Miranda’s Dilemma Part 1
Miranda paces in her childhood, and current, bedroom; her thin and tufted tail lashes anxiously behind her. She pads on her tiptoes, as it is soothing for her to hear her feet pad on the wooden floor. Various wildflowers and grasses spring up monetarily wherever she puts any amount of extended pressure. They then wilt as she moves from the area of growth. For once, she pays the death of her plants no mind.
What on this green Earth do I even do about this? She laments to herself. She pulls at her head-vines and lets out a quiet, but forceful, growl. She cradles her head in her hands and arms. She groans and tugs at them harshly one more time before letting go as her hands rigidly drop to her sides.
The hem of her long, pale pink skirt swishes above her dark brown ankles. It is slightly higher at the back due to her tail lifting it up a little. Her pointed ears twitch at the sound of her father and grandmother talking lightly in the room nearby. Her ears then snap back into their neutral position as she decides she doesn’t care about their topic of conversation. Even if she did, her caregivers are conversing too quietly for her to process the auditory stimuli that they are producing.
Her earrings jingle noisily against each other as they twitch back and forth. Miranda squishes her ears against her head with her hands to get it to stop. She holds them for longer than necessary, and then remembers to remove them from her ears. Miranda makes an angry hum at this. Her ears still exude heat from the high pressure she just put them under.
She then jerkily shakes her micro-vines. The pale pink of them juxtaposes her dark cheeks prettily and highlights her smattering of luminescent fuchsia freckles. These become minutely moved from their resting positions as she drags her nails across her cheeks.
Miranda’s deep overgrowth-green eye glows faintly in the low light. Her hearts rabbit wildly in her torso. The Elf’s hands scramble wildly for her necklace. She pops the cross in her mouth as she makes purchase. She uses her lips to maneuver her necklace in and out of her mouth and then around in her mouth in a self-soothing manner.
Miranda stills suddenly and the warm, wet metal hits her chest with a thud as she releases it. Her hands rise to her chest. She lifts up higher on her tiptoes and whips her head around as if searching for something. From an external view, she looks oddly similar to a huge and very panicked prey animal. Shit, who could I even talk to about this? Miranda worries, her hands drop to her sides and her hands grasp the sides of her silken blouse. I can’t tell Mariah, she’s too close to the center of this... situation. Leslie? She stills a bit before shaking her curls rapidly. No not her! She hates Circe! That likely wouldn’t work out at all! Fuck. Miranda thinks with
increasing irritation.
She grips her ears and continues to pace. Maybe Sally or Nina? Well I definitely can’t ask Sky or Circe. This sucks!Why does this situation involve my two closest friends! Her ears flip up as she releases them.
Her mind starts to wander with images of the two beings she is currently stressing over. She sees them in her mind’s eye. what if they all did get to dance together like Sky suggested yesterday? We have danced together before, but hmm... She ponders. She pictures the last time they danced, or were they sparring? When Sky kicked her down and straddled her, while making sure the Elf’s head did not hit the floor. Miranda made the mistake of looking up at Sky’s face to see their almost manic blood-lust while straddling her sides with their well-defined and hot thighs. Goddess, what I would have given to kiss them then!
She also recalls from yesterday when she had to cut open and curse Sky’s third eye. A warm shudder ripples through her body when she also remembers the taste of Sky’s ichor and the earthy scent of both Sky’s and Circe’s... interest. Miranda’s face starts to heat along with her imaginings; she licks her lips.
She stills in her pacing and slams her hands to her temples, which forces her ears upright against her head. No! It’s daytime! Those are nighttime thoughts! Stop! Bad Miranda!
She takes a few deep breaths to calm down her hearts, which now race for an entirely different reason now. Just because they release pheromones, it doesn’t mean that they are necessarily interested in doing anything about their attraction. Miranda mentally recites a social rule that Mariah told her a long time ago. She takes a few more deep breaths and continues her pacing.
