Mother Knows Best (Villains 5)

Lucinda walked back into the room emptyhanded. “Thank you, Mrs. T. I think we will take our midday meal in the garden, if you don’t mind. It’s such a lovely day and I would like my sister to get some air.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Lady Lucinda. I have some of her favorites in the oven now. I’d better go check on them before they’re ruined,” she said as she trotted out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Did you find it?”

Lucinda shook her head. “I didn’t, Gothel, I’m sorry.”

“It has to be somewhere!”

“If it is here, we will find it, I promise!” Lucinda sat next to Gothel on the bed and put her hand on hers. “Listen to me. Your sisters are fine where they are now. They’re safe. I know you’re eager to wake them, and I understand, I do, believe me, but right now I’m worried about you. Can we focus on getting you better first? And once you’re strong again, we can focus on your sisters. How does that sound?”

“Fine, I suppose.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why did you tell the cook you’re my sister?”

“This is a small town, Gothel. People gossip. You’re a young woman with no family relations! I didn’t want those nosy gossips in town weaving wild stories, digging up your background, or giving you any trouble. The last thing you need is the King sending his men to find the last remaining flower.”

“That was very smart of you, thank you,” said Gothel. “Have you heard from Jacob? Do you know what became of my lands?”

“I’m afraid there is nothing left of your lands—not much, anyway,” said Lucinda with a sad look. She knew how much Gothel loved the dead woods.

“And Jacob?” asked Gothel.

“He’s gone, too,” said Lucinda. It seemed she had nothing but bad news for her friend that day.

“Then he is finally at rest,” said Gothel, squeezing Lucinda’s hand.

“Yes, he deserves his rest, don’t you think?” asked Lucinda.

“I do. I really do,” said Gothel, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

It had been several years since Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha had settled Gothel into her new home and then left her alone to flounder and blunder her way through her new provincial life, with the ever loyal and diligent Mrs. Tiddlebottom handling everything that might have otherwise occupied or distracted Gothel from her loneliness. They had even taken their cat, Pflanze, who, like her mistresses, was eager to see what would become of the odd sisters’ little sister, Circe. To Gothel it was a lifetime.

Gothel had felt abandoned in those first months. The sisters and Pflanze had flown off in some invisible house to attend to matters far more important than Gothel, leaving her alone and defenseless with no magic.

Before the sisters left, Gothel’s house had been thoroughly searched. Every single item that had been packed by Jacob was examined. Gothel and the odd sisters even pulled down every book to see if it had been hollowed out to hide Gothel’s mother’s blood. And after the sisters left, Gothel searched every item again just to be sure and because she had nothing else to do. She even emptied every chest of gold, not bothering to the put the coins back in their places. The blood simply wasn’t there. It was gone.

Just like everything else in her life.

She felt her life had no meaning. No purpose. Even if she could wake her sisters, she wondered if that was what they would really want. And she wondered if they would be happy in that house, with its floral wallpaper and delicate furnishings. She remembered the day she had tried to bring her sisters back with the help of the odd sisters in the dead woods. The horrible scene flashed through her mind like a jolt.

Please let us die.

No, maybe it was best to let her sisters rest. Maybe it was time Gothel rested as well.

Gothel desperately wanted to see her sisters again, even if it meant being confronted by her mother. There was nothing for her here. Nothing but endless solitude, flower-patterned wallpaper, and something close to

grief that she was not allowed to fully experience because the odd sisters had taken that from her also.

In her solitude, she began to dislike the odd sisters. They refused to come no matter how many ravens she sent, begging them to return. Her memory of them became distorted. Her loneliness started to twist her mind. The longer they were away, and the more letters they sent to say they couldn’t come to see her, the more her love for them diminished. She started to distrust them, almost hate them. The odd sisters started to come in and go out of focus in her mind, changing from the girls she had known in the dead forest, the friends and sisters she had grown to love, to these creatures she’d invented. She couldn’t tell them apart anymore. When the odd sisters did take time to write her, their letters were singularly obsessed with trying to save that sister of theirs. That Circe. And she wondered if it wasn’t all just lies. They sent endless letters about her. Endless updates. Flowery, poetic letters, full of grief, worry, and love. Over the years, the tone of the letters started to change, becoming less coherent, and more disjointed. They said they’d finally devised a way to bring their sister back. A difficult spell they’d been working on for many years. They promised they would return as soon as they could. Gothel continued to plead for them to come to her. Even in her distrust of them, she had no one else but them—and, of course, Mrs. Tiddlebottom, who did her best to make Gothel happy. But no matter how Gothel pleaded with the odd sisters to return, there was always some reason they couldn’t. First it was the matter of Circe, and then it was some nonsense about a dragon fairy-witch. It all sounded like twaddle to Gothel, like a fairy tale you told a child, and she started to wonder if Jacob had been right. She started to wonder if all this was their fault. And she wondered if her mother’s vision had been correct. After all, her sisters hadn’t become dreadfully ill until the odd sisters arrived for the solstice. It was as if they had appeared in the dead woods right out of the ether, under some pretense they were there to help, insisting they somehow knew Gothel needed them. Well, now it all sounded like rubbish. All of it. She needed the odd sisters, and they were nowhere to be found. Everything concerning them seemed suspect to her now. Now that she was old and ready to go into the mists. Now that there was nothing left for her in the world to love or care for.

She hadn’t bothered using the flower. There were deep lines around her eyes, and her hair was starting to turn silver. It was a blessing Mrs. Tiddlebottom was farsighted. She often remarked that Gothel had become a soft blur, though she still managed to bustle around the kitchen and tend to her duties. But Gothel could see herself clearly in her bedroom mirror and had come to the conclusion that she had to have been asleep for a very long time in the dead woods. Long enough for the entire landscape to change. Long enough for the frightening tales of the queen of the dead to vanish and no longer inspire fear or respect. Long enough for Gothel to age considerably without the help of the flower. And she was thankful.

The older she was, the sooner she would die.

Soon I will be done with this world I despise and mistrust. Soon my light will vanish like my sisters’.