ariel

When I was younger, I remember reading old fairy tales. When the fairies stole a child, they would leave a replacement to try to trick the parents into thinking that nothing was wrong. The replacement would always be off in some way, used to some strange fairy way of life and unable to ever really fit in.

I remember, early on, hearing my mother ask her friends where her child had gone. My child was doing so well, she would tell them. Started walking, even said a few words. It was a happy, healthy child. Then, something came and took it away in the dead of night. What they left in its place never spoke, only whined and screamed. It didn't like going outside or socializing with the other children. It would run the same toy in its hands for hours and hours. It stared at things too long, never looked people in the eye and would break down into a panic at seemingly random. She would start to cry sometimes, and beg for some kind of answer to who took her child and replaced it with something so broken.

It would never go to a normal school, she would tell them. Never get to do the things the other children did. It would never get married or give her grandchildren.

I wanted to tell her that the first child didn't go anywhere. I was still me, wasn't I? I've always just been me, even if I lived in a world where everything was too bright, too loud. But the words would never make it out, getting lost somewhere on the way. It became more and more clear. I was *too* different. And maybe that changeling she kept talking about was the real me.

I went to therapy for a very long time, and I went along with everything they told me to do as best I could. I wanted to change so that maybe my mother would be happy again, so I could do all those things she wanted me to do. No matter how hard I tried, though, it was never good enough. I was quieter now, didn't lose control when I got too excited... most of the time. But I still couldn't speak. And when you can't speak, people think you can't understand them.

As I got older, I noticed, more and more, that no one would talk to me. It didn't bother me when I was very small, but soon I started to get angry. It wasn't fair, I would think, when someone turned to my mother to ask how I was doing when I was standing right there, and they would go back and forth when I couldn't say anything back. The stress would build and build and I would just get madder and madder until I would break down again. I feel bad for all of that now. It was my fault that I couldn't get myself to speak. I was still broken, and if I couldn't try hard enough to become like everyone else, I deserved what people said about me.

I always suspected that, no matter how many times my mother told me she loved me, that she really hated me. Why shouldn't she? I could tell I made her miserable, and that I wouldn't change even if it would make her happy. It was only the night of my imbuing that I found out that it was true.

She brought a new friend over, some dark, tall person whose face I couldn't see. They were talking to each other, just outside of my room. I think she thought I was asleep, but I wasn't. I almost never was. She told him that he could have a drink from her, but he said that he had special tastes. Not just anyone would do. She told him that her child fit what he was looking for. And it would be fine, she said. It won't be able to tell anyone what you've been doing. Just leave it alive and no one has to know.

But I knew. And when the man started to open my bedroom door I first heard the voices. Voices that spoke to /me./

They told me that I could fight back. I could defend myself if I would just let them give me the power. They didn't need to wait for an answer, and before I knew what had happened, the man's head was on the floor, having been cut off by a storybook in my hand that glowed like fire. The voices raised to a scream as they told me to run away as the man melted into ash.

Running away from home was a terrifying idea. The streets were dark, different, loud. But they promised me they would tell me where to go. And I escaped, right out the window, and I never looked back.

I live at the cell now, and I guess things have gotten a little better for me. I still can't speak, but I was given some room and resources to learn how to communicate in my own ways. I can tell that most of them still don't like me. I make them uncomfortable. That's fine. It's too overwhelming to be around most of them for very long anyway because the messengers still talk to me constantly. They haven't stopped since my Imbuing.

That's okay. I might as well be useful to someone. Without the Messengers, I really am just broken, nothing more.