Hiraeth: The return of the Queen

Samara Shaw I didn't have the best childhood. I was born in Santa Monica California, USA to Veronica and Tom Shaw with a twin brother, Jonathan. Being the children of the wealthiest lawyers in the city and having the DNA of the Royal family running through our veins gave us more reasons to look the best we could talk with the finest accent, learn multiple languages, and show perfection while handling the simplest tasks. It wasn't as easy for me as it was for Jonathan. He did have a lot to do as the heir and all the days of his life were spent learning how to be the perfect clone of his father. The words from his mouth were like his, his actions were the same, and even the phrases he used and the clothes he wore were like father's. As he grew, he became even more submissive to our parents. Everything he did was in their favor or an attempt to impress them. Yet, he got punished for the slightest mistakes. The consequences were always severe, even for the meaningless coincidences, and like a puppet dancing to their every beat, he never saw the wrong in what he did. It was as if he would be nothing without them and that truth blinded him. Being a girl was far worse. Looking effortlessly beautiful wasn't the easiest thing in the Shaw mansion. I was born with ginger red hair but my mother hated it so much, that it was dyed blonde, and was never allowed to have the smallest red ends or curls forming at the edges. It was always straightened and its length never exceeded my mid-back. My hair had to be in a tight bun every minute of my life and the only time I was allowed to leave it in a ponytail was when I went to bed. No blonde strands could fall across my face, and neither were pins permitted to be pulled out of my bun. On most days, I wore long dresses with pantyhose beneath and leather shoes adorning my feet. The sleeves were always long and covered my entire arm. I always had gloves on in public and was only allowed to take them off at the end of the day. I wasn't permitted to wear clothes with short sleeves anywhere outside my bedroom or in the presence of anyone besides my maid who only got the opportunity because she dressed me every day. I also wasn't allowed to speak without being spoken to, play any board games, interfere in conversations including men, or whisper a word about politics or the world's economic affairs. If I got the chance to speak to any man in certain circumstances, I could only stare down at my shoes and not at them in the eyes. I could only look up if they insisted I did and that never happened, not even once. Disobedience to any was considered rude and not ladylike. I made a few mistakes once and when I did, I would be starved for a whole day or two, depending on what rule I broke. We attended special occasions at least twice every month. Severally, I would undergo painful beauty treatments a day or two before the event. The sessions usually took hours and I was forced to stay in uncomfortable positions while things were injected into my skin. My hair would be dyed once more to retain its bright blond color, my nails would be trimmed, and my face would be coated with oils and serums to keep it moisturized. Sometimes, I would get liquid injected into my cheekbones and into my lips to make them look plump and red. My pedicure was always painful and ended with my toes swollen and red. Everything I consumed had little or no calories. I was required to have the slimmest figure with my waist never exceeding 18 inches. I was measured every week and if It increased by at least 0.5 inches, my meals would be reduced the following week and sometimes, I wouldn't be allowed to eat dinner to attain a smaller figure. Our eighteenth birthday came and for the first time in our lives, we had a birthday party hosted in the Shaw mansion. Finally, I was going to be eighteen and with that, freedom, maturity, and all I had ever dreamt of, or so I hoped. Moving away from my parents couldn't be that easy for any one of us but the chance to live my life without their supervision was enough freedom for me. I counted long days in high hopes and when it was finally before me, when I thought it was at my fingertips, things took a turn. I should've taken a hint when I was forced into undergoing a series of beauty treatments a week before that day. They were more severe and painful than the ones I'd learned to get used to. For the first time, I had nail polish coating my nails. One thing my mother never allowed when I was younger. She forbade me to ever use any nail polish or makeup. I was denied access to food a day before the party. Mother said it was to maintain a slimmer waistline for any suitors. I was only eighteen and my mother never joked about anything. I knew she was serious about finding suitors but my immature self didn't think much of it. I wasn't looking forward to speaking with any men, all I wanted and hoped for was the freedom after that day and it blinded me to seeing the actual truth. It wasn't just a birthday party, there was more to that gathering that I didn't see till that very evening. Author’s Note: Hi babies, this chapter unfortunately couldn't fit the entire chapter one which is basically a background info about Samara so that'll be the second chapter (Chalter one, part 2) Just so you understand. Thank you so much for reading ❤️)