Happily Ever Never

I’ve spent my whole life folded between the pages of fairy tales and stories, craving the happily ever after that each one guaranteed. Each story unlocks a new home in my world, living amongst us. They were more than fictional characters to me; their company gripped me in a blanket of warmth, shielding me from the colourless life that awaited me beyond my books.

A ghostly wind swept through the old creaking cabin, breaking my reading daze and grabbing my attention. My senses heightened as the eerie coolness seemed to settle into the room. I placed my book down on the glass side table next to the hideous lemon armchair I sat upon, the roughness of which chafed against my thighs as I rose to my feet. My eyes swept over the crevices of the wood-panelled walls to the red-orange wall of flames that licked the top of the fireplace, saving the room from the darkness. My toes curled into the soft carpet, releasing a long breath before making my way to the door.

My hands shook as I reached for the gold-painted doorknob that graced the otherwise sullen door. Uncertainty rolled through me, clutching its way onto every nerve ending it could attain. A rambunctious ding met my ears, and it took me a few tentative seconds to realise that someone had rung the doorbell. Confusion stained my face as I tried to recall whether someone had told me they would be coming over or if I had invited someone…The blaring ring deafened my ears again, interrupting my thoughts, and I pulled on the doorknob to have a glimpse of my guest.

Confusion turned into anguish as I took in the sight of the woman at the door. Darkened black under eyes wetted with tears, red blotchy patches on the apples of her cheeks, the hastily put together outfit that hardly matched, and the green-blue eyes swallowed with darkness, that matched my own. Our eyes were the only resemblance we shared, her hair jet black, while mine was sunny golden, her towering stature compared to my tiny one. Our parents would always joke about how comical it was that we looked nothing alike, but as we grew older, I noticed similarities. We have the same bent-out nose, a freckle on the tip of our chin, and the same alluring eyes that my mum would always say only rivalled Aphrodite’s.

I realised immediately that something was wrong; I pushed the aged door further in, and unspoken words danced between us as she walked in and plopped down on the burgundy couch. Her whole body looked drained and exhausted; my arms leapt out and wrapped around her, acting as her lifeline, reeling her in. I wanted to tell her it was okay, that everything would always work out in the end as it did in books, but doubt crept through my mind for the first time as her tears made a pathway down my shoulder.

She began to shake in my arms, and her wavering hand over her stomach only confirmed what I already knew. Her hand was positioned at the place that was supposed to bring delight and euphoria into the world but was barren. The pain of what sat before me plunged deep into my heart and gripped so tightly it ached. For the first time, I couldn’t bring myself to console her decaying heart because no matter how we looked.