I sat at my vanity with a cup of tea that night and watched the four puppets turn chaotic. I hoped Liza was musing herself with this since this was indeed to die for. George Michael placed himself on the couch to boast and brag about the minutes he had spent with Liza no doubt, when his body began to spastically shake and twitch uncontrollably. I chuckled as innocent Peter began to ask if he was “all right”. Soon, David Thomas and Robert Michael joined their friend to ask if the boy needed some kind of assistance. They took hold of George Michael to stop his spasm. Their hearts--all four of their puny cardiac muscles--raced with concern, confusion, and terror. The tears of laughter began to slowly roll from my eyes. This type of torture and terror is priceless and surprisingly, the knowledge that this was very temporary and quite harmless added to its uniqueness.
Everyone fretted around bumping into the other trying to explain what was happening to their friend until all of a sudden, the boy’s body went still. He lay perfectly erect on their makeshift couch, eyes wide and body stiff. The three poked him, called in his ear, played with his eyes, and did anything to regain his liveliness once again but to no avail. It was delicious as their color faded to a ghastly pallor the like of which always strikes me to be humorous. I could feel then saying, “Not again.” They knew that what had happened to Robert Michael and what was now happening to George Michael was no coincidence.
I cackled louder than ever I had since the last time I tortured a mortal. The actions were too amusing. My sense of humor was quite limited indeed and it took the suffering or the expense of another to strike a chord in me. It was the same with my sister Tamara however when she left her sobriety at the door, she was the easiest audience to any comic or jester. I felt as drunk as Tamara then and I had never sipped any more alcohol than I felt I could tolerate. I thought then that perchance I should try to become a drunk for a period in my life since this feeling was so sweet, watching four boys romp and run about like chickens with their heads cut off and all because their friend went stiff all of a sudden.
As the sounds of my tittering echoed throughout, I managed to hear a door open behind me. I turned over my shoulder to see the being in the corridor and invite them in to join my splendor and me even though I knew it was Diana and her angry glower.
“Come,” I spoke between wild laughter. “You must see this circus. Even *you* would find humor in this.”
“I knew you were behind all this,” she scoffed. “I could hear Liza banging the walls with wild cackles.”
“Oh but this was all Liza’s doing, dear,” I replied turning back to my mirror to watch further. “I helped her with nothing.”
“Nothing but putting the idea in her head,” Diana retorted.
“Come now, dear. I’d go as far to say that *humans* would laugh at these antics. Watch them run and try to explain in their puny little brains the goings-on. They probably think he had forgotten how to walk or something. Please just sit down and watch.”
“He will wake up, right?” Diana asked with a hint of apprehension in her tone. “Liza’s not trying to kill him like *you* would, right?”
“You know your sister more than I, Diana,” I replied, speaking the truth. A twin does indeed know his or her other better than anyone and Liza would not kill out of pleasure without reason. She, like me, believed torture did not need reason if not followed by death.
“Why do you hate me so?” Diana asked. “What did I ever do to you? Is it because I do not have the heart of a witch that you despise me so? Because I am in love with humans? And don’t act like you don’t know because I know you do. I’ve seen it in you.”
I stopped cackling at the moment and halted the image on my mirror. I slowly turned to Diana and stood. I was just tall enough to overshadow her and look down upon her. “I do not despise you, Diana,” I began coarsely. “As I have said, you are blind. You do not see what is happening about you. You cannot see your danger. Falling for these boys will be your end. Can you not see the clues? Can you not just trust me?”
“Why should I?” she retorted. “Mother has said nothing.”
“That is because she can’t,” I answered. “Diana, I love you like a sister because you are. But you are an ignorant witch. Humans are less than us and we must keep our standing or we shall fall into a dismal end that could have been helped had you not fallen for one.”
“I understand now,” Diana spoke as if getting a sinister epiphany--a false one. “You’re embarrassed of me because I’ve not taken your advice or your teachings. You’re so proud of being the monster you are that you cannot stand when one of your own sisters goes against you. Oh, how could I not see it before?”
“That is not so, Diana,” I replied lowering my demeanor to plea for her life. “I love you and you are in danger. Please do not do anything rash. Just trust me on that.”
“Stop giving me your false love,” she scorned as if spitting in my face. “You never loved me and you never will. I despise you, Miriam. I wish I never had you as a sister.”
Diana turned with an inflamed step scraping my face with her long hair and stormed from my room slamming the door in my face. I stood trying to recover. I felt this unusual pain in my chest I had never felt before--my heart was breaking. My family was my first priority and my proudest possession and Diana just spat in my face. I felt like running after her to embrace her hard and apologize profusely for my evil ways and promise I would convert for her but I could not move. I did not even have the strength to watch the rest of the episode on my mirror.
I could not sleep for days after that. I was so fatigued and worn that I could not help Cylia in her search for the instructions of the scarf. I secluded myself in either the study or my room trying to find something to pass the time. I spoke little. I felt ugly for days. I made little eye contact with anyone and told no one of my angst. I was blind to what was developing, the anguish I was causing my sisters. No one ever came to me to ask my wellbeing. No one cared to mention their concern for me to my face because they feared I might explode and deny all my feelings. Sometimes knowing I had induced such fear was very depressing.
I took a few minutes each day to watch my four puppets to see if my spirits could be risen but there was not much that was uplifting. George Michael had recovered confused and angered. Innocent Peter tried to comfort him but he was enraged by his seven hours of Hell. David Thomas was unusually charged about the goings on as well. It was more a house of anger and not confusion. Confusion is much more amusing that incognizant anger. But something struck me as odd: Robert Michael was absent more often than not. He entered from his room upstairs and immediately left through the front door without saying much more than, “See ya,” before running hastily out. And the other three did not seem moved by this as if it had become a routine.
I learned later that this was an obvious sign of the end. I was too engulfed in guilt to catch it.
| Preceding Part | Rebecca!!'s Solo Works | Proceding Part |
