"Oh, no, my pet. This is just the beginning."

Little Anne was born in the spring, the time of new life and fresh starts. Flowers bloomed wherever she walked. She was Persephone and Isis and Maia. She was dryad and nymph and woodland spirit. Her clothes always smelt of lavender, because she scattered dried flowers between the layers in her trunk. Her fingers were stained red from strawberry picking, and, whenever she returned to the house from one of her walks, her hair and clothes were covered in burdocks and other clever little seeds. They couldn’t let such a wonderful girl pass without clinging on and trying to become a part of her. She was everyone’s favourite.

Drusilla was born in the autumn, in the in-between time. It was too busy to be winter and too quiet to be summer. The world hovered on the edge of things, unsure which way to fall, and Drusilla lived her life in the same way. Poised between good and evil, between summer and winter, between childhood and adulthood. It didn’t matter. Anne loved her. Anne – who was everything that was good in the world – picked posies for her elder sister, and they sang special songs which nobody else could understand.

( Then the Beast came. )

Prompt: 'Ancient Eyes' Picture Prompt
Word Count: 1298