Puppet Strings

When the mysterious men arrived at my door I knew they had come for me. The sun shimmered off my window throwing light that danced in front of shadows. From watching upstairs, as they opened the little gate and made there way rigidly down the grass sprung path, I could see concern and weariness glaze the corners of their blank eyes and felt a shudder roll down my back. They wanted me to trust them – I knew that. But I would treat them how I treated every one else, slip this mask on that wasn't me.
I straightened my back and creaked open my door, letting my red hair cascade in front of me and my black eyes scan the hall way. Being eight years old it was easy to slip with in the shadows, even where the warm finger tips of summer couldn't brush with their blossomed scent and warmth. I tiptoes towards the stairs then sat by the banister, leaning against it's cool slick wood how I always would when I need comfort, and listened to what stirred below.
They rapped three times with their knuckles and a clatter of plates rang from the kitchen as my mother whipper her washing gloves off, no doubt sending suds sliding down the wall, tumbled from the washing up to answer it – as father kicked up his feet with his coffee and turned the next page of the paper.
“Oh my.” I herd her gasp as she opened it. “you are?”
“We're here to talk to Aprella.”
“I'm sorry who are you -” they obviously gave her some sort of look that made her breath quicken and her stumble over words, “Of course I'll get her – Ella! Come down stairs please.” I sat there for a moment more to gain my character, then strained my back, pushed my nose up and padded down the stairs.
“What.” I snapped, glaring at her then looking up at the men and giving them a sugary smile.
“We need to talk to you,” one as black as his suit was said, his diamond bright eyes hidden in the shadows of his deep brow. The other, wiser and in his thirties, gave a less forced, warmer smile.
“Alone.” he added, glancing apologetically to my mother.
“My room.” I ordered, spinning on my heels and marching up the stairs.
I had insisted my mother to paint my room red, everything revolved round that I wasn't sure why.
“Sit down.” I ordered, having too much authority and intelligence for an eight year old. They looked at each other with mused sculpted faces and knowledge sketching in their eyes, as they sat down on the soft duvet of my bed in the small room.
“You've come to take me.” I kept my face blunt and uncaring.
“Indeed small one – but not quite yet. You are most extraordinary.”
“I know.” I smiled again, not letting it touch my eyes.
“We know you know.” the other laughed. “That's good.”
“However we don't have much time little one and must cut to the chase if that's okay with you?” I nodded firmly.
“You see though, you are too good for this world, normal jobs and so on. So come to school with us. Learn how to control and improve your power.” the younger one has slate grey eyes, pale skin and ash blond hair.
I leaned back on my chair.
“What do we tell my parents?”
“That, my friend, is up to us. You shall not start for quite a few years. We've come to give you the option. Ignore your powers? Use your powers. It's completely up to you. If you choose to use them, welcome to our world.”
“Wait,” the darker skinned one said, with light flickering eyes, “your parents don't know?!”
“She wishes not to tell them.” the other turned to him and smiled. “She's independent.”
“I guess it's better that way. Then you shall simply have a scholar ship. Or so be the excuse.” I leaned forward with greedy eyes.
“Tell me,” I whispered, “what you can do?” they both chuckled.
“All in good time.” one smiled and the other repeated him under his breath.
“Alllllll in good time.”