Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => Hogsmeade => Scotland => Kaldfjord => Topic started by: Miranda Storm on September 24, 2016, 07:27:37 AM
-
“I should have come down to the hospital.”
“You should have.”
“I wasn’t sure I could face it.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“I understand your reasoning.”
Maya stared at her mother, unsure where this was going. The pair was stood in the kitchen of the small cottage, the kettle boiling on the stove behind Miranda. Having had a few hours of sleep, Miranda was looking better than she had for the past few days. She’d showered and washed her hair and spent a few minutes putting some make up on to cover the bags under her eyes and the stress wrinkles forming. Long, wavy and slightly greying hair had been pulled back into a messy ponytail, falling down her back. She’d pulled on a blue jumper and a pair of jeans. Her feet were bare on the cold tiled floor.
“You didn’t want to see me grieving a man other than your father.” Miranda’s arms were folded, her expression plain and somewhat emotionless. With Gerda at the hospital under her mistress’ instructions, mother and daughter were alone to speak freely. “I understand that, Maya.”
“Then why the attitude?”
There was a long pause as Miranda simply stared at her daughter. It was scary how much of her father she saw in the girl. Jonathon Elliot had always been narrow minded. He’d never understood the opinions of others. He’d been incapable of looking past himself. Maya was just as selfish.
Miranda took a deep breath, turning to the screaming kettle to take it off the flame.
“I’ve just been in hospital for three days at the bedside of my husband who I had to watch dying. Not one of those days did my own daughter think to come and see how I was coping?” The emotion in her voice betrayed Mira’s feelings as she poured hot water into two mugs.
From next to the kitchen table, Maya was frowning down at her hands.
“I barely know him.”
The milk bottle slammed on the counter, fortunately not smashing. Miranda span around to face the younger witch.
“You think it matters if you know him or not?” Miranda had stopped trying to hide her anger. “He’s my husband, Maya! I don’t care if Ignan Storm dying affects you or not; but you should bloody well care about how it affects your mother!”
“He has nothing to do with me, Ma!”
That was when Miranda saw red. The mug she’d been holding was thrown at the wall, smashing into hundreds of pieces of china, steaming tea pouring down the wall into a puddle on the floor.
“You selfish little bitch!” The healer yelled, furious.
“What the hell, Ma?” Maya yelled back, suddenly on high alert.
“I didn’t raise you to be so self-centred! Get out!” Mira’s eyes were watering as she scowled across at her daughter, fingers balled into fists.
“Ma…I didn’t mean-” Maya tried to back pedal but Miranda didn’t move and her gaze didn’t soften. After a moment, Maya turned on her heel and exited through the back door. Miranda slumped, leaning back against the kitchen counter and sliding down until she was sat on the floor, knees up, back leaning against the cupboard. She sat there staring at the mess she’d made against the wall.