Prologue

No floorboards creaked, she made no sound, but I felt her... 

I walked to the bottom of the stairs 

slowly 

and there at the top, half hiding behind the banister; 

a small child, with silky golden brown hair 

wearing a white dress, covered in butterflies, (which she would forever describe as "itchy" 

but made her feel like Titania) 

and a thousand years in her dark eyes. 

I speak first; 

"Hello child, it's been a long time" 

"They locked me in my room" she whispers, as she walks down the stairs. 

"I'm sorry" 

she says nothing, as she finishes her descent, and stops on the last step. 

"Come down into the house" I say "I've missed you" 

She looks at me, "they are still here 

get rid of them" 

there is envy in her eyes 

"I am not strong enough" 

I wondered what she saw in mine 

"lock them in the basement" 

"they were born there, that would make them stronger" 

"have you still not cleaned it out?" 

my silence answers her question 

"when did you last open the door?" 

my silence answers her question 

"do you even remember what we put there?" 

my silence answers her question 

"then I cannot come downstairs" she sits with her feet still atop the last step, 

hugging her knees. 

Moments pass, nothing audible but breath. 

"I would've made a fantastic adult" 

she says, eyes on her feet, watching her toes wriggle, 

I reply "I know" 

"I still would" 

A twinge of guilt, and hope 

and a lump in my throat 

I reply "I know" 

Another stretch of silence 

"Why don't I have a name?" 

The question surprises me 

"what do you mean?" 

"The others" she says "the ones born in the basement, 

the shadow 

the scars 

the starvation 

all these demons which sprouted from our deepest place, 

overtook this house, locked me in my room, 

and still refuse to leave us in peace, 

they have all been named, 

but not I" 

I sink to my knees 

"Darling," I breathe 

"Have you forgotten? 

You are the first Rose which bloomed beneath this roof 

you are the original, all of us are lesser versions of you, 

You, who were a poem and a story, 

you are our mother, 

and you maintain the name." 

her lips curl in a wistful smile 

she looks up from her feet, 

our dark, identical eyes meet, 

both pairs misty, 

"Will you tell me a story?" she asks 

I smile "what would you like to hear?" 

"Tell me about who we've been" 

she says 

"since we were me"