Even behind her mask of frozen squalor, Calypso’s eyes became razor focused towards the sight of her mother. Doing the same, tired deflection and follow up.

“D-deary… Why not go wash up for tonight, huh?” Penelope stuttered out nervously, backing away despite only having her head and shaking fingers poking from the doorway. Only to slither in an instant before Calypso could answer her.

Eyes narrowing in contempt, a growl escaping between her still lips. Things Calypso never thought she was capable of, but felt more than vindicated in doing.

But she shook her head, lethargically rising out of her bed, gathering the pile of clothes that she once folded into her dresser, and walked out with the articles balled into her fist, hanging out of it and dragging on the wooden floor.

“--You know that I love you, right--?”

Not even seconds out of her room and going down the hall, Penelope cared from a set distance again.

Calypso slowly and deliberately, craned her head behind herself. Staring acute, pointed daggers at her mother.

Her hands were pressed against her chest, wearing a massive dark grey sweater, as she was hunched over in the moment. This position did not do any favors for her sharp nose, her messy blonde but graying hair she tried to put into a bun, but strains flopped over and stuck to her sweating pale face. They shared the same gray eyes, but Penelope’s pair boasted very visible veins. Due to lack of sleep, overwork, lack of care—anything goes for this woman.

Calypso knew that she was trying. She knew that this woman kept her alive in multiple senses and on multiple levels. And it would be more hypocritical energy than she thought she was capable of if Calypso derided her mother over clear and present neuroses. She loved her mother. More than anything. She's the only family she had left.

But Calypso did not want this right now. Calypso did not need this right now. While she had sighed in the past, played along, showed appreciation with her bare minimum—dealt with her mother’s baggage, she simply could not right now.

“Yes.”

Calypso made sure her tone was steeped and crusted in raspy annoyance, right from her throat. Then she proceeded to the bathroom, closing herself off from the uneven panting or panicked words following after.

It wasn’t just the days blurring together, even moments became uneventful for Calypso. She knew she went to shower, she knew she got clean—she has an entire procedure that makes her sessions infamously long. But despite all of that, Calypso walked in, and now she was drying off before the mirror, wiped thoroughly of the mist collected on the surface.

Ironically, it was her thoughts about not living in the moment, Calypso finally caught something that should’ve been noted weeks ago. She stopped midway through drying herself with her towel, as her dead eyes alight with fear.

Her cuts, that were more like a thousand or so gashes that practically segmented her flesh—and were pried open as black goop ran out of them... They were gone, they were healed.

There was no way. That made no sense.

In a flash of panic, Calypso looked at her left hand, specifically at her ring finger. When she was smaller, when she took her first interest in crafting and sewing, the needle ended up digging into her finger in an freak accident, nearly killing her interest in the hobby then and there due to how bad it was

That was years ago, and it was still there, still faint. There was no way serious injuries like that completely fade overnight—

Calypso gasped out in utter confusion, as she saw her old scar was shrunken. Once as long as the distance between the knuckles of her finger, now almost like a small scab.

It was then Calypso took her startled gaze back at her reflection. If the terror wasn’t set before, it was once she took a long overdue look at herself.

She looked fine, but it was all off. Something fundamentally was wrong with her now. This wasn’t self-hatred, this wasn’t dysmorphia, depersonalization… There was something about her skin. The color of her hair, her eyes’ movements, the way she breathed. What was her staring at her reflection, trying to figure out what’s wrong with her, became a shattering illusion of Calypso Grimes. Every trait and everything about her were disturbed and replaced, akin to a room being messed up and hastily put back together.

Calypso huffed, turning into bouts of hyperventilation as she held her head with her hands as she shook it in disbelief, backing away into the wall.

"What's wrong with me--?"

In a hurry, she got dressed. She didn’t know why, what purposes it served, maybe an attempt to remind herself that she’s human despite evidence being the contrary. Pulling open the bathroom door, Calypso verbalized her impeding breakdown with loud heaving as she continued to hold her head.

She tried to walk past her, but Penelope grabbed her shoulder with an outstretched arm, “Baby, baby—what’s going on, I heard those noises you made in there—do you need the hospital again--?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Calypso snarled out, causing her mother to lose her already weak grip on her. She closed her eyes as she shook her head more, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! Please just make the decision for me, I’m compromised--!”

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“D-do you need to go to the hospital—”

Calypso’s eyes shot open in manic incredulity, as she shot a look at her mother.

Only to see, per usual, her cowering ways away from her.

She snapped.

“I—wha—WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS TO ME?!” Calypso roared out, causing Penelope to shout out in fear.

“W-what am I doing to you--?” Penelope could only ask as she shivered.

“Even before father died—you! You being you—constantly at arms length, constantly distracting yourself while he did the ‘heavy lifting’!”

Penelope shrunk at the wordage. Both out of clear fear, and the subtle drop of her heart.

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah,” Calypso nodded fervently, beating her chest like an animal with her hands. “Don’t think I never heard the conversations—you wanna know why I never said anything? Why I never questioned you until now? Because I had in my empty-ass head that maybe one day you’ll step up, maybe one day that something would jog you into action finally. 18 now, about to be thrown into the pit with the rest of the wolves—ended up nearly being mauled to death—and do you finally do it?! No! You’re a parent! This goes beyond your comfort!”

Penelope was backed into the corner in very sense, the woman just continued to shrink under the agitated presence of her daughter, her fists balled up, covering her mouth as her eyes shook.

