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I bounced my way down the forest trail, soon surpassing Dad.
The mild breeze, as if in celebration of my rebirth, hugged fully around my new body. I took a deep breath and the air was refreshing; I fingered through the weeds and the coolness was fascinating; I trod on the fallen leaves and as they wriggled under my feet, the pieces were crunching. Every single sensation thrilled me. And I knew it was not work of magic. It was life. It was how it felt to be alive.
"Viola ?"
From steps behind came Dad's voice.
I turned around, smiling at the hunter who was betraying a worried face while putting away his gun.
"Dad !" I responded loudly. His motion freezed for a second before the clouds on his face lifted some. Thinking that he might find it weird why I appeared so happy, I told him I was relieved to escape the danger. "That was close! Thank you, Dad !"
My name was Ellen, the old label I had carried for centuries. I was sick so no one loved me. I became a prisoner, then I became a witch. With the black cat's aid, finally I got this vessel of Viola's, to be accepted, to be loved, to start a brand new life.
As for poor Viola, who was switched into the eroded form that used to be mine, I should thank her for this gift. I was accustomed to the pain, but sure not her. When the bullets hit her head, written in those hollow eyes, I saw, were sheer despair.
Now her remains had been out of sight. Was she consumed by the black cat ? Sayonara, Viola, you are my good friend. I thought as I walked into my home.
Dad opened the door widely. The handle, I saw, bore some rust. The house is small, as the body's memory had told me. Yet still, my excitement was not reduced. To the right side was a room for me, whose walls, window, everything radiated warmth and loveliness. Blissfully, I flung myself onto the bed. The soft quilt immediately sank in response and embarced me wholly. Lying on my back, staring at the grey ceiling through Viola's beautiful eyes, I relaxed, and my thinking somehow drifted to the first day of my stay in the Witch's House...
Those memories has been remote, but never blurred. Suddenly presented with the warm hearth, delicious food, knowledge, and most importantly, a healthy
body, I was overjoyed and fell in love with my new life right away. But it turned out a mere disguise. That illness still clung to me, so no love would come for me.
But it's different now. I touched my face with my palms as if holding a delicate work of art. I am healthy. It is true. I can finally be loved in this way.
The door of this room was pushed open. The next second, Dad stood before me, his jacket taken off. His beard was well-shaped, his eyes glistening with vigour. What a handsome man! As I looked him up and down, his eyes were on me. It felt exciting and somehow kind of itchy as if an elf or something was lingering across my skin.
"Tired already, I see ?" asked Dad with a gentle voice, a sharp contrast to his career as a hunter.
I yawned, feigning sleepiness. A loving smile emerged on his face.
"Have some supper before bad, okay?"
I sprang to my feet, held his arm as we went to the dining place— only a table in the living room. Presented on it were a few sandwiches.
I picked up one and took a bite. Came to mind, however, was not sweetness or satisfaction, but nothing at all. Honestly, the taste was not good.
It doesn't really matter. I said to myself. As long as Dad loves me, I can tolerate ANYTHING! With the mere food of love, I can stay full and satisfied; Dad's love alone can nourish me enough...
But does Dad love me?
Abruptly, this question popped into my head. Why won't he? I argued in my head. I am healthy. I now look beautiful. I am his beloved daughter, Viola!
I looked up from the plate to Dad, who seemed lost in thoughts, trying to seek some evidence to support my argument. Yet before I managed to achieve that, my making eyes at him caught his attention. He wolfed down some bread and opened up, asking how I was trapped near the house.
I said I was running after a cat before being blocked by a wall of roses.
He nodded and then, inquired about "my friend" who had lived there. Oh, that "Ellen"...
"You've been visiting her recently. And she... how is she ?"
"She just passed away." I answered in a matter-of-fact note, with a pretended touch of sadness. It was sort of a fact, after all. A flash of empathy flickered in his eyes. But the face stayed solemn.
"Legends and lores around here..." he paused mid-sentence, hesitating. Then a smile was back to his face.
"Just some ridiculous stories... Nice dream, Viola."
The vibe returned relaxing. Minutes after, the soft quilt enwrapped my body, giving me a sense of true warmth that I hadn't felt for forever. Or maybe I hadn't felt it at all before this day. Today should be my birthday.
My eyelids gently shut, leaving me in a dark world filled only by the tactile comfort and a mild, sweet aroma...
I had a dream. I dreamed Dad loved me. I dreamed a lot of friends played with me. They were laughing, and I laughed with them.
It must be my future. I thought when I woke up, a ray of morning sunshine, slightly moisted by the short-lived dews, shedded on my face.
After breakfast, I went out to play. The thrill of my new body hadn't yet faded. As I embraced the sunshine, fresh air, almost sweet, filled my eager lungs and it felt as if breathing honey. My eyes spotted a butterfly – what a beautiful creature! Much more graceful than those images in books. It flattered to the deeper forest and I chased without hesitation.
However, I met a harsh warning. My heart quivered at it.
"Stop there, Viola! Don't go there."
Dad stood solemnly behind me, his rifle slung behind on his back. The butterfly disappeared from my sight into the trees. A mix of resentment, anger and confusion piled up in me, and I turned around casting him a questioning eye.
Still grim-faced, he stated it was dangerous out there. "Viola, dear, stay at home today, alright?"
I knew it was not a request. It was an order.
Fine, fine. He thinks he's protecting me. I convinced myself and went back indoors. Throwing myself on to the bed lying on my back, I gazed idly at the greyish ceiling, the impact leaving the bed creaking for seconds.
Danger? Yeah, he must be referring to the House – and the disgusting form he'd finished off. Though acknowledging his point, my dissatisfaction wouldn't go. Obsessed, I buried my face in the quilt.
Most importantly, I didn't feel loved, which contradicted my expectation.
Dad went out to work and I was left alone. A few books were on a desk, all too childish. A few toys made from wood lay at a corner, too boring. The door was not locked, but I recoiled at the fear of, in case I was found playing outside, losing Dad's love.
I was as if a drowning person splashing around, clinging to the only straw of Dad's love...
Dad returned at dusk with two rabbits. They had been stiff, or just become mere "things"; their blood dyed their fur crimson just like how the setting sun dyed the sky red. They became our dinner. I felt nothing about it.
The next day I was again forbidden from going outside. "I understand." said Dad with a smile, through which I saw weariness and a touch of fear and his attempt to hide them all, "but we're investigating something for your safety, honey."
He doesn't know it is no longer dangerous. I know it. But I still complained to myself.
And the third day, the fourth day... tomorrow, the day after tomorrow... my life as a prisoner repeated. Dad looked worn out every night, and would just go to bed, leaving me alone again. Until one day, when I impatiently kneaded a stuffed dog, when its eyes lifelessly looked at me and mine blankly at the ceiling, I realized I was shackled again. Not much different from what I'd experienced in that slum. A terrifying thought loomed in my head...
That can't be. That CAN'T be... I breathed heavily, deeply yet rapidly. Much like a person splashing around crazy, sinking and drowning in a pool. Guided by my instinct, I clung to that only thing I could cling to. I clung to the only person I could cling to. So, don't tell me, that things will repeat, that all this attachment, desire, will prove pipe dreaming, a mere fantasy. I don't wanna hear... I don't wanna know...Enough!
"Seems you're troubled," abruptly a voice rang through the quiet room, "Ellen.".
The last word it said echoed and echoed in the room, like a charm that would not subside.
When I looked up, the black cat sat right to my side on the windowsill.