She taught me how to read a whisper when I was three. She'd say. "Keep your hand on their shoulder an look them in the eyes. Let them deepen their thoughts." I'd try and it would work. I grew up reading other people. Whispering.
I sat on my bed combing my long black hair. Amara stepped in the room holding a box to her chest. I smiled and patted a spot beside me. Setting the brush down I took the box from her outstretched hands.
"What's this?" I asked.
"It was mine when I was your age."
Pulling the top of the box off a beautiful dress unfolded.
"A dress?" I questioned. Amara had a slight ruthless smile across her face.
"Mom got it for me on my fifteenth birthday.
Amara was 10 years older than me. We grew up in a small field. I had no father. Amara was like a mother more than a sister.
I shuffled into the bathroom slowly stripping my clothes. I pulled out the long fluffy pink dress and pulled it over my body. I squished the top against my boobs and looked in the mirror.
"You look good." I said to myself.
"What will other people think?" I started feeling self contiouse.
"Are you ready yet?" Amara asked hopefully.
"Yeah hang on."
I squeezed my big feet into the pink laced heels that lay atop at the bottom of the box.
I opened the door and waddled towards the door.
"You look better than I did." She helped me downstairs. Tomorrow was the day I turned fifteen. The day I chose my husband. The day I became queen.
It may sound weird. We did grow up on a farm but when I was eight my mother fell in love with a prince. Don't expect to much.
Back in 2016 the big war came. World war. Everybody fought against eachother. As it came to the British winning mother moved to England and made a family. Or do I've been told.
Mother doesn't know of this whispering we do. It's like our little secret.
I walked down the last step and shuffled into the dining room.
"Oh my!" My mother nearly started to cry.
"Oh mother I'm not that pretty." I said.
"No you're not." My mouth made a perfect 'o'. "You're gorgeous." I placed my jaw back more relieved.
I sat in a chair in the kitchen looking through pictures of boys I would like to marry. As I turned the page I saw Timothy white.
We used to be Best friends. Until his sister was murdered in the woods while we were playing hide and seek. I was blamed for everything. We weren't allowed to speak to each other ever since.
I sighed and stroke his picture softly with my thumb. Kissing the tip of my finger I placed it against him. Wiping away a tear I closed the book and walked away.