Chapter Text
From the moment she was born, Cybele Highhurst had been a show pony. The nurses in the hospital knew her name by the hour after her birth, her mother sang it aloud, and in the nursery her name was plastered in gold leaf on her crib. The storm that preceded her birth was a thing of legend, but the talk of the nurses was the Manx babybones in the golden crib. Her mother was showing her off every day until their release from the hospital, Cybele with a clean bill of health.
She didn’t remember a time her mother had ever truly complimented her appearance or her achievements. There was always a comparison, she could have made it to nationals, or she hadn’t had her fur done like how mom had done it. Mom was never satisfied. Cybele could never find the secret to getting her affections. When she spoke, she was too loud, and when she was silent, she was being rude, her opinions were off-kilter, and she was never the absolute epitome of perfect. Despite trying her best, she was never just right.
Cybele guessed it was just mom. She was just picky. Cybele would do right someday, and when that day came, surely mom would be so proud, she’d shower Cybele in praise and gifts, and everything would be like those old movies Cybele found in tapes in the attic.
Dad… Dad was working. Dad didn’t show up to her beauty pageants, or her awards ceremonies, her ballet recital. Nor did he say hello. Sometimes he’d gruffly scoff in her general direction, sometimes pat her head on his way out the door, but other than that, dad was distant.
Cybele had mostly the nannies and tutors as company, the occasional teacher that took interest in her studies. She got along with them well enough, she was grateful of their presence. She enjoyed learning things, she was filled with random trivia and passages from books she’s picked up in her lonesome. She had even read one book so many times she had the first and last page down to memory.
It was lonely sometimes, kept in the house cramped like a hen, but mom always said it was to help Cybele focus on her poise.
Mom has been a beauty queen, her long white tail was her pride and joy. Many times she would have it draped over her shoulder like a mink fur coat in those animated movies Cybele found. Mom seemed to enjoy pointing out Cybele’s near-lack of a tail. The stump of a Manx cat, as her father was as well, was predominant, as was her tricolor pattern, compared to mom’s stark snowy white.
Mom liked to tell the story to her friends about first holding Cybele in her arms as a baby.
“This can’t be mine!” She exclaimed, mimicking holding a baby in her arms and jolting with shock. “She has spots on her face!” She’d cackle.
Dad didn’t have the markings on his face, but grandma and grandpa did, it had skipped him and returned to Cybele. The tricolor calico markings dappled around Cybele’s eyes, lining them with black like a bandit, with white and orange freckles. Compared to the eggshell white of her bones, it was an odd look. Cybele thought she looked just fine. Mom thought differently.
“I thought she was a gremlin at first! I thought her sockets were bigger than her face!” Mom explained and her friends would cackle, staring at Cybele with looks of shock and humor, some had a smudge of sympathy, but that faded the more mom spoke. Cybele shuddered to remember mom’s story of her birth.
It was a painful thing, to think her mom didn’t like how she looked. Despite this though, mom tried to make Cybele a queen as she had been, a beauty queen to take the world by storm. Cybele had taken trophies home, big trophies with golden statues in crowns and long dresses, engraved with “Little Miss Feline Petite!” She’d been first place a couple of times, but that stopped as she grew older. It was disheartening to see the grimace on her mother’s face each time Cybele brought home nothing but goodie participation bags.
At least she got to keep the goodies.
To at least be fine, Cybele tried to stay positive, see the good in things.
Loneliness meant more time to learn and read.
Goodie bags had treats and those fun little jumping frog toys and yarn balls to keep her entertained.
Mom’s grimace…. Mom would see someday.
Dad’s absence… Cybele could make him see someday too.
Cybele would rule the world one day.
Mom curled Cybele’s fur almost every day. No matter whether they were staying at home or going out for fancy brunches, Cybele’s fur was always brushed and curled to pure perfection. It didn’t matter how many clumps of Cybele’s calico fluff had to be ripped out, it needed to be curled and smooth enough to brush fingers through.
