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“You didn’t have to see this.”
That voice, despite its monotone delivery, held a familiar feeling in its scolding. It was not angry at her disobedience, nor disgruntled. Merely disappointed.
The Elliott heir was no stranger to disappointing others. With her disrespectful attitude, her odd behavior, and the awkward way she presented herself to others, it was practically par for the course before she could even walk. Especially from her parents.
She hit her head in a futile attempt to get rid of the sudden painful memories of the horror that she had been a front row audience to. All the blood that had stained the once pristine carpets, mixing with the spelt wine to the point there was no discerning the other. Torn limbs splattering the entire room like decorations of a party. The feral growls mixed with agonized screaming in a twisted form of harmony, the only music provided for the prestigious gala. Eyes, once arrogant yet still full of life, locked in a wide eyed gaze. Her parents. Looking at her. Their lifeless eyes eternally frozen, staring vacantly at her.
She didn’t have to see it. She didn’t have to see any of it. Yet, like the disobedient brat she had always been, she did. Like the disappointing excuse for a daughter she had always known she was, she caused all of this. Her mother was right. Her mother had always been right. And Cyn had -
The teen flinched as she felt cold, slimy hands lightly caressed her cheeks, wiping away the pouring tears that were falling down her face. She didn’t even realize that she was crying, nor that … she had entered her room. How shameful, she berated herself, a lady like her should never cry. Her mother had always drilled that into her. Just another disappointment for -
“Sweetie, are you alright,” the girl paused. The voice, her mother’s voice. So familiar, yet so foreign. Where there should’ve been disgust and hatred, there was worry and concern. If only it was really her.
“Please,” the girl pathetically whimpered, pleading for mercy where she knew there would be none, yet pleading regardless, “please, don’t hurt me.”
Surprisingly, she was given the mercy to cry to herself. To keep her head down, if only for a few seconds, and live a little bit longer in her own world of self-hatred and despair, to just ignore the reality of her situation for just a brief moment.
“Tessa,” But all mercies are temporary, as she had learned in her short life, “I won’t hurt you.”
The Elliott child cried at that. Not because she knew it was a lie, it was always lies and broken promises with her family. No, she cried because of how much she wanted to believe it. To cherish those words. To embrace the sincerity in her tone.
But she couldn’t. For she knew this, all of this, was nothing but a lie. A sick trick made to let her guard down, just too hurt her again. She was no stranger to this tactic, no matter how many times she fell for it. Her father had done it. Her mother had as well. And Cy-
“Shhhh, it’s alright honey,” Tessa stilled, doing everything in her power not to look up, cringing as she felt the freezing hands stroke her lowered head. When was the last time her mother had comforted her? How many times had she cried herself to sleep on her bedroom floor, unable to reach her bed due to her chain not being long enough, wishing for the smooth warmth of her mother’s hands to embrace her form and bring her mind at ease?
“Your mother has been nothing but rotten to you, hasn’t she?” that admission along with her sickeningly sweet tone made Tessa want to laugh and scream.
“All those times you were punished. Embarrassed, humiliated. Whenever you were chained to your room.”
“Stop,”
“How I wanted to hold you, wipe your tears away just so I could see that wonderful smile you have. To be the mother you always deserved,” as much as she tried to resist, Tessa felt herself be pulled in by the soft words.
“I don’t know how anyone could have ever hurt such a bright, wonderful girl like you.”
“Stop,” it was losing battle, and they both knew it.
“You deserved so much more than-”
“STOOOP!” Her scream rang throughout the manor.
Her mother’s voice was no longer speaking, and that gave Tessa a moment of pause. A pause that shifted into sheer terror at what she had done. She had spoken out of turn. The world started to spin, her breathing getting more rapid and shorter with each inhale and exhale.
“ImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorry,” she had broken out into sobs again, tears staining the floor like rainfall. No longer the defiant heir but a frightened worm, pleading to not be punished yet waiting for the first blow.
She waited. And waited. And waited. Till she realized that no blow came. No slap to the face. There was no violently grabbing her arms, digging into her skin so tight that she started to bleed. No wrathful shrieks for her blatant disrespect. None of that.
Somehow, that silence terrified her more than anything her mother had ever done before. She still refused to look up, not wanting to see what was in store for her.
