Mold

Or: how insecurity ruined the night of a young girl

Image credit: Diogo Nunes

You must think of me as a mad woman, they all think of me as such.

A once pure thing famously corroded by hysteria on that deciprid, rotten evening.

But in my writings, I will make clear to you it isn't my mind that is at fault, for my sight is clear and what my reflection has become is above any imagination. The fact that others don't see it says more about them than me, ignorant creatures, how I despise them for denying the truth and chastising the bringer with restraints and empty walls.

On that day, I had been presented at the debutante ball my parents had prepared me for. The white hall plastered was in mirrors to reflect everything happening at once, pairs chatting with champagne in their glasses.

I stood with my father, his great arm under mine in a stern grip. He, alongside mother, had prepared for this days in advance, my body a clump of clay she kneaded with dancing and graceful manners, my mind an incomplete page filled by my father with talks and warnings.

I cannot allow myself to fail..

I thought far too many times, the words only stiffening the constrictive fabric on my beating chest.

Or else I'll waste their efforts.

A pit formed in my stomach as I saw the other young ladies before me, their graceful necks nodding along to casual questions asked by the older nobles. in the light of the yellow candelabras.

On the dance floor, a father and daughter danced an introductory which led the room fall silent. When the dance ended, they clapped meagerly and continued their talk, waiting for the next pair.

It would happen that me and my father were last in line upon his wish, a terrible prospect as that would only draw more attention to me.

And it did, I was sure to notice the same ladies I hated to see before me would occasionally glance at the ordinary one in their midst, small mouths puffed into a small pout and thin raised brows.

I felt my face flush in embarrassment, averting my gaze in clear defeat to the right wall near to me.

And there it had started, for my eyes seemed to spot a blueish-green mark on my white powdered cheek.

I raised my hand, trying to wipe it off. Yet it remained there stubbornly, and even more damning, it had grown to the size of an almond.

Panic overcame me, glued to my own reflection before I felt a tug at my arm.

"Mina". My father hissed.

I reared my head in shock, noticing that an open space had been created before us were father and daughter pairs had been standing to wait on their turns. Hastily he led me forwards, we were the second following. I could feel his eyes on me, judging and narrowed.. missing the spot by the virtue of standing at the left.

Once the dancing pair on the dance room had swayed their last twirl, it was our turn. My heart sinking to my legs as they moved woodenly onto the ground. My feet had lost all feeling by the time we waltzed, phantom stubs sluggishly finding ground.

I had to force myself not to look back at my accursed reflection, subtle laughter ringing in my ear from afar. No doubt the other girls who were amused by the nervous figure.

The sound could go only so far as being unnoticed though, and while we made a turn to the wall I couldn't keep myself from stealing one glance.

That glance proved to be the fatal blow: the mold had wrapped around the right side of my face like a mask in that short amount of time, spreading its sickness down my pale bosom.

A gasp left my mouth, and as I didn't look over my steps I tripped over my fellow dancer's feet.

The audience whispered in turn as I laid there, my father standing with his eyebrows furrowed in anger.

He sees.. They all see

I covered my face with my hands, shaking and sobbing. But it was too late, this freak of nature had defiled me.

I scrambled back onto my own feet, managing to use the stunned public to my advantage as I fled the scene.

My legs carried me out of the ballroom, stumbling on the ground numerous times (I had not hoisted up the hem of my dress).

An impulsive turn to the left and I was lucky to have found the bathroom, breathing out in wordless bliss as my hand found the cool handle.

With a turn, I was in, locking the door while I discovered how much I was panting.

I dared not turn myself to the room first, every toilet I knew before the asylum had a mirror hanging above the sink. And I dared not see the spread across my body.

Yet, once I regained my breath, I couldn't resist the urge, to see the rot that once was soft flesh.

Slowly I reared my head around, immediately feeling a cold grasp tightly around my heart.

My face..

I would not be able to describe what I saw in an accurate manner. No description would be adequate enough.

A face.. No, a rotting corpse.

The mold had caved in my cheeks, my nose eyeing as a green soft mush at the side.

When my mouth opened to let out a scream I could not, for I saw two rows of sharp black teeth. Looking down on my hands, they had sharp ends too.

The sound that was eventually produced was something between a laugh and a cry as I sank down on the tiled ground. I hugged my knees as if I never wanted to let go of them, avoiding the sight of the sharp nails.

I am much like the monsters in grannie's tales.

They had sharp nails too, sharp enough to cut through flesh as if it were a wedding cake. The image made me shudder..

I knew I wasn't able to return to the ballroom, not in that state.

I would terrify them even more, and a monster wasn't able to find a suitable husband. Remembering my father's livid countenance, I could understand why it was disappointment that colored his face.

Yet… I thought as I cast a glance at my right claw, turning it under the light of the oil lamp. Yet.. Should he truly be horrified of me, his own daughter?

The question remained within, I stood up from the ground to watch the horror once again.

And as my fingertips went over the rotten flesh, I discovered it was still smooth despite the deep groves visible. And when I put the finger to my nose, I smelled nothing but scented rosewater.

I could almost laugh, to think that all but appearance was wrong.

Yet they wouldn't be able to touch or to smell, no, the gentlemen and ladies would lock me up in my room to not look upon me anymore.

Tears pricked in my eyes like thorns, hastily I went to rub it with one hand. A cry of pain as the sharp nail gashed the lid.

Why me, I thought as I let the claws over my cheeks, shredding bouts of rotten flesh.

I did not.. Why are you angry father!?

Maggots crawled their way above as I tried to rid myself of the cause of my pain, sliding across my mouth.

I didn't wish for this I'll find a husband and I you won't ever have to see me again!

Someone thumped on the door, metal falling to the floor as the lock was broken.

Eyes peered in, and all I could do was cackle.