This is the first in what I hope to be a series of 'Modern' or recreated fairytales. I love these tales and give Brothers Grimm all the credit for making them in the first place. (At least this one.) So please read and afterwards if you liked it: rate this! And feel free to message me. I adore feedback. {Yum!} Banners are also welcome. {Double yum!} Layout && the image to the left was inspired by the incredible ennil @ DeviantArt. This work is copyright (c) SecretofTranquility which means no reposting or plaigurism.
Chapter 1
Anastasia clutched her husband's arm as her contractions slowed. She'd been in labor for hours, praying for an angel to rescue her from the pains of childbirth. A bead of sweat rolled down her easing brow.
"Open the window, sweetie?" She asked, breathlessly.
Paul looked at her quizzically. "It's snowing, babe. You sure?"
"Please, Paul."
He saw her face, with an uncanny likeness to a withering plant. Paul scooped her into a nearby wheelchair, rolling her IV stand and all the three feet to the window. With a grunt her husband lifted the window until it was fully open. Ana looked out the window in wonder. A cool breeze caressed and soothed her clammy skin while her eyes feasted on the untainted inch or so of snow beyond the black hospital window. It was so beautiful...
The mother-to-be leaned forward in the wheelchairs support and spread her spindly fingers over the windows ledge. There seemed to be a metal latch that she hadn't seen and her index finger was cut. She was in a ward on the first floor so she watched in awe as three single drops of blood soaked into the pure white snow. Settling back into the wheelchair Ana sucked on her bleeding finger in thought. The minute Paul set her back onto the hospital bed she announced,
But the rest of her thoughts couldn't be said out loud since her contractions had started up again, this time stronger than ever. If she had been allowed to say what she wanted to she would've added: 'red as blood, and black as ebony'. Anastasia was a poetic soul and somehow the scene beyond the black window had moved her. But, again, the words never came since her labor seemed to kick into its final stages.
Just moments later Ana let out a primal scream: her head was pounding underneath its sheen of cold sweat, almost all possible regions of her body were protesting her baby's leave, and she could feel a rapid loss of blood making her light-headed. Afterwards she didn't have the strength or ability to let out another sound although she didn't have to -- the doctors had removed her baby and were just snipping the umbilical cord.
"Ana, Ana! It's a girl!" Paul shouted excitedly as he heard the news from the masked doctors behind the blue curtain. The curtain dividing the couple from the going-ons of the actual birthing process.
'It's a girl', Anastasia thought her mind slowly and fluidly running out of steam, 'I have a girl'. A smile graced her lips while the monitors attached to her different wires began to pick up volume. Her spirit left the room in blissful peace.
Paul looked from the monitors to his wife's pale face. Ana. Monitor. Ana. Monitor. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. He'd almost gone cross-eyed in his state of frenzy when the doctors summoned him behind the blue curtain.
"Doctor, I think there's something wrong with my wife. The monitors... the monitors..." Paul had began but stopped short when he caught sight of his daughter.
Nurses rushed to Anastasia's bed and adjusted her sheets, wires, and took various tests. Trying to accommodate a corpse. No matter the flurry and commotion of the nurses and assistant's time had stood still for Paul, the father of a little girl. A little girl who was...
"Albino, yes. Technically speaking, hypomelanism. It looks like Type 1 to me but well need to run some extra tests."
Thus the unnamed infant was whisked away through a tumult of tests. Paul -still senseless to reality- trudged to a plastic chair in the corner of the room. He watched the nurses work themselves into a tizzy, hollowly. His eyes were sunken in and dark circles were making themselves underneath. The monitors were still on the fritz but he was effectively blocking out all noise: his wife's health was in danger and his daughter was... he shuddered just thinking about it. On top of the creeping reality of the situation was the oddity: how could she have turned out that way? No one in their family was ever so pale.
A cold hand placed itself on top of his and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Becks." A young blonde nurse said with tears in her eyes.
Paul tried to peer over her shoulder but with no luck.
"You're sorry? What are you sorry for? Who are you sorry for? W-what is it?" The man's voice was now quivering with the emotions of the powerless.
"She's gone, sir. Your wife. She's passed on."
If his eyes had seemed sunken in before that they had taken on an entirely new shape. In them his pupils now seemed hollowed out, emotionless, like his body was in that bleak hospital room but his eyes weren't. They seemed to be somewhere far, far away.
"What happened?" He asked, his voice now completely void of the emotion it held seconds before.
"Heavy blood loss; her body went into shock and she just couldnt handle it." The nurse (who was new to her job as an obstetrician's assistant, her big blue eyes promoting her innocence) had never seen such lack of reaction. To try and comfort the man she informed him, "They're saying your daughter is doing well and you'll be able to pick her up in a few days, like any other healthy baby."
Paul's eyes concentrated back into space, "Thanks miss."
Thus began the chronicles of Paul's life with his daughter, whom he named after the one missing from their family: Anastasia.
Rest in Results
Paul didn't like to think of the couple of weeks that followed that. An empty penthouse, the wailings of an infant he couldn't bring himself to love, and a gaunt aging face in the mirror, twisted from grief. But after two weeks of self-pity and mourning, one particular Tuesday morning he left the master bathroom clean-shaven with a mission. Anastasia was all he had left. She deserved the best he could give her.
Anastasia (the second, he forced on himself) was a delight in her infant years. She was a curious surprise after long hours at the office and humdrum meetings over finance, a laugh in the morning, a joy -albeit messy- on his lunch break: the three different times he could spend with her.
When her toddler years arrived, the discrimination started. She bugged her nanny to put her hair in pig tails, wrapped her face in scarves, or shrugging oversized hats over her head -- anything to distract people from her snowy complextion. Something to stop the pointed fingers. Paul was surprised to hear this, since she was all giggles at home.
In fact, she seemed completely at peace with her situation so much sometimes it bothered him. Like the time he was attempting pancakes (Columbus Day he's insisted on taking off, as well as other holidays that administration ) and pouring in the thick batter over the stove like it was liquid fire. Anastasia was already four years old that Columbus Day, so she was pretty adept at reading faces. She giggled when she saw her father's.
"Dad, you're almost as white as me!"
He blanched at her words, but quickly uncrinkled his toes and tossed the steaming frying pan into the sink and ordered breakfast to be cooked for them. As was usual.
"I wanted to cook for you, honest but..." Paul winced and trailed off.
Ana laughed, "Andre makes the best pancakes. I'd want his more anyway."
They both enjoyed silly conversation over 'the best pancakes' made possibly by Andre, their chef. Sadly, to date there had never been a competition held world-wide to see who could make the best flap jacks, so there is really no telling if there was someone who could top Andre and his pancake-making abilities. But if there was Paul would be able to afford him or her. That was just how successful Royal Enterprises was.
Those were the days. Giggles in the kitchens, jumping in puddles from the rain, backstage passes at the Central Park zoo, making shredder "magic", soap bubbles and rubber duckies at bath time, and watching the sun set over the Twin Towers from their back patio. But those days ended only a few, short months later: because happiness isn't really true happiness until you've gone the steps backwards; unless you've pursued joy, worked for it and finally appreciated it.
Enter in Daniella.
It has been revised: comments and critiques are welcome. <33
