"Gwen," Aunt Ariana calls, but doesn't exactly wait for my response before entering my room. I am forced to sit up and pay heed to her. She makes herself comfortable beside me on my bed. She adjusts herself so she is facing me. It's at that moment I realize she is holding a book — it looks like a photo album or scrapbook.
"Are you sleeping alright, Gwenny? Is there something I need to know? I can help you, only if you tell me," she says, sounding so worried.
"I am fine, auntie," I respond, and I can see she doesn't believe me, but unlike grandmother, she is going to drop it.
"Well, okay then."
"Is there something I can help you with?" I ask her, so she can get it over with.
"Right — I was going through some things, and I found this," she says, presenting the book in her hands to me.
"What is that?" I ask.
"I found it cleaning. It's a photo album — your mother and I made it. I thought you may want to see it, and know about her."
"No," I state, not even thinking about it. I pull off the covers and get up.
"Gwen," Aunt Ari calls out, standing to face me.
"No. She ruined my life. I am an anomaly because of her."
"Gwendolyn. She loved you with all of her heart."
"And yet she is gone. All that's left is the broken child she had," I yell, and vines and shadows shoot out from under my feet and cover the walls. Aunt Ari doesn't see them, because she is staring at me. She flinches like I had physically slapped her. The album stays clutched in her arms like it's offering her support. She just stands there, staring. I'm not sure if it's me she's looking at anymore. Something moves across her face — not hurt, precisely, but close, like she's just realizing what standing at the other side of this conversation feels like.
"Okay," she finally says, in a quiet voice I have never heard from her. I hate that I did this. She pulls the book even closer to herself, like it needed protection. "Okay."
She walks toward the door to leave but stops, holding onto it for support. "Your mother loved you. Never doubt that," she says, before walking out.
I stand there, letting her words sink in, knowing there are parts of this I know nothing about. I couldn't even remember my mother to be honest.
I hear grandmother's hurried steps on the stairs. She feels the shield almost fail — it's weaker. She stops. I can hear her hushed tones with Aunt Ari. I move out a little. She looks toward my door before pointing to her room. She takes the lead, and Aunt Ari follows behind her. I wait a little before following them.
I couldn't make out their conversation well at first, but then — it's like Aunt Ari no longer cared, because she started yelling. Not enough to hear from my room, but enough.
"How could you do that? Aurelia loved Gwendolyn. How could you make her out to be a terrible person to her daughter?" she yelled, and I could hear tears in her voice. The air felt like all the joy and happiness had been sucked out, and all you want to do is wallow in regret. I never realized Aunt Ari could have that effect.
"Aurelia left us and this family and committed an abomination. She had a child with the dark ones — those bottom-feeding sewer rats," grandmother says, in a voice higher than usual.
"Even still, we never really understood Aurelia's choices, but she loved her, and she doesn't deserve to be hated by the one she loved more than her own life."
"And do you think it's fair to the girl, that she's looked upon like an anomaly? Do you? Do you know how much I put into making sure she doesn't turn out a shadow crawler like that filth your sister fell in love with? Do you know the pain and sacrifices I have made for this family?"
"Mother," Aunt Ari calls out.
"Get out. Not another word of this," she states, not leaving room for debate. I only make it to the grandfather clock before the door opens. I'm standing in the shadow, knowing I was in trouble, but surprisingly, Aunt Ari walks past me. She stops — I think she has seen me — when she looks right in my direction.
"Strange," she mumbles, before walking away.
Nothing about the conversation processes until I am in my room. Then it comes rushing back, and it all makes sense — the subtle conversations and hints. Unlike what I thought, my father wasn't human. He was a shadow caster, and that's impossible to believe, but grandmother said it, so it has to be true.
But how?