Levitating

Vinley Dolvion

Godric this is such a bore.

I don’t even know why I need to have this last visit. I've been taking lessons for five years. I'm not going to forget anything over the course of nine months.

I sit now on my hard wooden bench in front of my matching large dark oak vanity. Mother is pulling at my hair trying to get it to look perfect so I can look like the perfect daughter ready to show Madam Tripe how perfect I am. And possibly a reporter. Oh how they love to sneak onto the grounds, they always manage to sneak past any barriers Mother and Father put up. I think they’re one slip up away from hiring a guard detail to stand post around the property.

Mother shoved about the millionth hairpin into my head, she insisted on doing it herself after deeming both my personal elves and hers incompetent for the task.

“Done! It’s done, finally,” Mother announces with a clap of her hands, “don’t touch!”

I froze, my hand a mere inch away from the large round bun sitting at the base of my neck. I've had an itch since we started an hour ago. I stared back at her, still unmoving, before promptly pushing the bun up just slightly to reach my neck to scratch it. Mother reacted quickly, swatting my hand away and rushing to see if I had ruined anything. I hadn’t, and now my itch was gone. Once she was satisfied for the second time she gave me a harsh glare as we made eye contact in the mirror, then spun on her heel and proceeded to march into my closet to find a suitable outfit.

She comes out moments later to pull me up from my seat and drag me into the spacious closet. A burgundy dress is shoved into my hands before I’m spun around and pushed towards my tri-fold mirrors, as Mother turns around and walks out with a slam of the door.

I assume, obviously, that this is the dress that will make me look perfect this afternoon for tea. I look down at it, then hold it up against me in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. The dark red compliments my light skin-not a typically attractive feature according to Madam Tripe, but her and Mother have agreed the women in my family can pull it off-and it comes to just below my knees. The sleeves look like they will rest off my shoulders and seem more like a thick strap than anything. I quickly slip off my robe and step into the dress, careful not to crinkle anything. I zip it up on the side and take another look at my reflection, not bad, just a bit mature. I feel like a mini version of my Mother. I think sometimes she forgets I’m still a child, I think sometimes I forget I’m still a child. Sliding on a pair of flats Mother left beside my mirror, another new pair, I give myself another once-over before turning and walking out of the room.

Slowing my pace as I come to the stairs, I lean over the railing to spot Mother already waiting for me at the bottom. I clasp my hands in front of me, exactly as taught, and begin my descent. Just as I reach the bottom, Mother’s head snaps up to me from the watch she was glaring at.

“Finally! She will be here any moment!” Mother exclaimed. I’m not sure why she’s so worried, I have never disappointed Madam Tripe before and it’s not as if this is a huge gala. But of course I don’t tell her this.

I respond with a roll of my eyes when she turns to look back at her watch. The doorbell rings through the foyer, causing me turn to face the door, back to the stairs, standing straight with my shoulders back as I wait for Mother to greet Madam Tripe. I hear two sets of sharp heels on the hardwood floor and straighten my back even more, if that’s possible, and clasp my hands in front of me again.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Dolvion,” comes Madam Tripe’s hard voice. “How do you do?”

“I am well Madam, and yourself?” I say politely. The nerves are catching up to me now, gross. Father always says nerves are for the weak.

“Good as well,” She steps closer, and I can smell the strong scent of lavender essential oil as she starts to circle me. I make sure not to move, the slightest tremble could mean at least 15 minutes of scolding. She comes around in front of me again and looks me up and down one last time. “Yes, very good.”

“Shall we move into the garden, Madam Tripe?” My mother suggests, she still looks nervous; if she were a student like me she would receive a harsh slap to the back of her head for showing such nerves.

“Yes, lovely” Madam Tripe nods sharply.

~~~~

I'm exhausted. Madam Tripe's visits were always energy suckers. Tea went perfect, I poured everything without a spill, there were no lags in conversation, and Madam Tripe even gave me a stiff smile when she left. I thought Mother was going to cry with relief, it’s as if she has no faith in me honestly.