It’s another perfect sunny day in Alexanderia and Sara watches the day pass from behind the glass. Careful not to tip the chair she stands on; she watches the bees zoom between the vibrant lilac hedges that enclose the backyard. It’s a secluded paradise that is beyond her grasp. Her aunt’s a talented gardener, even she doubts her own mother could grow such beautiful orchids. Dragon Haven had the most beautiful wildflowers. She and the other children would spend afternoons planting, trimming, and harvesting everything her mother needed.

They learned so much, and she took pride in the blooming petals. Unfortunately, those days are gone… but she pushes the thought away. She can’t let her aunt catch her crying again so she tucks the memories aside for nighttime when she’s alone in her bed. The hedges rustle as three grey squirrels leap from their hiding place and bounce across the lush lawn. The bush shudders again before falling still. She spies two yellow eyes peering from behind the violet bellflowers. Probably a stray cat.

She turns her attention to the bundle of carrots in the sink, their orange forms lying motionless under the running water. Plucking one from its bath she scrubs the dirt clumps and inspects it. If I was a Mage, I’ll point my staff and break this stupid window. She points the tip in the air, like Moira did when they in Lunar Forest. Fire bursts and light the colour of moonshine. Mages have the coolest powers. If she was Moira, and free from this place, she’ll soar with her dragons, not just Charcoal, but all dragons. She didn’t know if Mages flew but Moira can do anything. Holding the vegetable, she hopes the magic inside the pretend staff will shatter her prison walls. But her aunt’s precise footsteps enter the kitchen and she hears the disappointment as she clears her throat.

“Sara, your job is to prepare the meals, not play with my ingredients.”

“I was just making sure there’s no dirt on it, nope, nice and clean!” She grabs the rest in her arms, but a few rogue ones tumble from her grasp and fall to the floor. Her aunt’s inhale sets off an electric buzz through her body. Her knees tremble as she corrects her mistake, as quickly as possible.

“Useless child.” She grinds her teeth; her exhale whistles through her nostrils. “Have you seen Millie? She needs to go to the grocer.”

“Oh, let me do it!” throwing a peeled carrot in a pot and jumping from the chair, “please?”

“You know the rules,” she shoves her, knocking her to the floor. “Millie fetches. You wash floors, sweep, and peel vegetables.”

Her knees sting from the impact, and she brushes the small specks of dirt from her palms. She stands over her, peering down in disgust. The grimace makes her feel small, smaller than she usually feels. Yanking her sleeves to cover her wrists as she begs to disappear.

“I forgot, sorry. It’s just,” her stomach tightens, “I just—”

“Speak up, I don’t have time for girls who stutter.”

“I’d very much like to play in the garden.” Her face reddens, “I peeled more potatoes and you don’t like carrots… so I was thinking I could— “

“Frolic outside like some wild creature?” her eyes hard as iron, “what if someone saw you?”

“Please Auntie if I can’t go outside can I please see Charcoal. He’s never been in there this long… I need to see him.” But she said the wrong thing, as her aunt’s hand rises above her head.

“I told you,” Her cheek burns as the slap makes impact. “I will not accept a Dragon Tamer in my home.” Her hands grip her shoulders then toss her into a pile of potato peels on the floor. The discarded slices slide from her bare legs. There’s no where to go, she cornered by the cabinets and preparation bench. She can’t look her in the eyes, the rage she knows is there is too overwhelming to face. Her arms fly to her stomach as she hears the shuffle of the shoes, anticipating the strike.

A thunderous knock rattles the front door and floats into the kitchen. She holds her breath, counting the seconds before the knocking starts again. But Millie, sensing her aunt about to shout her name, rushes down the stairs and reaches the door. Her polite voice tells the visitor to leave but as she closes the door there’s a bang.

“Is Sara here? Listen, I don’t wanna cause trouble I just want to see her.” It’s Chris, and her heart skips, he came to visit. Just like he promised. Her aunt’s glare keeps her frozen in place, and she doesn’t dare make a sound. Millie repeats her direction but there’s a sound of shoving, as he tries to push pass the maid.

“I’m sorry sir, but you got to go!”

“Let me see her, tell me she’s okay. I even did the proper thing and sent a letter ahead. But no one got back to me. Kido are you there?”

Everything happens in a blink, there’s a ruckus at the door as Chris demands answers. Her aunt storms to the commotion. He’s shouting, her aunt has the final word and the door slams with an echoing finality. He may be gone, but it isn’t over. Her stomach twists as her aunt stomps towards her.

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An iron grip clamps her arm and doesn’t lessen as she’s dragged across the floor. Millie protests but she stands dumfounded in the doorway. Her trembling legs struggle as her aunt yanks her up the flight of stairs. Her shoulder stretches as its pulled at the socket, the steps dig into her sides and hips. They reach the landing and she slams against the planks, the tears roll over her cheeks.

“Did he really write to me?” her voice trembles.

“A nuisance. A delinquent with criminal friends. Next time I’ll shout for the patrol, have them all locked up in their own waste until they die in the prison cell.” Her aunt shouts, “you good for nothing, useless child. What part of I want to be left alone don’t you understand!”

