(1939-02-05) I Told The Truth;
Details for I Told The Truth;
Summary: Esther told the truth. What does it bring?
Date: 1939-02-05

The piece of parchment has been hastily taped back together, the torn lines obvious where it doesn't match up, where cellotape obscured words and joins pieces. It looks as if it were torn into tiny pieces, and tossed into the nearest bin.

"Ester." It's how Wilheminia began every lesson. Normally while Esther sat, subject to her words, watching the wand that always sat at her mothers side. Willow. Whippy. Eleven and a half inches, precisely. "Truth is a commodity. Traded. Kept in strict control. Sometimes we trade truth we don't have. Sometimes we need to make truth to trade. Do you understand, girl?" Esther felt herself nod, her hair spilling over her shoulder. Covering the right hand side of her face, where the skin was still red. Where the purpling over her eye socket had begun to return to normal, from the salve that had been rubbed into it. "Truth. What do you intend to tell Anthony?"

"Nothing, Mother." Esther's voice was soft. Meek. She barely made a sound.

Wilheminia nodded. "Just so. Should he catch on?"

"I fell." Esther's answer is immediate.

Wilheminia smiled, slightly. The same uncomfortable looking expression her daughter would one day come to wear, only a little less awkward and a little more predatory. "Just so. Who do you trust, Ester?"


I learned never to trust anyone. The first time I told my father how scared I was when he left, I was assured that my mother was a capable witch. One who would protect me from harm. But for my peace of mind, he'd tell her that I was worried for my own safety, so she could keep an extra eye out.

She didn't bother blasting the lock off. Or unlocking the door. She spoke clearly, so I could hear her shrinking the locking mechanism and rendering my door useless. And she reminded me of what a capable witch she was.

Every person I've trusted has turned on me, some way or another. Used my feelings, my body, hurt me, took what they wanted and tossed me aside. This year, it's been extensive. And to have Silas ask me… Provoke me, about trust. It's hard. Hard to trust. Hard to take the hurt, and then keep looking for tomorrow with hope for it. I can't tell if he's honest about his belief or not - While I don't doubt his story, I can't believe that anyone can keep that kind of attitude and remain sane.

And before my mind turns to Zayn; No. I don't doubt him. Zayn does as Zayn does because it is what he must. He might believe in it, he knows it's right… But it's not always what he wants. I believe that. I believe that… Every now and then, Zayn dreams of what it might be like to be someone other than Zayn. And I want to be something that's there for him. And him alone.

Trust. I used to think it was for the foolish, and the dead. Maybe it's for Esther Lowe. Maybe I should find it in my to let more people through the gaps in my armor, let go of the fear that paralyses me. Trust Variel, not to take advantage of me again. Trust Myrus, not to reveal my secrets. Trust Medusa, not to control me.

I trust. I trust people to do what they've done. Be who they are. I trust Silas to outwardly do what he thinks is right. I trust Zayn to be good. I trust Variel to take the opportunities given. And I trust Genevieve, to serve her own interests first. That's trust of a sort, is it enough? Why should I give more?

Silas. I gave you the truth. Let's see what you do with it, before I consider letting anyone else in.

"Not even me?" Wilheminia asked. It's hard to tell whether the answer angered or pleased her.

Esther swallowed. Scared. "Especially you."

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