“Why are you wincing, it’s not that bad,” Mom growled as she ripped the brush through Cybele’s scruff, taking a clump of fur with it, making the kitten squeak in pain. “It hurts!” Cybele whined aloud, trying to jolt away from her mother. Mom only held her head against the calico kitten’s head and kept her still. “Pretty hurts, honey, you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
Cybele sniffled quietly to herself as her mother brushed through her scruff. When the curlers were put on, they were still hot, Cybele had to strain her head upwards to keep her chin off the hot curls wrapped in her fur. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. She was left tender and difficult to touch without flinching. Cybele hated when mom had that brush in her hand.
Cybele had started brushing her fingers through her fur to ease the pain. Every morning she would wake up a little bit early and brush her fingers through her fur, getting all the kinks and knots out so that mom wouldn’t rip. It had helped, at least just a bit.
Mom was easy to frustrate sometimes.
Cybele had played out in the rain once, as a treat for having won a beauty pageant the week before. She’d come back in muddy, but she was so excited. Mud caked her feet and her fur, much to the chagrin of her mother who made her shower.
After the shower, mom insisted she brush through her fur once again, but in trying to get the leftover clumps out of Cybele’s tail, she began to grumble.
“I shouldn’t have let you play outside like that, now it’s my problem to fix you back up”
Cybele flattened her ears and dipped her head, “Well you don’t have to, mother, we aren’t going anywhere…”
Mom shrugged, huffing, “What if we have guests come over for a surprise! I can’t possibly let them think I have a little mongrel of a daughter running around!”
Cybele thought that was ridiculous, but she let out a shriek as her mother pulled out a clump of fur while brushing, only to be met with a quick, unhesitating smack to the side of her head, accompanied by a loud, almost growling shout, “Stop whining!”
Cybele let out a gasp, placing her small hand where she’d been hit, while the other raised to defend herself from any more. Her mouth hung open in a silent exclamation, eyes wide with shock, filling quickly with tears.
Mom sat there, a wide-eyed expression strung across her face as if she had not intended to do that. She seemed shocked at herself, disgusted, before her expression settled, exhaustion. She stood up wordlessly and placed the brush onto the dresser.
She paused, her mouth open like she was going to say something, until it clamped shut and she turned around, taking a quick stride out of the room and disappearing, leaving only the nanny to take her place, oblivious to the circumstance she came to walk in on.
Cybele didn’t want a nanny. Not then. She didn’t want her mother at that moment, nor her father, no siblings, maids, or nurses. She wanted to be alone.
Mom didn’t talk about that much. She threw out the brush she’d been holding when she did it. She replaced Cybele’s dresser, got new mirrors, bought an entirely new interior design for her bedroom, and a flat iron.
But Cybele remembered. She always remembered what her mother did. Even in her teenage years, she remembered. It was like this heathenish thing she kept secret from the world, ‘guess what my mother did to me’ and she shook every time she thought of it, with fear and nerves.
Things were never quite the same after that. Dad came home more often. Mom strayed away from Cybele even more. The nannies got even closer, and the tutors took her outside more.
Cybele grew older, into her teen years her father allowed her enrollment into a private school he’s selected personally for her. He said it was time she experienced the world, in more ways than just being watched dance around in frilly dresses on stages. Dad said he wanted his daughter to at least know how to talk. Cybele had found herself spending more time with her father just from that alone.
It was exciting, it was new. Cybele found herself in awe at the school she came to. It looked like home, a mansion, classroom upon classroom, two gyms, an auditorium pulled straight out of an opera, a theatre, gardens, and an oddly small amount of people. It was a small population, but what they lacked in people, they made up for in academic success and money. Cybele found herself even interested in sports. She played Volleyball.
Fundraiser banquets were held on the last Friday evening of every month, and each came back with massive success. Cybele made particular heads turn with the brownies she likes to make for the banquet, her dad helped.
Dad had started to grow close to Cybele’s success. After some time, he’d even began to grumble praise, one time he had even placed his hand on Cybele’s head and praised her. That was Cybele’s crowning achievement for a long time.
By the end of her first year at the school, she had already decided on her path in life. She was going to become a nurse.
Dad seemed elated at this decision, for the first time in her life he hugged her, a tight hug with a genuine strength.