After awhile, the woman freezes her circling of her room at the foot of her bed. She gracefully lifts the pale pink princess curtains and promptly tosses herself onto her bed. The heat in her face fades somewhat.
“Ughh!!” She shouts. The force of her flop knocks a plushie off her bed. She gasps with a wide eye as her light green brontosaurus with a fuchsia hibiscus flower situated around its neck plops to the floor. Miranda whips out a vine to pick it up and provides a quiet apology while hugging the same stuffed animal that she sewed together with her mother. She curls her body inward somewhat. Her ears flick towards the incoming noise.
Miranda pops upright as she hears bare feet pad outside her door. She also feels the aura of her grandmother, who feels and smells a little like rose petals from outside her room. Miranda makes an affirmative sound at her grammy’s knocks and something unintelligible. Miranda startles a second time with some delay and drops her stuffed animal into her lap. She is in the midst of adjusting her skirt and situating
her calves under her when Grammy pops her head in.
“Miranda, I hope it’s alright if I come in?” Her grandmother questions, her half done square-braids with beads woven throughout clatter to one side of her face when she peeks into the room. “Your father said you’ve been in here awhile and we were worried. Your door was unlocked and I did knock so, may I come in darlin’?” She asks with concern lacing her voice.
Miranda continues to stare straight ahead, shrugs, then with a quiet “yes”, she nods. The woman’s thoughts race as she takes in the state of her Grammy’s hair. Her braids are never left halfway finished, unless... No! Wait! The only other time... Except the only other time... The last time Mom was... She thinks with a sharp intake of breath and she runs cold. Her eye widens and he tugs at her own ‘hair’ again. Her eye begins to water and her hearts pound in her ears. She viciously tugs at the pale pink strands.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Her grandma immediately rushes in to her granddaughter’s room at her granddaughter’s quiet whine; she reaches over and grabs the other woman’s wrists with a tsk. “None of that darlin’!” Miss Opal commands sternly. “Thank you kindly! Now, will you tell your Grammy what’s wrong?” The older, but not really actually older, woman uses a softer voice this time. Her eyebrows furrow as she continues to hold onto Miranda’s wrists.
Miranda looks away from her grandmother’s face and points to her grandmother’s unfinished hair, presses her ears to her head and shakes it. She makes a low keening noise and makes herself visibly smaller.
Her grandmother gently shushes her and presses the stuffed dinosaur into the Elf’s much larger arms to redirect her attentions elsewhere.
Miranda’s hands drop to the plush immediately and start to rub through its soft minky fur. She struggles to find her necklace and her hand unsuccessfully grasps around her chest.
Opal sits down on the bed next to her pops the cross into Miranda’s mouth. “Lose your words?” Her grandmother signs after tapping on her granddaughter’s shoulder to get her attention and draw her eye gaze, to her hands, as it’s not likely that she would make eye contact at this point.
“Yes.” Miranda gestures back with a tiny nod, her eye firmly fixed on her grandmother’s slender, callused hands. The metal of her necklace clanks softly on the insides of her sharp teeth.
“Can I open your blinds a little so I can see you better? I don’t have night vision, remember?” Opal requests using sign language, the blinds flip open a moment after her question is processed. Her eyes blink rapidly to adjust to the sudden increase of
light in the mainly pink room.
She sees Miranda’s vines rapidly retract back into Miranda’s body. “Thank you darlin’! So tell your Grammy, what’s wrong?” She signs and makes a visible effort to restrain herself from placing a comforting hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder, lest she overstimulate her further.
Miranda summons one of her vines and points to the source of her distress using the same vine. She simply and forcefully signs: “Grammy, your hair? Mama?” She desperately attempts to blink away her developing tears. Her shoulders hike up to the base of her ears and she grasps the stuffed animal closer to her torso.
“My hair? What about it?” Opal questions softly aloud. Her dark eyebrows furrow in consternation and her eyes slide up to the right as she tries to figure out how Miranda becoming upset and the state of her hair were related. “I don’t understand what that means? I’m sorry. Would you be willing to explain it to me please?” She signs to Miranda.
