I
Ash Taylor put on the beautiful, billowing minidress her mother had given her earlier today slowly and carefully. She then walked down her home’s creaky stairs, past a plethora of religious iconography on the walls and over the doors, including artwork of the Virgin Mary, statues of a gory Christ on the cross, and bunches of thorns. Monica, her mother, sat atop the stool in the room to her right - the prayer room. She was dressed in a stunning crimson gown that flowed down to her ankles and jet black heels that made a “click-clock” noise with each step. Father had given her this lovely outfit many years before.
“Oh, sweetheart,” her mother exclaimed, “you look lovely.”
“Can I see?” Ash said, anticipating her mother to say “no.” Her parents were both against self-indulgence and personal beauty in any form. “You can peek in the mirror when I finish brushing your hair. Today will be quite special.”
Her mother brushed her long, dark hair with the brush softly. Ash's attention was drawn to a portrait of Jesus Christ on the cross that hung on the wall. This vision always bothered her because it appeared as if the Savior was staring directly into her soul. His eyes seemed to scream in pain, his body was covered in blood, and a crown of sharp thorns sliced into the skin on his forehead.
“It’s done,” her mother replied as she stood up. She then motioned for Ash to join her.
Her mother pulled a key from her pocket, inserted it into the keyhole, and carefully opened the door to the cupboard beneath the stairs. On the other side, a cracked mirror hung, and in it, Ash saw a beautiful girl in the reflection. Her. This was the first time Ash had ever been allowed to look in the mirror in her twelve years of life.
Then her mother slammed the door shut behind her and began an enchantment.
“Forgive Ashley for her pride and excess, Lord. Let us never indulge in our own selves, and let us teach others to do so as well. Amen,” her religiously zealous mother prayed.
Step, step. “My word, Ashley - you look absolutely wonderful tonight,” her father, Mark, walked into the room, clad in a posh suit. Once a year, when her parents went to the so-called Midnight Mass, she saw him wear it. She wasn’t usually allowed to accompany them, but they said she was old enough this year. She said, “Thank you, Father.”
“Are we ready to go, Monica?” It’s almost ten o’clock,” her father turned his eyes towards his watch. She nodded and led Ash down the stairs of the house, followed by their father. They all left the house, silently nodding, and climbed into the family’s seven-year-old Subaru Forester.