Mom seemed less enthused.
“I thought you’d like that I knew what I wanted…” Cybele mumbled quietly, dipping her head as her ears flattened, her hand dragged up her arm in a motion to ease herself. Mom growled at this, “You’d be better off staying home, if you can’t keep your fur curled to perfection, how the hell are you expecting to get a job?”
Cybele cocked her head, but her father beat her to a retort, “Quiet down, woman, she’s going to be a nurse, I’m proud of her and so should you! Who the hell gives a damn about curled fur?”
“How is she going to get a man?” Mom sniped back, dad quickly rose up, his absurd height compared to Cybele’s making the smaller skeleton flinch. “She’ll get a man when she’s ready.”
Cybele left the room after that. Things like this led to mom and dad verbally berating each other for hours on end, and she’d learned to get away from it quickly before it panicked her.
Her mom got her wishes though. While at a banquet, mom and another lady got to talking, she had a son and wanted to introduce him to Cybele.
His name was Paris, and he was definitely handsome, he was smart and charming, but neither of them were quite interested in one another. Cybele didn’t have much of an interest to settle down quite yet. Paris had his eyes on another girl, but in the night, their mothers had kept them together. By the end of the night they were well-acquainted, and Cybele had a bad feeling.
Her mother seemed oddly happy that night while coming home. Dad was working that night and mom was spontaneously making loud remarks about Paris and Cybele. It was tense, and Cybele could feel herself withdraw into the corner of her seat.
The driver's cold eyes stared forwards, mom and Cybele in the backseat were on opposite sides of the car. “I think it’d be good for you to settle down early! He’ll be able to support you!”
“I don’t…” Cybele didn’t want to finish her sentence, her mother already shot her a dirty look, but her smile was still present, mom spat, “Don’t what?”
Cybele flattened her ears, her eyes were wide and her breath began to shake. “I-I…” She drew in a breath, “I don’t want to be supported by him. I want to be supported by you and daddy…”
Cybele knew she had spoken wrong the instant her mother jolted upwards, she tried to hold her hands up before her mother could strike her, but she was too slow. She could only squeak as her mother seized her by her ears, her kicks to defend herself hit only the ceiling of the car as her mother yelled at the driver to stop.
Cybele only remembered the burn of the seat belt as she was kicked out of the car, her struggle to free herself from it where it was around her neck for a moment. Her mother ripped the seat belt back when Cybele finally got free.
“Walk!” Mom almost screeched, tossing a half-empty bottle of water at Cybele before she slammed the door shut, and the car slowly rolled off, before accelerating wildly into the dark.
Cybele’s whimpered, slumped into a ditch. They were on their private road, but there was a long stretch of woods between the main road to their home, and Cybele had been tossed out not even halfway through. The forest was silent for a moment, then the frogs began to scream in the distance, the cicadas wailed to a chorus. Trees croaked as the breeze whistle between branches.
Cybele’s cheeks were hot with tears, a white wind chill swept her skirt around her legs, plastered with mud and ditch water. She blinked, feeling almost unreal for a moment, but each time she opened her eyes back up, she felt her belly sink. Reality hit her like a brick around the tenth time she blinked. She yelled for her mother in vein, she was long gone, and Cybele’s weak shout barely made it across the road.
Cybele sniffled, her breath hitching in her false throat as she began to cry, lost and losing her way in the rain that was beginning to sprinkle down, she collapsed onto the ground, her legs far too shaky to walk. Heavy and a yearning for home, hopelessness nestled in her belly, Cybele laid her head onto a patch of moss, which was beginning to soak with water and was soft. She laid there and cried, whimpering into her arms as she began to shiver, her dress soaked and began to form around her legs, clinging to her bones heavily.
She didn’t remember how long she laid there in the cold and the rain, she didn’t have anything to tell the time, and the dark made her afraid.
If she stayed out here she’d freeze, surely.
That frightened her more than anything, freezing to death out in the cold. So she slowly forced herself off the ground, her body already felt sore just from laying there, it felt heavy with her wet clothes dragging her down. She put one foot forward, slowly, trying not to slip on the wet ground underneath her. She stepped onto the side of the dirt road, the gravel gave only a bit of stability as she forced another foot forward.