“Last time your hair was left half finished, my mama was diagnosed with her cancer. And then we had to go to the hospital for her surgery.” Miranda gestures back and she sniffles. Her eye begins to water again. She bends closer to her grandmother and forcefully shoves her forehead into her grandmother’s chest. Miranda begins to cry and she drops her necklace against her chest. Her tears audibly plop on her grandmother’s skin.
“Oh!” Her grandmother exclaims softly and wraps her up in a hug. She runs her fingers through her granddaughter’s loose curls. “Shh it’s okay baby, nothing is wrong, I promise! I’ve got you!” Opal soothes and pulls the woman who is almost double her height into her lap with only some difficulty. She only startles a little when she feels six of Miranda’s vines wrap around her torso.
Opal begins to cry too at the memory of her son-in-law’s, her granddaughter’s, and grandson’s, and most of all, her daughter’s suffering and subsequent loss. Sixteen years and we still miss you everyday. They say a mother should never have to bury her own baby, but unfortunately we couldn’t follow that rule could we? Opal thinks with grief as she sobs alongside her only granddaughter. Although, Miranda is technically immortal so... The woman mentally balks at that and pushes it down for another time. Live in the moment!
Both women continue to cry and embrace each other for what feels like hours until: thump! A slightly larger-than-average blue-tongued skink plops onto Miranda’s mattress. The lizard sticks out his blue tongue, smelling the air around him, and he crawls towards Miranda’s lap. She sits up to let him get more sun, and she places her plushie off to the side. The reptile’s iridescent, deep green scales, with occasional pink petals growing in between them, shimmer in the afternoon sunlight. He carefully climbs up her blouse and laps away her tears.
“Heliotrope!” She exclaims, her voice still hoarse, as she giggles. The Elf pets her Familiar and a fond smile builds on her face. The girl unwraps her vines from around her grandmother and leans back away from her. Miranda uses a vine she recently made fuzzy and wipes away the tears on her face and her grandmother’s face.
“Ahh yes. Hi... You.” Opal grimaces at the lizard and gives him a small pat on his scaly and petaled head. After all these years and she’s still not used to the disconcertingly intelligent look the creature gives her. Although Sky had mentioned to her before that blue-tongued skinks, alongside tegus were some of the smartest lizards that exist. Something about him just didn’t feel... right. She supposes that she can’t complain if the little guy has been a source of support and comfort for Miranda since she was a sma- young child. Since before she let everyone in her family know that her name was actually Miranda even!
“Sorry about that darlin’!” Her grandmother directs at her granddaughter through a sniff as Opal dabs her own eyes with a floral handkerchief from her pocket. She continued to cry even after Miranda wiped away her tears earlier she supposes.
“That is... Alright. People claim... it is important to the process of... healing to be able to cry.” Miranda responds haltingly, still getting used to utilizing her voice again. One of her hands still pets Heliotrope’s head, while the other bounces one of her curls. An action that the Elf appears to be absolutely mesmerized by as her eye is firmly affixed to the movements.
“Oh? And who might those very wise people be?” Opal questions with a tiny grin. She pops her fist under her chin and leans towards her granddaughter slightly.
“My... psychologist?” Miranda states, her brow furrows minutely. “And also... Sky...? I think...?” She pauses for a moment to think. Her eye never leaves the curl that she’s playing with still.
“That makes sense. And it’s true, both of them are correct!” She confirms with a flash of a grin directed at her granddaughter, her teeth are as white, but are much less pointy than her elfin grandchild’s teeth. Opal waits with practiced patience for Miranda to finish or continue her conversation.
Her speech therapist said never to rush her and that she’s way smarter than she can express in words. She recalls from many years ago. Well Miranda did wind up getting her doctorate, so I suppose she wasn’t wrong! She thinks with some humor. Her mind whirls with memories of the past.