Treasures || Self Para
Some days, she couldn’t remember their faces anymore. Daddy’s, Kanga’s― even her mother’s was already fading. Those were the days it was hardest to smile. Yes, there were Piglets and Eeyores and Christophers here; there were even Camilles and Georges and Sandys and Angels. But as much as she loved them, they weren’t family. And family was what she needed.
It was something she hadn’t had in a long time, at least not outside her own head. So for the times when her own mind failed her, she kept pieces of the past stashed under her pillow. They came out only after dark, when she wouldn’t be expected to keep up her smile or explain to prying eyes, and she could hold them and remember and cry if she liked. They belonged to the night, where bittersweet dreams find their home, where anything can be wiped away with the sunrise. They were her treasures, and she guarded them fiercely.
The first thing that lay there was a wand. It was broken into three pieces, seams clearly visible where magic had glued them back together. A missing chunk at one end revealed that it was coreless, and countless scrapes ran up and down the fine wood.
The second thing was a tiny prism, carefully shaped into a perfect heart. A light glowed at its center, though the spell was old and the light flickered unsteadily every so often.
The third was only a scrap of itself; a jagged-edged patch of a baby’s blanket. The colors were faded into dull shades of gray, the teddy-bear pattern barely visible. It looked like trash, quite honestly, but to Roo it was gold.
The last item was a photo album. Page after page showed Mama and Kanga, smiling and waving up at her like they were there with her. The faces she missed so much sent a sharp pain through her heart, but it was the kind of pain she knew she’d come back for. A girl like Roo couldn’t stay away from love for long, even if the best she could hope for was only a snapshot.
The last page was the worst. It was her drug; bad for her, unchangeably bad, but irresistibly addictive. There was only one photo on that page, and her fingers shook every time she neared it. Because it was the only photo she had of her father, the only one her mom hadn’t destroyed, and it showed him as he was.
It killed her.
Every time she reached that photo, his eyes met hers and dug into her like daggers. The look on his face was unmistakably disgusted, as he had always been― disgusted with what he’d brought into the world. And every time she came to this photo, it was never more than a moment before her father strode out of it.
It was still the most she’d seen his face in years.