Mother’s come in all shapes and sizes–each one in different in their strengths and weaknesses. I am very grateful for the wonderful mother the Lord blessed me with. He knew that I would need a woman who was a good listener (after all, I am a born storyteller), patient, and a good example of a mother and wife. As I was writing my WIP, a different kind of mother came out. Be glad you don’t have this kind of mother!
(background: Meg is the king’s adopted daughter, but in reality she is his niece. As the king was dying, he revealed that he knew who she was for many years. Now he is dead, and Meg is dealing with wrath of her mother, who is actually her aunt.)
Now they sat alone in the dining room. The crackling fire to her right did little to comfort the chill in Meg’s body. The queen sat at the other end of the long table. Before the king’s death, he would have sat at the head of the table, while Meg and her mother sat on either side. Meg had been surprised when she came in and found two table settings at either end of the table.
She sat down her fork and cleared her throat. “The funeral is tomorrow morning. Is everything ready? Do you need my help with anything?”
“I think you have helped enough.” The queen’s icy tone was nothing new, but it still grated at Meg’s heart.
Meg pushed her chair back and walked around to the table, pulling out the tall, dark wood chair next to Queen Anaya.
The queen wrinkled her petite nose in obvious disgust.
“Tell me, Mother, why do you hate me so?”
The queen took her time setting the fork down and dabbing a cloth over her lips. She ran her tongue over her teeth before leaning in close to Meg, looking her straight in the eye. “Because you are your father’s daughter.”