“I didn’t write, you told me no, so I didn’t! I promise! I didn’t know he’ll come!” But she pulls her down the hallway without looking back. “You’re hurting me!” she cries fighting to regain her footing.

“You’re just like your mother. Waltz into our lives and convinces my only brother to abandon me. She took him away! And after this, I wish you burned alive as well.” They stop in front of her bedroom door. Her claw like hand twists the knob and flings it open. “I’ll be damned if you’re going to become her, under my roof!”

Sara tumbles into the room as the door slams behind her. As the lock clicks her body gives in to the adrenaline pumping through her limbs. She can’t control the shaking, the tears, and the tightness in her chest. Each breath is met with sobbing gasps. Why? Clenching her jaw, she keeps herself from wailing, screaming an unleashing the terror gripping her heart. Why did he come here? If he just stayed away… But she knows the answer; she asked him too. She’s so stupid. Now he knows something’s wrong. He’ll come back. And her aunt will blame her. Its all her fault, if only she was a good girl and didn’t ask for them to visit.

She pulls her knees to her chest, imagining the nights when her mom would hold her when she was sick. Her attention falls to the dull bruises on the back of her legs. The sting of the belt still taunts her, even after the punishment is over. Already she spies the finger length bruises forming on her arm. She can’t stop her aunt from hitting her, but she can remove the marks.

She keeps everything she owns in her backpack; she can’t convince herself to unpack, not when the house it feels nothing like a home. If her belongings and hobbies are out of sight then her aunt can’t punish her for them. Allowing herself to get caught with the Dragon Eye was her first mistake, resulting in her aunt locking away in her room. She’s more careful with the rest of her items. Her father’s journal and her mother’s herbs being equally valued.

The rough canvas bag reminds her of adventures and her dad’s dusty boots. He always said watch her step in the mountain paths; she did and put her feet exactly where his went. Inside is a treasure trove of secrets. Pulling out a waxy parchment, she unfolds the crinkling paper to inspect the paste inside. Its brown and goopy, and its almost gone. However, hope isn’t lost, she tells herself as she plucks a few mushrooms from her bag.

In the daylight they’re a pale green with translucent delicate gills under the cap. On their own, she finds them pretty. But it’s the moonlight that reveals their true beauty. Moonshrooms, or so she calls them, are her souvenir from Lunar Forest. Since she picked them, their vibrant glow dimmed but she hasn’t noticed any reduction in their potency. Admittingly the mystical glow is what caught her attention. But what piqued her interest is watching injured forest foragers eating them. Non injured animals avoided them, and she wondered what the animals knew that she didn’t.

Eclipse scolded her for picking them but she couldn’t resist. What will he say if he found out she was testing her theory on herself. Grabbing the vial of Calendula oil, she swishes the concoction around the glass, watching the golden liquid coat the inside. Her aunt has flowerbeds full of the orangey flower, so she’ll restock next time she’s allowed in the garden. At home she had her mom’s endlessly stocked work benches. But here she has a bed, a trunk for her clothes, and a small dressing table. Placing the washing bowl on the floor she gets to work.

Using a small pocket blade, she slices the stalk and cap, then dices them before grinding them into a mush into the wax paper; a difficult task without her mother’s tools. The next step fails her. Her memory isn’t as it used to be, she’s tired a lot lately and she’s more forgetful than before. It doesn’t help that her memory always fails her in the moment she needs it most. Which leaves her no choice but to consult the journal her parents gave her instead.

The leather is new, the binding barely cracked and considering how many times she’s jammed it into her bag, the pages aren’t ripped. The first few pages are her dad’s notes. Basic dragon care, how Charcoal will grow and accomplish at different life milestones. The other breeds in the colony get similar treatment but not as extensive as the Ebony Dragons. After his section, her mom’s handwriting takes over. Pages on plants, uses, and preparation methods. Finding the needed directions, she gets to work turning the ingredients into better salve.

Its thick and oily but she applies it to her bruises and abrasions on her arms, legs, and neck. The oldest ones are fading into a brown yellowish colour although the new one on her arm is angry purple. Her aunt’s fingers are visible now, it leaves her sad and helpless. She doesn’t know what she does to deserve it. But it happens, regardless. The mixture’s preparation takes the rest of her strength. Her eyelids are heavy, and she’s aware how tired she is. It takes most of her concentration to pack her objects away and hide her bag underneath her bed.

Despite her grumbling stomach she crawls into bed. The sun still shines, and the birds sing outside her narrow window. Another perfect day, she mumbles as she drifts to sleep. When she awakes, darkness blankets her room. The star shine and music drifts into the room. Its upbeat and makes her toes want to dance. But her body is too heavy to move. She lays there knowing where the music comes from wishing she was there instead. One house, the brown stone home with a wide white veranda across the street from her has a party every other night. Ever other night she sits by the window and watch the pretty girls in dresses dance on the outdoor dancefloor. Their partners, handsome men in pants, jackets and hats glide them through the movements. The band plays while the guest walk among lanterns strung between tree branches.

If only, she sighs; picturing the party across the way. Imagining another life. As she rolls over in her blanket, she spies two eyes staring at her from the tree branches. She smiles, picturing a huge owl watching over her as she sleeps.