“Tessa,” there was her mother’s voice again. Still soft and warm. Not an ounce of malice nor offensive to be found, “look at me.”
She slightly flinched as she felt those same freezing, wet hands gently, more gentle than her mother had ever done so before, made Tessa’s head tilt upwards. Her eyes, red and sore from all of her crying, looking wide eyed yet longingly at her mother.
Her mother, with skin that looked so stretched and molded together like a worn out costume that it would’ve almost looked comical in another sense contrasted with her near pristine ballroom dress and no ridiculous hat to cover her long, brown hair, tied up in a neat bun. Both wonderfully kept in near perfect condition, far too perfect even by her mother’s standards. The little pieces of flayed skin and dried blood littering her figure that the girl did her best to ignore. And her eyes. Her bright, yellow eyes resembled a pair of X’s rather than the pupils. How Tessa shivered at those yellow X’s paired with how her mouth moved far too wide than what was normal.
“I’m sorry,” once again, Tessa stared blankly, her brain trying to process what was just said to her.
“I’m so sorry you were put through so much pain. I’m sorry I never did anything to stop it until now. I’m sorry,” maybe it was the way she said, or how much she longed to hear those words from her mother, or that she was just too mentally exhausted, but she did not protest.
“I should’ve done so much more for you. I should’ve never let it go this far,” Like a siren’s song, Tessa couldn’t help but hang onto every word that came out of her mother’s voice. She could practically feel the regret coming from her mother’s mouth. It had to be. What else could it be?
“Please, let me make it up to you,” tears were flowing down the girl’s cheeks once again, too busy staring longingly at her mother to stop them. Tessa felt herself lean into her mother’s touch, imagining the comfortable warmth that was meant to be there for her. “Let me be your mother, one that you deserve.”
Despite being entranced by her words, there was still a small part of Tessa that was pleading with her to resist, to fight back like she had always had. And she wanted to. She wanted to fight back. Knew she had to fight back. She couldn’t fall for this. She shouldn’t. She wouldn’t.
But like a fallen dam, her mind was flooded with memories that she could never escape from. Of the terror she witnessed as those she called friends, even family, had gone feral and ripped people piece by piece until they were nothing more than a pile of viscera on the floor. Of the beatings, the punishments she received just for being herself. How she pretended to be fearless when she knew she was a worthless excuse of a daughter.
She just wanted it to stop. She wanted it all to stop. She wasn’t a brave hero that could save everyone. She was just a scared little girl. A scared little girl that only wanted one thing, what she had wanted all her life.
“Mama,” the child croaked out with such fear, like she was five again and calling out for the source of comfort she needed most. This time she didn’t flinch when her mother’s grimy and blood stained arms wrapped around her back. She was too busy clinging tightly to the near pristine dress of her mother’s, her nails digging deep into the soft and slimy skin. All the while burying her head on her mother’s shoulder, not even registering the foul stench of rotting flesh, as her mother’s voice soothed her.
“I-i-i–i-it’s okay, honey. Mama’s here, mama’s got you-u-u-u-u-u,” her heart leaped as she joyously laughed, a wide smile that would’ve stretched just like her mother’s if it were possible. Her sobs became louder and louder as she clung desperately to her mother to the point she was practically glued to her. She probably looked absolutely hysterical. But she didn’t care, why should she? She had everything she ever wanted. She had her mother. Her wonderful mother. A real mother, the one she dreamed of for so long. A good mother.
She could feel her mother, with her yellow eyes like the burning sun, a loving smile beaming down at her hysterical display. It was unbecoming of a lady, she knew. But she didn’t care how she looked, and she was sure that her mother didn’t care now either. She didn’t care how her mother’s touch caused her to shiver at their lack of warmth. She didn’t care how she couldn’t hear the beating of her mother’s heart, or that her mother’s eyes were blue and not yellow. She didn’t care for any of that.
“I-I-I lov-eeeee you, Tessa,” All she cared about right now was her mom, safe and proud of her, caring for her rather than beating her. Adoring her instead of hating her. All she cared about was hearing the one thing that she had wanted, needed to hear. And as that small part of her that begged her to resist faded away, there was only one thing she could say to mark her surrender. In a whisper that only her mother would like her, she said what she had longed to say ever since she was a little girl.
“I love you too, mama.”