angeleyesgilly

[angeleyesgilly]

⇋ Name: Gillian Daaria Marin.

⇋ Nicknames: Gill, Gilly, Angel, Sissy.

⇋ Age: 19. [Real Age: 25].

⇋ Birthday: May 19th, 1994.

⇋ Astral Sign: Taurus.

⇋ Sexuality: Heterosexual.

⇋ Hair Color: Blonde.

⇋ Eye Color: Brown.

⇋ Height: 5’7.

⇋ Identifying Marks: Large circular scar on abdomen, wing slits over shoulder blades.

⇋ Unique Features: Wardrobe from different eras.

⇋ Species: Angel.

⇋ Occupation: Veterinarian (future!verse), Co-Owner of an animal sanctuary (future!verse).

⇋ Parents: Grayson Marin (father), Mary Marin (mother), Caterina Morgan (step-mother).

⇋ Known Siblings: Kate Morgan (step-sister), Lydia Morgan (step-sister), Rosa Morgan (step-sister), Lola Marin (half-sister).

⇋ Children: TBA.

⇋ Other Relatives: Isobel Holt (cousin), Chastity Holt (cousin), Lilian Holt (aunt), Victor Holt (uncle).

⇋ Marital Status: Single (currently), Married to Qhuinn (future!verse)

⇋ Romantic Partners: TBA.

⇋ Inhabitance: Henderson Asylum (formerly), North Carolina (formerly), Florida (currently, future!verse).

⇋ Faceclaim: Lily James.

⇀ Personality;  Gillian is kind, selfless and self-sacrificing. She has always prided herself on her compassionate and forgiving nature. It was only easy to see how alike her nature was to an angel. She was always known to take risks if they meant they could lead to her happiness and the happiness of others. For a young woman she’s learned to be very brave. Although she does not blame all men for what happened to her before she became an angel, she does have trouble being near them. She's rather jumpy and can be super cautious, though she isn't afraid to hop in the line of fire if it comes to protecting someone that she cares about.

⇀ Biography;  Gillian had a good life at least for the first seven years of it. She grew up in a small town in England with her mother and father. She was well cared for, tended to and had a loving relationship with both her mother and father. When she was six, her mother grew ill with cancer, and the illness developed rather quickly as it’d been in the third stage, and just before she turned seven, her mother passed away. She was heartbroken over the loss of her mother, but learned to adjust. Near the end of her eighth year in life, his father took another wife. She was much colder, not half of the life that her mother had been, but Gillian welcomed her into their lives with open arms, doing her best to be kind and impress her new step-mother. Her step-mother brought three other children into the house, three daughters. Gillian didn’t get along well with the older two. The middle was constantly stealing stuff from her room and making fun of her, while the oldest would just blatantly ignore her despite Gillian’s best attempts to make nice with her and the other. She got along well with the youngest of the three, and they became rather close, the youngest even seeing Gillian as a sister. When Gillian was thirteen, she ended up walking into the garage at the wrong time, it resulted in her witnessing her step-mother beating the eldest of her step sisters. Gillian was told if she told anyone, she would suffer a worse fate than taking a beating. It took her some time, and it being announced that her step mother was pregnant but she eventually told a social worker at fifteen. It was investigated and the case was dropped. At eighteen, Gillian’s father died of a heart attack, leaving behind his two daughters. Gillian started to suffer the same abuse and mistreatment as her step-siblings, and she stayed for one reason, to protect the others. Two months later, the youngest of her step-mother’s children from her first marriage died and another investigation started, this one ending in the children being removed. Gillian was called into an office, and she was told her father had expressed desire for her little sister to be looked after by Gillian should anything happen to him. Gillian agreed to take in her three year old little sister and raise her, the government helped some, but not enough. Gillian ended up working two jobs just to ensure her sister had a better life. One night, while Gillian was putting her sister to sleep, she heard a window smash. She hid the both of them in the closet, but realizing that they were getting close, she instructed her sister to climb up the shelves and to the entryway to the attic and not to come out unless Gillian told her to. Gillian went out to face whatever was there, hoping to lead them away from her sister. They held her at a weapon’s point and had her tell them where all the valuables were. Just as one was loading the car, the other decided to make a move on her. She tried to get him away, but he had the weapon. She was raped by him, and after he’d finished using her, he stabbed her in the stomach and left her for dead. Gillian did die, however in the moments after her death, she was told by angels she wasn’t meant to die so young, and if she wanted, she could cross on and be at peace, or she could become an angel. Gillian thought the best thing she could do was become an angel and help people. The first thing she did after turning into angel was go to find her sister, it was at that time when she was caught by the asylum. Her time in the asylum was a great struggle, as a great deal of it was spent in the basement being tortured. She became a favorite experimentation of one of the doctors. She met Qhuinn, a werewolf who she became friendly with during the times she was free and grew close with him, at first starting as friends. At one point in her time at the asylum, the doctors recaptured her and brought her to the basement where she was shown her little sister on the brink of death. She was offered a deal to save her, part of it being to agree to help the doctors. She saved her sister, and then was forced to deal with something else, her attacker. She goaded into trying to torture him, instead, she killed him out of mercy knowing the doctors would do what she didn’t. She tried to go on with her life, and when they were freed she and Qhuinn started a life outside of the asylum with Lola. Along the way, she reunited with her little sister Kate, who’d been revived as an angel.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Mort Part 2.

