She felt warmth.

Enraptured in cashmere, her tiny hands were reaching out to grab her. Resplendent eyes peered out from under the lace of their eyelashes. Her porcelain skin glowed, cheeks tinted with a light rose. Soft mahogany hair tickled her arm. She held the girl close to her chest. She was hers. She belonged to her.

“She’s just as beautiful as her mother.” She looked up at the nurse, who stood at a sink washing stains off her wrinkled hands. “Have you thought of a name?” She nodded, and looked back at her child. They were asleep, and as if they were still connected, she soon followed.

Kalila. She was dearly loved.

***

She smelled life.

Twirling, faster and faster, they fell into a tumble of brown hair, grass and laughter. She watched as she clumsily got up, dizzy from their merry-go-round. She smiled as a delicate hand reached out to her, as if they could carry their mother’s weight. She brushed her hand aside, and got up herself, and grabbed her hand to go exploring.

They walked along the cobbled path, admiring the kaleidoscope the flowers around them provided. She pointed to the colours, and in turn, Kalila shouted.

The sky. “Blue!”

The bees. “Yellow!”

The grass. “Green!”

“…Brown?” She nodded as the dog walked by, and Kalila beamed with a sense of the accomplishment of pleasing her mother. They continued on.

“Look at her!” Whispers. She arched her back, confident, walking tall. She could feel the stares rain down on her. She glowed. She was used to this. She looked around for her daughter, who seemed to have run off. “She’s going to be so beautiful when she’s older.”

Confused, she stole a glance in the direction of the voices. They weren’t looking at her.

They were looking at her angel, who was collecting dandelions on the side of the path. The smile briefly left her lips, only to come back, dazzling. Taking long strides, she walked up to her, tapped her on the shoulder, and beckoned her to follow.

As she walked, she heard patter of footsteps behind her, trying to catch up with her pace.

“Mamma! I got these for you!” She lifted up the limp bouquet of weeds into her face, sending tiny parachutes into air. A seed found its way inside of her, and the weed was began to spread across her heart, clenching.

The little girl giggled, and ran ahead. She walked faster.

***

She saw lighting.

Oak trees blurred, rushing past her line of sight. The heavy clouds above sent down a calamity of rain, battling with the windscreen wipers to dominate her view. The seats were damp from the humidity, and she fanned herself with her palm, finding it did not ease the sticky feeling. She sighed, and looked over to the girl next to her.

She sang innocently, dulcet voice scattering throughout the car. She seemed to grow more nauseating over the years. She was a flower encompassed with grace, lightly enveloped with serenity, and it irritated her. It prickled at her skin and she wanted to squat it away.

The weed within her crooned.

“Shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” It murmured.

She felt the girl shrink back, and she felt beautiful. Thunder shook the earth, and the storm came.

***

She tasted wine.

Crepuscular light snuck through the musty curtains, finding dust as they flitted through the folds. She edged her way through the wooden desks, which were arranged neatly into rows of four, as she found a place to sit. The chair sighed with her weight, and she looked up at the younger woman in front of her, sitting behind the desk. They looked back at her with concerned eyes.

“I’ve called you here because, well, I’m concerned about Kalila.”

She shifted in her chair. Her heart beat in her mouth, and she tried to swallow it back. She croaked.

“No no, her grades are well. However, she’s been isolated. Disconnected from the others. She’s been mumbling to herself a lot lately, and whenever we do journal writing,” She pulled out a worn out book, and handed it over to her. She flicked through the pages. “Her hand writing is beautiful, yes, but read. She shouldn’t feel this way. She keeps putting herself down and it distresses me. She feels ugly. But, she’s so beautiful.”

She cringed. She hated that word. Especially if it wasn’t referring to her.

The teachers gaze pierced her, making her subconsciously fidget with the buttons on her shirt. Eyes franticly looked for cover-ups and lies on the carpet. Her insides turned inside out, and she could hear the alcohol pounding against her brain.

“I think she’s being bullied.”

She breathed again. Shaping her expression, she played the part of the concerned mother. They talked.

She made her way through the labyrinth of hallways, and back out into the car park. As the engine hummed, so did she.

***

She heard nothing.

She heard nothing of the screams ricocheting against the walls, bouncing back to bruise her mind. She lashed out, each hit bringing more red out of the rose. They were both crying now. The weed consumed her completely, obsessive. She was beautiful. No one else had the right to be called so. She was beautiful, and she told herself that she was over and over again.

The cries stopped. The porcelain doll lay shattered, and standing over it, she had never felt more beautiful.

Beautiful on the outside, but like a fruit, the worm had eaten from within.