The Fall

Her mother stood in front of the light of the window, a featureless shadow. Her outline against the blinding sun and lace almost more terrifying than her severe and eternally disappointed face, her tightly wound hair, her long sinewy neck. Claire could see the earrings shine as they dangled gaily from her mother's long fingers, casting colored prisms on the walls of her bedroom. It might have been beautiful, even magical.

Her mother stepped forward. Claire took an instinctive step back. Though she still could not see the expression on her mother's face, the tilt of her head communicated her usual exasperated "Oh, Claire..."

The band struck up a rondo downstairs. The guests shoes on the wooden floor echoed through the house. Claire's heart, already racing with dread, beat even faster. Her mother reached her, took her chin in two fingers, turned her head to the side with a snap and let go with a pinch. She took Claire's earlobe and without hesitation pierced the earring post through the flesh. Claire winced, her mother scowled into her wet eyes and held her gaze, daring her to cry. Claire took a deep breath and steadied herself. Second turn, pinch, pierce. Blood smeared on her earlobe and pulsed through her hearing. Her legs buckled. Her mother held her arms in a vice as if to support her, but rather to catch her gaze once more and impress upon her with a look the weight of the occasion.

"All of the Stoneleigh woman have had their ears pierced with these very diamond chandeleirs on the night of the June Ball in their 16th year." Her mother looked down at the blood on her hands; a grin pulled at her mouth. She regarded the blood with more pride than Claire had ever seen directed at herself.

Her mother called the servant over with the basin to wach her hands. She dried them on the servant's sleeve. "Come." She motioned to Claire with tight fingers. Claire didn't move. Her mother clapped a hand around her arm and pulled her roughly toward the bedroom door.

Claire could hear the tinkling of the gems hanging from her ears. Her palms were wet. The oppressive heat of the June evening, still in full sun so far north, made the sweat run down her back. Her mother tugged but her feet strained against forward motion. Her mother turned and looked at her with the contemptuous glare that took the place of love between Stoneleigh women.

"Oh, Claire...please do not embarrass me. You are pale as a ghost. Are you so weak? I was proud when my mother gave me those diamonds. You look as though I've clapped you in irons. Now, move or you will disgrace your father and me." The rondo below reached it height. Claire reached the top of the stairs. She looked down at the spinning waltzers below. A drop of blood fell on her lace collar. Her mother's bony hands pressed her shoulder blades. She fell.