A blinding light pierced my eyes as I lay in my plush bed. Why did my mother have to do this every day? "Wake up, you lazy oaf!", mother yelled. Before I could turn over to my other side, away from the blinding sunlight, those rock-hard foot pillows were hurled straight for my head and the god-awful stench of wet moldy feet hit me. "The Magi would be here any minute for your physical assessment and you're here in your stinking room!" mother yelled. Her shrilling voice pierced my eardrums. "Mom, I already told you, I am not joining the Academy Arc, so send those sodden old and wrinkle Magi away! Gosh!" I said groggily, still half asleep. All of a sudden, I felt my mother's firm and sturdy hard hands wrap around my ankles and tug me towards the end of the bed. In a different world, these hands would have easily passed for those of a man. Probably someone who had been working in fields with animals. But these were hers. I almost forgot the life she had before now. She was after all the wife of the commander of the Fifth Arc, Jerome Sinkette, my father. And she fought by his side, from the day they were united until the very last battle, the one that claimed his life. The Last rebellion. "Mildred Sinkette, daughter of the Order of the Sphinx, that is no way to talk about the Most Revered guardians of the Holy Runes. And do you think that your father would approve of this behavior you are putting up with?" her lowered to a whisper at the end. I looked up to see her icy blue eyes soften, giving me a glimpse of who she used to be when dad was here. "huuhh", I huffed in distress. She knew that the dad card would always work. "Alright. Excuse me now, I will be ready downstairs shortly" I answered. I listened as her boots clacked against the hardwood floor and my door slam shut. She was gone.
I walked up to my mirror and stared at my reflection in the antique glass. Last year I cut my hair to my chin in a sleek bob. Mom hated it. She said it brought out my sharp jaws and that long hair softened my features. Now it was way past my breastbone. I looked up at my tangled silvery hair and wondered why I wasn't like my brothers. Their rich and fiery auburn locks that would look like tongues of fire when they stepped into the sun. Instead, I was left with my pin straight pale, white, almost silver hair. When I was much younger my father told me that it was because I was from the stars, and that I was special. But now I look at it and all it makes me feel is odd and left out. Wherever I go, I stick out like a sore thumb.
Everyone I knew had bronze olive skin because of the red sun that hung up in the sky 5 out of 9 days in the Uren Week. And then there was me. I stared at my pale and ghastly skin. Stretched over my skinny bones. My eyes were also a huge point of contrast. Instead of the usual bronze or icy blue eyes like my dad's. I had pale purple ones.
As a child I was told that I had a rare genetic disease that caused me to lose pigment in my skin and eyes. But that didn't stop all the bullying and teasing I faced in school. Those awful kids would call me Mildred Darynem because I did look a lot like them. But it was highly impossible to be one of them. They were the despicable enemy that tried to wipe my kind off this planet.
A loud thud downstairs pulled me out from my thoughts and back to reality. I dabbed a bit of translucent powder under my eyes to make me look more awake and less like a suffocating ghost. And finally stepped into the midnight black gown that my mother laid on the bed for me to wear. It was such a beauty, with its ruffles and silver sequins. As I zipped it close, it snuggled tightly against my body, revealing the curves that always hid underneath layers of clothes. I took one last look at my reflection, noting the sharp contrast between my pale skin, silvery hair and the striking gown stuck to my body.