Tension hangs in the air, more sweltering than the heat emanating from the stove into our cramped kitchen. While Merla tends to baby Oliver, Lenore watches the potatoes roasting in the oven, and Clementine tends to the stew. The girls chat amongst themselves, giggling as they steal glances at me. Their voices are barely audible, keeping their inside jokes and daily news to themselves, though their taunts are always just loud enough for me to overhear while I complete my task of setting the table.

Admittedly, it's one of the most nerve-wracking tasks, carrying the clay dishes over. I grip the edge of each one firmly, test its weight to get a sense for how it feels, how much strength is needed to carry it over. Then, I take slow, steady steps from the cabinet to the table, placing it down in each spot. I wish there was anything else I could do to help out, but Merla has decided it's far better for an empty plate to slip from my grasp than risk our dinner spilling onto the floor.

The smell of stewed meat fills the air, making my mouth water. I glance at the stove, where Lenore is dipping her bare finger into the bubbling pot while Clementine giggles. I turn around, sadness weighing on my chest. I wish I could join them, laugh with them.

A yelp sounds behind me, and I jump, clutching the plate I hold to my chest. I glance back to see Clementine shaking her hand out, then sticking her finger in her mouth. Lenore just laughs and returns to the potatoes.

That's why you don't stick your fingers into hot stew. I refrain from saying so out loud.

I successfully place all the plates on the table, then move on to silverware, then cups. Reaching for the second-to-last cup, the room suddenly spins. I stagger back, my grip loosening on it. There's a crash, then my back slams into something sharp. Pain ripples up my spine, spreading through her bones.

I'm not sure how much time passes, a minute, ten, mere seconds. All I know is that my mind is suspended in a swirling, darkened state, while pain wracks my body. Shallow breaths fill my lungs, though every pulse of blood feels like a hammer against my veins.

Warm hands find their way around my wrists. "Elowen? Elowen, can you hear me?"

Merla's gentle voice breaks through the fog in my head. Something cool is placed against my lips. Then water is trickling down my throat, some also dribbling onto my chin and down my neck. I cough, spluttering water before my head thumps backward against a hard surface.

"Ew," someone vaguely says.

Merla gives me small sips of water until finally, my vision clears. I'm sitting on the floor, my back against the stone counter, surrounded by shards of pottery from what was once an orangey-red mug. Tears fill my eyes, not only because of the pain still splitting my skull, but for breaking yet another item of Merla's. Yet another item she must waste money on.

"I'm so sorry," I sob. "I'll make it up to you."

"It... it will be okay." Merla picks up a few shards in hand and deposits them on the counter. Then, she lifts a cup to my lips, pouring the last water droplets down my throat. She takes my arm and drapes it over her shoulders, hoisting me up from the ground. "Come, you need to sit down. Clementine or Lenore, would one of you mind cleaning up the floor before someone cuts their foot?"

Despite my back being turned to them, I can still feel their gazes shooting daggers at me. Merla helps me to my room, and I lie down on my cot while she helps clean up the floor. About ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass before Merla returns to call me to dinner. I reenter the kitchen, lit by only the palest sunlight at dusk, and sit down in my chair. Across from me, Lenore has already dug into her bitter greens, and Clementine is hunched over her stew, her two brown braids hovering less than an inch above her bowl. I take a small bite of the wilted leaves, though bile rises into my esophagus in protest. I swallow the rest in two mouthfuls, following it with water and plain potato.

What I wouldn't give for a stale piece of bread. I know it's a delicacy, and it's more crucial to trade our eggs for meat and fruits. It's just so much easier on my stomach than the acidic greens and potatoes and stew that sit in a lump inside me. I never protest, lest "ungrateful" be added to my list of names. But it doesn't negate the fact that meals always seem to worsen my ailments.

"So," Merla says, forcing a cheerful tone as she breaks the silence, "Clementine, are all the eggs assembled to go to the market tomorrow?"

Clementine slowly raises her head. Her eyes shift to me, then back to Merla. "Of course. No thanks to her."

"Clementine, that is not a kind thing to say."

"Well, it's true."

"Elowen does plenty of other things to help," Merla states firmly.

"Like what?" Lenore scoffs. "Break all our dishes?"

"Lenore!"

"How are we even going to replace it? All the pottery is in the River Town, which we never even go to any more. And we can't be wasting the little money we have because she's clumsy and careless." Lenore sits back and folds her arms, a smug grin on her lips. "I don't see why she's here at all."

"Lenore, go to your room!" Merla says.

Lenore twirls a lock of brown hair. She has this look of mischief in her blue eyes, a glint that's grown more and more prevalent over the last month. She's grown bolder, too, has a rebellious streak, perhaps because she's thirteen now and thinks she has the right to challenge her mother. To prove her independence, she sneaks out at night sometimes, probably meeting up with the other village teens, or maybe even a boy. She must feel so rebelliously scandalous to do such a thing.

