Ariella’s awakening

*Ariella* The threadbare curtains do nothing to stop the morning light from invading my room… a tiny room that feels more like a prison cell than a part of a home. It's a cruel reminder that another day at the mercy of the Carlsons has begun. The walls of this group home have eyes and ears, none of them kind. I sit up on the edge of my bed, the mattress springs creaking their familiar protest. My birthday is two weeks away. Eighteen. The word tastes like stale bread on my tongue. It's supposed to mean freedom, but for me, it's just a countdown to another kind of confinement. The door bangs open, the scent of last night’s whiskey still lingers in the air, a noxious perfume that seems to seep into everything here and Mr. Carlson's bulky frame almost filling the doorway. His eyes, bloodshot and unkind, fix on me with that look which says I'm nothing more than a burden. He flicks an envolope at me, by some miracle, considering his near constant drunken state, managing to hit me on the forehead. As I rub the spot, hearing them laugh, I wonder once again what I did in a former life to deserve this. “I guess ‘miss to smart for the rest of us’ got into another college,” He growls like a rapid dog. I look at the envelope, it taunts me with everything I can never have. What difference does it really make if I got in? A degree. It's my one true wish, my escape plan. But wishes don't pay tuition fees. Despite my good grades, they're not good enough for a full ride. Hope flickers, threatening to extinguish. I'll need a job, something to save up from, though the thought of juggling work with studies, not to mention my chores, seems like trying to scale a mountain with no rope. "Ariella," he slurs, his voice a gravelly sound that I’ve come to dread. "Remember two weeks, then you're an adult. If you want to stay here after that it is time to pay up for room and board, elseway you get the hell out." Mrs. Carlson, a silhouette behind him, nods her head in cruel agreement, her thin lips twisted in a smirk that never quite reaches her cold eyes. They don't care where I would go, or what I would do. To them, I'm just another mouth they're tired of feeding, another set of hands that isn't worth the trouble anymore. I nod, because it's safer than speaking, safer than telling them that I have long been counting down the days to escape their clutches. But where does a girl with no family, no money, and no prospects go? I have been accepted to a couple of colleges, but the Carlson’s want me to get a job, or I am out on my ass. My tormentors leave with the slam of a door, their laughter a mocking echo trailing down the hall. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and allow myself a moment to close my eyes. I can endure this. I have to. Because in two weeks, I'll claim the only gift they're ever going to give me… the chance to leave, even the streets has to be better than this. I push away the tangle of emotions and stand, the cold floor a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of my thin blanket. There's no time for self-pity. I throw the mocking letter on the old stol I use as a bedside table and get dressed. Like a modern-day Cinderella, I start my daily routine, except there's no ball gown waiting for me at the end of it, no glass slipper or fairy godmother, no handsome prince to whisk me away from this life. The list of chores is long and my foster parents make sure it gets longer each day, as if trying to squeeze every last drop of usefulness out of me before I turn eighteen. Scrubbing floors, washing dishes, and endless laundry… my hands move on autopilot, allowing my mind to wander to dreams of college. As I attack a stubborn stain on the kitchen counter, the reality of my situation sinks in. In two weeks, I need to have a plan, a job, hopefully a place to stay... a life. The tasks ahead of me are daunting, but not impossible. I've handled worse, survived worse. How many times have I dreamed that my real parents came to find me, that they turned out to be someone special; An Alpha and his Luna, elven royalty, merpeople from the deep sea… but how Could they be when I am a no-one? I pause, taking a breath, feeling the weight of the old, frayed sponge in my hand. No fairy tales here… this is my battle to fight, my future to secure. And somehow, I must find the strength to believe that I can do it. The chill of the water in the bucket nips at my fingers as I wring out the rag, the floor before me a testament to the elbow grease I've already expended. But as I rise to dunk the cloth once more, Mrs. Carlson's shadow looms over me. There's something about the way she stands, a simmering impatience in her posture, that sets my nerves on edge. Without warning, her foot lashes out, catching the side of the bucket in a swift, calculated motion. Water cascades over the edge, but somehow the water seems to defy gravity, slusning over her feet, instead of on me. "Ariella!" The word is a whip-c***k, as she slaps me on the back of the head. “Look what you did.” I considered telling her that she did it herself, but I instantly decide it wouldn’t be a smart choice. She stands there, arms folded, looking down at the mess with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Can't you even clean properly without making more of a mess? Useless, just absolutely useless." The injustice of it burns in my chest, the unfairness of being blamed for her action, but I know better than to argue. I nod, fighting back the sting of tears… not from sadness, but from frustration. I drop to my knees, the cold water soaking into my clothes as I begin to sop up the mess, my movements mechanical. Mrs. Carlson's voice is a venomous hiss as she continues, "If you can't even handle simple tasks, how do you expect to survive out there? You think anyone wants a clumsy girl like you to work for them?" Her words are meant to cut, to remind me of my place in her world, but I lock them away. Her voice will not be the one that defines my worth. I have to believe that… believe in the me that exists beyond these walls, beyond her reach. Believe there is another life for me out there. Exhausted from the day's labor and the emotional toll of Mrs. Carlson's tirade, I retreat to the relative safety of my room. My muscles ache and my skin is pricked with the chill of the drying clothes, but it's the weariness in my bones that weighs the heaviest. I slump onto the bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. The envelope catches my eye again, perched on top of a pile of old, dog-eared books on the stool. With a heavy sigh, I reach for it, the weight of my dreams pressing down on me. As I flip it over, my fingers pause on the seal… a bizarre emblem embossed on the paper. It's an elaborate tree, its roots and branches intricately woven into a circle. An Yggdrasil tree, the Tree of Life from old Norse mythology. Curiosity piqued, I carefully break the seal, my heart fluttering with a mixture of hope and caution. Unfolding the letter, my eyes dart across the words, and my breath catches in my throat. It's an acceptance letter, but not from any institution I recognize… Yggdrasil Hall; School for Exceptional Students. The name alone sends a shiver down my spine. For a moment, disbelief wars with a burgeoning sense of wonder. Could this be real? A school I’ve never applied to, offering me a spot, and not only that, they are offering me full scholarship. The possibility of it being a mistake crosses my mind, yet the letter has my name on it. I sit there, the letter in hand, the words blurring as my mind races. Yggdrasil Hall could be the answer I didn't know I was searching for, a path to a future I never dared to imagine. But with the Carlson’s, trust in good fortune has always been a fool's errand. Still, in this moment, in the quiet of my room, I allow myself the luxury of hope, and the courage to believe that perhaps, my story is about to take a most extraordinary turn.