“Give me the reason!” Calypso pleading now, genuinely. “Do you hate me?! Was I an accident that you couldn’t justify?! I’ve been through enough trauma--I can take another personal blow! Just talk to me for once!”

“…I…” Penelope quivered too much for her to vocalize her words, her feelings. “I… Can’t… I’m so sorry…”

Calypso sported a new kind of blank stare and resulting facial expression. It didn’t portray emotion regression, but was simply unreadable. Wild eyes that were more white than irises, mouth agape, nostrils flaring subtly.

Trying to comprehend and then decode those words. Running by every configuration, syntax, and ultimately the sticking point, meaning. And each one she made, they were all bad.

She stormed into her room, glancing out of her peripheral vision that her mother flinched at her daughter passing her, cowering as she slid further down the wall, arms thrown over her head in a hurry.

The imagery was instantly burnt into her mind.

Slamming open her door, Calypso scanned across her room. Everything white. Organized, filed, balanced. Virtually spotless and textbook, except her broken crafts desk—but even with the expected messes that comes from creativity, her materials were in a neat multi-squared cubic box, while her tools were rolled up in a strip-like bag.

How can such an unstable person like herself play it off for so long? How can someone that ruined every single thing she touches keep her dirty hands from contaminating these surfaces? All of it was a façade, a lie. Calypso Grimes tried too hard to be this battered angel, this saint… But compared to everyone else, she was what she deserved to be.

In a whirlwind of grief and rage, Calypso began grabbing things. She didn’t care what, she grabbed things and threw them. Smashed them. Pummel them, if need be, despite her hands immediately bruising as she destroyed her room.

She did it until she fell off her feet, directly onto her side. Calypso whimpered, curled into a ball, holding her hurt hands. Stewing in her just punishment.

Only to look down, and see in real time, the bruising and red spots slowly but surely fade back into pale, white skin.

Calypso screamed from the tops of her lungs, until her throat turned raw, and her mind broken further.

***

Calypso stood at the curve alone. It didn’t matter that she was surrounded by her belongings, it didn’t matter that passerby continued on with their lives, walking behind her on the sidewalk. It didn’t matter that she was just inches away from her house.

The fact that she was being sent away from the only family she had left, meant that she was truly. Utterly alone.

The back was hunched over, with the massive backpack adding more weight. Her eyes were sallow, red, and empty of light. Her hair was only styled to give the appearance that it’s clean, but even then it was still a mess.

It all was tied together by her haggard expression of sorrow. Stress lines apparent, skin clammy. Her frown baring little to no energy and eyes looking forward, but at absolutely nothing.

And she just stood there. She didn’t care that her aunt was on the way, to take her to some small town that was hours away, states away, entire cultures away.

There was simply nothing to do but stand there. It’s all she could do in her worthless life. Stand and wait for things to get worse and worse.

The girl’s eyes widened, in response to the sharp pain that prodded from within her. Telling her, screaming at her, to run. Something is wrong, run.

Calypso gasped suddenly, clutching her chest before slowly letting up. Getting more worked up, panting softly even, versus the small, momentary pain she felt overall.

But she didn’t have any time to dwell on it, as Calypso lifted her head towards the oncoming musical cacophony that approached her.

A light grey, beaten up car pulled up to her, the music so loud that even with the window’s up, it was clear. Thankfully, it was turned down before the car door opened from the other side.

“Hey-hey-hey. Man. Ya' look like shit…”

Calypso couldn’t help but smile.

The girl had dirty blonde hair that tumbled past her shoulders, the blacks of her roots very pronounced, exposed as she briefly scratched her head. Her skin tan, wearing a white shirt that was tied up at the front, short sleeves, and green shorts as if it wasn’t below 53 outside.

All while wearing a beat up, fading blue snapback that she fastened back on her head. That detail alone was unmistakable to Calypso.

“And you still kept that stupid hat, huh…?” Calypso tried to sound jovial, but the crackling of her voice made her fail.

Sal Grimes, Calypso’s cousin, quickly rushed over to her. Hugging her tight despite her usual demeanor. Rather, what the girl remembered her to be. It’s been years, after all.

“Ya' shoulda brought me along…” Sal softly needled her cousin, tightening her hold. “I woulda took out whatever the fuck that got you both…”

“Would you though…?” Calypso asked incredulously.

“Hell yeah,” it was odd hearing her drawl, when Sal was from the Northeast like Calypso. “I woulda found ‘em, saved y’all, and took over as their queen in one fell swoop~”

Calypso huffed in amusement. “Three years and you didn’t change one bit, Sally…”

Sal gently placed her hands on her cousin’s shoulders, giving the two distance as she looked on with her gray eyes.

“And clearly, ya' went through way too much, too soon. I’m so sorry, Cal. I wish I coulda been here for ya’. Honestly.”

Maybe it was the reunion. Maybe it was looking at her cousin, who normally is so teasing and cutting, looking miserable with pity. But Calypso couldn’t look at her anymore, she had to look down to avert her gaze.

“…I-it probably wouldn’t have helped,” Calypso felt her eyes well with tears. “I would’ve pushed you away too…”

“Well first off, you’re too weak to push me away,” Sal squeezed a shoulder.

Calypso snorted. There was the girl she grew up with.

“And secondly, I’m here now and I’m gonna make up for that lost time,” Sal confidently said. “Once we touchdown back home, that Reverie air’s gonna fix ya’ up somethin’ fierce~!”

Calypso didn’t agree. Hell, she didn’t even respond. At least verbally.

She simply looked back up at her dear cousin. Just portraying an expression of weariness, exhaustion and hurt.

***