Ariana can barely remember what it was like before. All she knows is that life must’ve been much less scary, and much less confined.
She used to be free.
Now, she is trapped. Trapped by the monster that’s grown inside her, and would take over her body like a disease. Slowly, quietly. Then, sometimes, loudly and violently.
Sometimes the monster would win, no matter how much Ariana tried to keep it inside, and it would break free — then the world around her would blur and crack, until she’d wake up again to find everything broken.
To find herself shaking and bleeding, to feel pain she can’t recall causing upon herself.
It was the monster, it always is.
You’re a Monster. Monster. Monster.
Somedays, she was calm and smiling, despite the constant turmoil within her. The monster stayed asleep then, and she could be Ariana for a day.
On other days, it wasn’t so easy. The faintest noise or slightest touch would make her flinch, make her scared, and wake the monster. It was only ever trying to protect her, from the boys — the scary muggle boys that had hurt her.
Sometimes everybody seemed to remind her of them. Even her own family.
Sometimes every touch inclined the memory of pain as the boys attacked her with stones and fists, punching out every ounce of magic within her little body.
Even Father’s arm around her shoulders, or Mother’s fingers in her hair. Every touch felt so painful. And it frightened her. It agitated the monster.
She can’t remember falling asleep at the breakfast table, but she must have, for she wakes as two hands gently squeeze her shoulders.
“Ariana, darling,” her Mother whispers, bent over her shoulder, her breath warm against Ariana’s cheek. “We can’t fall asleep during meals, remember?”
She does remember. She’s being reminded often by her family, because she often falls asleep during meals.
She leans away from the toast and eggs on her plate, both of which she’s barely touched. “I’m already finished, Mama.” she tries, hoping her Mother wouldn’t insist.
The table falls quiet, her brothers’ discussion about the latest quidditch cup ceasing and her Father’s paper rustling as he sets it down.
“Ariana, dear,” her Father speaks up calmly— always calm, as not to startle it.
The Monster.
“Please try having a few more bites, yes? Growing girls need the energy.”
But Ariana doesn’t want to grow. She doesn’t want it to grow. She wants it to stay small and quiet, like it was yesterday. Then she wouldn’t have to be in pain.
She hates the pain.
“No, please. I’m not hungry. Don’t make me,” she pleads, her vision blurring as her mind starts to race with fear. “Don’t make me!”
She can’t let the monster win. She can’t, she—
“We won’t!” her Mother’s voice breaks through the ringing in her head, just barely, but she tries to cling to it. “Darling, it’s alright. Please,” her Mother says with a tremble in her voice. “You’re safe Ari. Look, look at me.”
Ariana forces her eyes open, but the world is still blurry, and her head hurts. It hurts so much.
Pain. Pain. Pain.
She presses her hands, cold, freezing, to her head — it hurts so much, too much.
“Mama!” she screams, not able to see anything past the blur. Help, help — the monster will come, she can’t hold on much longer.
No, no, no —
She’s drowning quickly, like a sailor caught in a storm, and despite her swimming, she can’t find her way back to the surface.
It’s dark. Dark. Dark. Dark. And cold, she’s so cold. She’ll freeze, this time. The monster will drown her, this time.
It’s so cold.
Until—
A sudden warmth seeps through her frozen body, and an invisible pull slowly tugs her out of the dark, very slowly.
It’s warm. Warm and familiar, like…flowers and cinnamon. Thanks to muscle memory, she holds on to the warmth, clings to it’s familiarity like a drowning man.
Her fingers curl into well worn fabric, until she gasps for air as she surfaces, back ashore, away from the monster’s pit.
“Shh…” she hears a faint, comforting whisper in her ear. “You’re not alone, I’m here…I’m here with you, darling.”
Ariana remembers now; the breakfast table, her brothers chatting on, Father’s newspaper rustling...
She’s home.
She’s in her Mother’s arms, held tightly to the familiar warmth of her chest, listening to the rapid heartbeat that echoes there.
Ariana wants to cry, because she’s ruined breakfast again. She’s lost control again. And now her brothers’ faces are pale as they look to her, and Mother’s hand is trembling as she cups her head.
They’re scared of you.
She doesn’t want the pity that lingers in her Father’s eyes, or the illusion that this isn’t her doing. It is her doing, after all, isn’t it? She ruins everything they once had by being—
A horrible monster.
Disgusted with herself, Ariana pushes away from her Mother’s chest at once, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into thin air and spare her family of the trouble she keeps inflicting on them.
“I’m sorry.” she whispers as she turns away, only for her Mother to refuse her, holding her firm on her hip.
“Don’t apologize, my love, it’s not your fault.” she replies gently.
Mother’s wrong. It’s all her fault. It’s all her fault.
Ariana doesn’t meet her Mother’s eyes, but struggles fiercely against her tight hold. “Let me go.” she whispers hoarsely — she must’ve been screaming before.
“Mama, let me go, please. Let go,
let go—“
Her Mother doesn’t let go, but walks them away from the table, towards the biggest window. Away from the eyes of her paled brothers and crestfallen Father.
Ariana relaxes just a little. She can’t bare to see their sad faces.
Their scared faces, the monster corrects her viciously.
“Don’t look back, Ariana,” her Mother whispers as she turns them to watch how the snow is falling onto the rose bushes outside. “Look ahead. Look at the pretty snowflakes,” she points at one that’s stuck to the window, one that looks like it’s been perfectly painted. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Ariana nods against her Mother’s shoulder. She feels a little less rigid now, and curls further into the warmth of her embrace.
“The storm might look scary at first,” her Mother explains quietly. “But if you look closely, you’ll see it for what it truly is…something beautiful.”
Ariana is only seven, but she understands what her Mother means. “It’s not the same.” she disagrees, trying to swallow the feeling of tears that crawls up her throat.
Her Mother tucks her head down, to press her cheek to Ariana’s. “No…you’re right. You’re even prettier than the snowflakes.”
That’s not what Ariana had meant. At all.
Liar. Liar. Liar. the monster whispers. She tries to ignore the painful stabbing in her chest. Mother wouldn’t lie.
“I’m not pretty,” she mumbles, feeling ashamed that she would ever let herself believe she could be.
Monsters aren’t pretty. They’re ugly.
“I’m a monster.”
The gasp that leaves her Mother’s throat startles her, and she instantly wishes she hadn’t admitted this out loud.
“Ariana.” Mother says fiercely, looking down into her eyes with her own filled with tears. — Ariana made her cry. Mother’s sad. Sad because of her. Again.
“You aren’t a monster. Don’t ever call yourself that, do you hear me?” she orders, almost sternly, were it not for the crack in her voice. “You’re a wonderful and kind little girl, my darling.”
Maybe she could have been, and maybe she had been, once.
Ariana barely remembers what it’s been like before.
She wishes she could be pretty, like her Mother says. Like she used to be. But Ariana isn’t like she’s been, she isn’t truly her own.
For, in the shadow of her beauty, lies the creation of her trauma.
She isn’t just a little girl these days, as the monster lingers black just behind her bright eyes.
She is an obscurial.