Before long she was growing a pace, right foot, left foot, the works, but this felt different. Her steps were weighted and she had to sway her whole body to move forwards. She wiped her tears, which were growing colder with every moment as the rain got heavier and the wind chill swept more of it against her. Cybele squeaked with fear every time the wind picked up. Every crack of a tree branch and loud frog scream made her jump.
She tried to call out again, some vain attempt to find someone, anybody to help her out, but the only sound that came out of her mouth was a strangled, shaking sob. She should have just not said anything, she could have been in her warm bed by now, mom wouldn’t be angry at her… Cybele wiped her tears with a wet sleeve, she was soaked, her dress would need to be washed, or even thrown out.
The sound of gravel under tires made Cybele’s heart skip a beat, the growing glimmer of light on the gravel underneath her made her spin around, caught in growing headlights on the side of the road, shaking with fear.
The car stopped, the lights blinded her as she covered her face, attempting to step off the road- “Cybele!”
Dad’s voice made the little Manx sob out loud, looking back to see her father storming out of the car, into the rain and getting his suit wet as he ran to her, collecting her into his arms, making her squeal in fear, but he had already put her into the car, wrapping a sweater around her and calling for the driver to floor it.
“What happened, why are you out here?” His genuine concern was surprising to Cybele, all she could do was stare up at him with little pink tears streaming down her cheekbones. Dad wiped them away with his thumbs, demanding to know why the hell his little daughter was out there in the rain and the cold in the middle of the night. Cybele only sniffled and cried in reply, wrapping her arms around her father. He hugged back.
Dad carried Cybele inside, he waited for her to wash off and had a maid take the wet clothes to wash, and he gently held her hand as he brought her to her room.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” He asked gently, holding onto her shoulders as he tucked her into her bed. Cybele shook her head quietly, and her father seemed to sigh at this, a look of loss in his eyelights as he leaned back. He gently took her hands and placed a soft peck of his teeth against her forehead, “I’ll want to talk about it soon, y’know?”
Cybele nodded slowly, clutching her father’s hands, which seemed massive compared to hers now, “I know, daddy…" Dad nuzzled her, “I’m so sorry, I should be here with you more, I’m so sorry…”
Dad sniffled, and Cybele felt her stomach sink. Her father wrapped his arms around her, and she wrapped hers around his neck, sniffling into his shoulder as she shook his head. “Was it her? Was it you mother?” Dad almost seemed to beg for the answer.
Cybele cried, sobbing as she answered, “yes…”
Her father seemed to shake before she sighed with that vibrato that always accompanied his voice. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll talk the hell out of her.” He growled as he slowly pulled away from Cybele.
“Don’t hit her!” Cybele begged loudly, her father looked to her mortified, “I would never hit her!”
Then a look of horror crossed his face as Cybele seemed to shake, and he probed, shakily, with reservation as he seemed to take in a breath, “has… has anyone hit you…?” Cybele thought he knew. She thought he had started to grow back into the family because he had found out about what mom had done.
The fact that he hadn’t known made Cybele sob and nod, clinging to her father as he held her close. “Mama did… When she brushed my tail it hurt me, I screamed and she hit me with the brush!”
Cybele sobbed into her father’s shoulder, where he comforted her until she tired herself out.
Mom and dad stayed together, dad explained it away, it was an image he had to maintain. Dad began taking Cybele with him to his work. Dad was a doctor, a well-versed one at that. Cybele’s first job was a receptionist at the hospital, because her father wanted her out of the house, away from mom. Cybele worked afternoons after school to evenings when she waited on a comfortable blanketed cot for her father’s shift to end, or the nice lady who was distantly related to dad’s family through marriage would take Cybele to her home to shower, before taking her home.
Cybele was never to be alone with her mother in the house anymore, the maids were constantly around, always in the same room between mom and Cybele. Mom faced multiple verbal warnings from dad. He knew what she’d done, but telling her outright was evoke her rage. It was haunting.
But things were slowly looking up…