Fae Fiefdom - M. Sinclair Page 0,1

very cool, if I do say so myself.

The small minimalistic symbol was something I’d been drawing a lot lately in my notebooks at school. I suppose to most people it may look like a cross but it was more like a compass. Two black lines perpendicular to one another with a circle around the center, right on the inside of my right middle finger.

I was also attempting to mentally check out of the stern lecture my step-siblings and I were receiving, so the tattoo was far more interesting than normal. Denise had nearly had a heart attack over the addition, but once I showed her that it could be covered with tattoo makeup for events, she had seemed mollified. The woman needed a fucking Xanax or ten.

I was counting down the days until I would no longer have to listen to my stepmother drone on and on about how I was performing inadequately in everything and would never meet her standards. I should attempt to do so…because that was what good daughters did? Sorry, Denise, I guess I am a shitty daughter. Oh, well.

My attention snapped to the window as a stunning butterfly, colored a vibrant gemstone blue, floated past the etched glass windows to my left. Dewy, misty air created an iridescent glow out of the late morning light that managed to shine down on our estate. I could practically feel the water sliding over my skin. Damn, I loved springtime. I mean, was there anything better, really?

Briefly, I wondered if I’d have time to ride or not today, but who knew how long Denise would make this briefing. They could be as short as five minutes or as extensive as a political briefing. It was a coin toss.

This was another reason why I enjoyed school if we were being honest.

When I was at school, I could spend from morning until evening being busy in some form. Doing something I at least partly enjoyed. Sunday morning brunch though? No, that was solely reserved for Denise O’Malley Rose.

I had once tried to miss brunch for an extra riding lesson and I’d been grounded from practicing for three weeks. That wasn’t something I was willing to risk again, so here I was. Horseback riding was what kept me sane in this small, inconsequential dot on the map. Village Worth, Kansas. The geographic center of the United States of America and my personal hell.

Denise had been my stepmother for…what was it? Eleven something years? At over three weeks past eighteen, the years had begun to blend together into a very monotonous symphony of boredom. It was why I had to be very creative when it came to keeping myself busy.

So besides horseback riding, I often drove into Kansas City, just to experience a bit of a different paced life. To experience what it felt like to walk on a crowded city street. To experience what it tasted like to eat at a restaurant where you didn’t know everyone there. For the record, food tasted a lot better when you weren’t being stared at.

Of course, Denise didn’t know that I went into Kansas City, she assumes I am out practicing or something else that keeps her mind at ease. Hell, she only knew about the tattoo because I showed it to her, knowing it was visible enough she’d see it eventually. The one on the back of my neck? She didn’t need to know about that one or the one on my right shoulder blade. It showed how little she actually paid attention to me outside of how I affected her purpose or image. To be frank, I would have been upset and disappointed if I was seeking some type of parental validation from her...as it stood? I was not.

Besides, she was busy worrying about my two younger sisters who totally didn’t mind or find it odd how high-strung their mom was. But then again, they were her children. Denise’s only ‘real’ children as she emphasized whenever I did something that tarnished that damn pristine reputation she claimed to have. I know it sounds very Cinderella-ish, right? I can assure you that it was nothing like that. Much more boring in fact.

Denise had never treated me poorly or hurt me in any way. Hell, I don’t think the woman had ever even raised her voice at me. Instead, I was subjected to extreme standards and an underlying pressure of never being ‘good’ enough to be her daughter. This is how mommy issues happen,