I haven't posted a story here for a while, and this one you may blame entirely on my good friend Licia, who made me look at the vampire story she was cowriting...

I hope you enjoy it.

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Propriety

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A proper girl does not close her eyes, waiting in the hallway for class to start, and shiver as fingertips trail from the hollow of her throat to the back. She does not catch her breath when she feels a sharp pricking where neck and shoulder meet. There are no phantom voices trailing her as she stands and walks into the classroom. The hairs on the back of her neck do not raise, the skin of her shoulders and throat does not shudder when she sits and listens to the professor.

A proper girl is not stalked on her way outside by whispered words and laughter. She is not haunted by caresses as she walks, touches stroking down the crown of her head, her neck, her spine. Dreams do not haunt her at night, in the day when all fantasies should be forgotten. Her eyes are not unfocused, her hands and fingers are not tensed into claws as she waits for the bus to arrive.

Proper girls appreciate the darker shades of clothing for their cool and professional appearance. Proper girls go to their beds at night to sleep; they do not lay in that place between dream and thought and listen for crooning lullabies. When their fingers are nicked peeling potatoes, their knees are scraped from falls, they rinse the wound and bandage it right away. They stride confident through the day and find nothing strange about the night.

You have never been a proper girl.

As an infant you were curious, but not at noon, and not when the sun burned fiercely after. We did not think of it, then, for the days were hot in summer to sap one's strength, and we also preferred to rest. When you woke at night we called it normal, and were only grateful that you cooed instead of wailing as so many others would do. You stayed in your crib when we slept instead of trying to crawl out, as your mother's sister did, and her babes. Those days we, cautious as we normally were, let you cut yourself on a rock or a thorn, you did not cry out. You were an easy baby. We thought no more of it than that.

You grew. As a toddler you were remarkably tolerant to pain. We found you once watching a thin line of blood thread down your knee, and took you to get a bandage. You protested: you called the red pretty, and like to watch it color the lake-water. When you fell and split your scalp open, we took you to the doctor. He wanted to restrain you, but you only lay quiet, watching him intently, as he placed the stitches. We were worried, but you did not have a concussion.

And yet we did not think of these things at the time. If you were at times a fey child, you were a perfect one as well, amusing and obedient, intelligent for your years. You memorised your books at an early age, and adored your elders. Instead of playing with dolls you pretended to be an animal, most often a dog or a puppy, changing to call yourself a wolf as you grew a little older and we acquired an actual dog. When your sister was born she was not so complacent, and we only found you more enchanting for your easy way and open nature. You took to lessons, when they came, with enthusiasm, learning to read and spell even difficult words with ease, adopting the encyclopedias as your own special delight and province. If you did not care, at times, to wear your clothes, or to stand on two feet, it was a mild price to pay. And you grew.

We moved out of our sheltered existence and stable life to a small town in a desert. You thrived there, under our eyes and your caretaker's watchful gaze. Your keeper there had a large ranch, and you befriended the mastiffs, the barn cats, the horses, the goats, the chickens, as free with the enormous dogs as you were with other children. You rose at dawn every morning, unwilling to miss the changing colors, and laughed at the winds that nearly blew you into the roads, the thunderstorms that crashed down around our hilltop house. The open spaces did not frighten you, and you learned both to rove and to be still, silent, until the little mice would come out from their holes and move about you. You chased lizards, snakes, and grasshoppers as your lawful prey, and brought them proudly back. For our part we were thankful that you avoided the poisonous serpents and scorpions, if bemused by the regular offerings. You were, after all, a girl. Proper girls did not catch snakes or run about naked; they did not sit still enough to surprise a hawk or learn to sleep in treetops. It was an innocent time. We did not see behind you.

Perhaps, after all, we could not.