keep from falling. My feet are sturdy, but my stride isn’t.
I turn, facing a mirror leaning against the mahogany wall. The woman staring back at me looks nothing like me. Her face looks like porcelain, and her dark hair is replaced by bright red hair. Is that me? I step toward the mirror, standing in front of it immediately. Why am I moving so fast?
Concentrating on moving slower, I touch my face. The woman in the mirror does the same. Oh, my God. That is me. The modern dress I wore to the café has been replaced with something straight from a museum. Several layers of ruffles and print remind me of pictures I’ve seen in history books.
“You’re awake,” Harrison says, opening the door wide. “What do you think?”
“What did you do to me?” I ignore his question. My voice sounds different. A mixture of deep and raspy, making me sound more like my mother than myself.
“I made you something that men will fear and women will envy. You are a creature humans believe exists purely in mythology. You have the strength to kill anyone who tries to harm you, along with the speed to escape if you should need. You are power. You are brilliance. You are everything you’ve ever wanted to be.”
“I never wanted this,” I answer, holding back the emotion from my tone.
“That will change,” he answers.
“No, it won’t.”
