confines of gravity || aurélie & open
“Maman!” she laughed, wobbling around her family’s bedroom, tiny feet engulfed in her mother’s ruby red heels that she would not be able to fill until numerous years later. The apartment the family lived in was cramped, hardly big enough to call a home; the kitchen could just fit two grown adults, and Aurélie at the age of eight could nearly touch both walls of the bathroom with her arm span. It was as good a home as any, however. They made it their own, and the three of them were happy. Happier than most families, out there inhabiting three story mansions.
Her mother had just finished preparing dinner, and had popped into the bedroom for a peek at her cackling daughter. “Oh, my little princess,” she said with a grin, lips quivering in an attempt not to burst with laughter as Aurélie tottered up to her mom, draped in an old opal necklace that was once her grandmother’s and an evening dress that was a rusty, deep wine color, dragging across the floor. “Do I look pretty, maman?” the girl said, attempting to spin before tripping over the dress’ skirt. Her mother released a guffaw and picked up Aurélie, setting her on the bed. “My little princess. Give maman a moment, and I’ll dress you up in something better,” said her mother. She pulled the ratty, grease-stained apron off her waist and tossed it into the hamper before picking a small, floral dress from the closet. “I was saving it for your birthday, but it won’t hurt to try it on now, non?” Aurélie clapped in delight as her mother slipped off the evening gown, replacing it with a dress that fit perfectly. “And one last touch, to make it perfect.” The woman grabbed a miniscule crystal bottle from the dresser, the sapphire stopper gleaming in the light. She yanked the top off, and turned the bottle upside-down, finger over the opening. Her mother dabbed the perfume behind Aurélie’s ears and then gave a poignant smile. “There. Perfect.”
Sandalwood. Heliotrope. Rose, jasmine, peach. It didn’t even have to be a particularly good day for the scent to have uplifted her spirits; she would have gone the rest of the afternoon bathing in the warmth of a happy memory.
Today was not that day. Aurélie cringed upon the perfume reaching her nose in the crowded hallway; it was gone just as swiftly as it came, lost in the rush of students bustling to their next class. Yet its effect was not so expeditious. The usually sweet fragrance was sour in that moment, time seemed to delay. Passing conversations became murky and distant in her ears. Tunnel vision darkened her sight and she felt her heart beat in her throat.
Aurélie dove into the nearest classroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She collapsed into a seat, gasping for the air that seemed ever so abundant just moments before. It wasn’t helping. The girl more so fell out of the seat than slipped out of it, and lied on the floor. Slowly, the black shadows that had clouded her vision began to recede, and her palms stopped sweating. She thought she might start to become well enough to at least stagger back to the carriage, until she heard the door open. “Oh,” she said, mustering up as much strength as possible and at least raising herself off the floor, not realising tears streaked her face. “Hello! Don’t mind me, I’m just—just practicing—my, um...nonverbal magic.”