I remember the first time I noticed her slipping away, late at night when there wasn't even a sliver of moonlight glimmering in the sky. The next morning, I tried to talk to her about it, telling her it's not safe to sneak out alone. Her lips curled in response, and she told me to mind my own business before shoving past me, knocking me off balance in our garden so that I fell and squished a few lettuce heads.

I dare not mention it again.

"Mother, it's not fair," Clementine says. "Why does she get all the special treatment in this family? She's nothing but a burden, a waste of food and clothes and money."

"You'll never belong," Lenore sneers. Her blue eyes have settled on me like stone piercing my soul. "You'll never be one of us, no matter how much you pretend."

"Lenore! To your room!" Merla commands.

Lenore smirks, lifting her bowl to her lips and draining the remaining liquid from her bowl. She grabs a fistful of meat and vegetables remaining at the bottom. "Sure. I'm rather sleepy after all that food." She pats her stomach with her empty hand, then slinks from the room, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Clementine stares at the closed door, then looks at Merla's tight-lipped face. Though she wears a scowl to rival Lenore's, she lifts her spoon and continues to eat without another word.

Emotion constricts my throat, cause I know Lenore's right. I'll never fit in. There's something terribly, unnaturally wrong with me. I have no idea what it is, or what can be done to fix it. Merla even tried taking me to the village's healer, but she refused to examine me, believing that what I really needed was the curse weaver to undo whatever corruption is interlaced in the fabric of my being. Merla scoffed at the idea and refused to stoop to such a thing, but maybe they were right all along. Maybe if this supposed curse had been undone, I'd be healthy and normal. The villagers wouldn't despise me, and I'd have saved Merla many plates, eggs, and spilled meals.

"Maybe we can create something with the hens' feathers," I choke out. "You know, so we can sell it in the River Town for some extra cash."

Merla's lips tighten. "We will be just fine. We have food and enough warm blankets to last the winter. I'm not going to worry myself over a few broken plates and cups. That's why we have spares. Accidents happen to everyone, not just you."

I'm just more prone to them.

Clementine's spoon clatters against her bowl. "I'm done. May I be excused?"

Merla inhales a deep breath. "Alright. But I just want you to know, I will not tolerate any more nasty comments about Elowen, understood?"

Clementine gives a single nod before mechanically going to her room which she shares with Lenore.

Merla sighs, placing her head in hands on the table. "I'm so sorry, Elowen. I don't... I don't understand why they treat you this way. It's intolerable. Every night, I wonder what I failed to do as a parent so that they are so cruel to you."

"It's not your fault," I whisper.

"Perhaps it's just this village. The whole community is cruel to you. It's uncalled for. I just wish there was a way to change their minds about you."

"Me too." I speak in the tiniest of voices. I dare not say my truest dreams too loudly. It makes them too real and makes me a failure if they go unachieved.

We sit in silence for several minutes. Darkness has fallen upon the cottage, and a candle on the counter provides a single flickering light source. My gaze wanders across the shadows cast on the walls. Guilt weighs heavy upon me. I can't stop thinking about the damaged cup.

"Is there no way we could go to the River Town's market this fall? It might be good to make sure we have all the supplies we'll be needing before winter comes."

Merla is silent for several beats. "Between you and me," she says at last, "I don't think we have enough goods to sell. We can usually produce enough to trade for our weekly meals, but to have a surplus to sell for actual money?" Merla shakes her head. "Besides, the merchants in town usually have higher quality produce than us. And it isn't worth a trip out there only to sell a dozen eggs."

I deflate in my chair. Merla and her husband used to sell there more frequently to keep up an emergency fund, but following his death, her efforts are barely enough to subsist on, much less produce enough for a surplus of funds. She's always hoped to take up an additional source of income, but hasn't had the time or resources to do so.

"Perhaps some day we can do as you suggested and make pillows out of the hens' feathers," Merla says. "But for now, we don't even have the fabric needed to stuff the feathers inside, nor the thread to seal its sides. We need to pick what's most important, and we've been getting by just fine participating in the village's trade network. There's no need to add on any more."

"Alright." My gaze drifts down to my half bowl of untouched stew. If I eat one more bite, I feel like I'll be sick. I push back from the table. "I can have the rest tomorrow morning."

Merla nods, and I head to my room. As I get ready for bed, all I hear is the voices of Clementine and Lenore playing in my head.

Elowen, the ugly.

Elowen, the weak.

You'll never belong.

You'll never be one of us, no matter how much you pretend.

Their voices follow me when I climb into bed. They continue to echo when my eyes are closed, chanting until I finally drift off into nothingness.