● Setting: Henderson Asylum, 2014. ● ❝I was pure as a river, but now I think I'm possessed.❞ ● Trigger Warnings: Gory depictions, direct references to rape, direct mentions of murder, death.

Gillian didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave Lola, for the starters. They said that was what the guards were for. That they’d linger outside of Lola’s door and protect her against threats. But Gillian knew they were only human. Those guards were not a complete barrier. They were next to helpless against the countless supernaturals. She didn’t trust the doctor either, she didn’t trust that he’d make sure those guards were ready to lay down their lives like she would for Lola at any moment.

She didn’t trust that they wouldn’t just sweep her sister away, or that she wasn’t leading herself to sudden doom. But most of all she barely found the strength to stand, every single step was like dragging herself across shards of broken glass. It was consistent with how she’d felt when the force of her life was pouring from her body. Dizzying, exhausting, like she may drop in those very moments.

She wanted to collapse into bed. She wanted to stay there, weighed down by her turmoil and pained. But she couldn’t. She’d made the deal. She’d made the deal to help. And that deal seemed to mean being called upon. A part of her wasn’t sure she could handle it, feeling another blade bite into her skin, feel herself being poked and prodded at with the memories of the autopsy report being so fresh. She could ask for them to knock her out. But that would be worse. She’d only wake up again wondering what had been missing, what they’d taken from her.

But Lola was what mattered. She had to keep going for Lola. No matter what. She’d keep going. Even if it meant really dragging herself over broken glass. Lola was more important than anything, even her own pain. Gillian had walked down along the hallway, trying to hide the fact she felt so hollow, trying to hide how truly broken she had been left. She didn’t want to show weakness around this doctor. He was particularly sadistic. And while she wondered what made him that way, she was not completely numb to the knowledge of his sadistic nature, his enjoyment of the pain he’d caused her. A part of her felt bad that someone had come to be like that. But in her depths, even in her Gillian-type nature, she did not like him.

Near the end she was blindfolded. She didn’t like the blindness. Not with the trauma still weighing heavily on her shoulders. She did not like the way she felt helpless, completely susceptible for more pain. She tried to hide the fact tears sprung to her swollen and tired eyes as she walked, led around by the hands of the doctor. Her skin crawled at his touch. The nausea stirring again. She wanted to flinch away, but she knew it’d do no good. Once more she was bound by the hopelessness, as well as her dedication to appear compliant enough to keep Lola. Even if it meant experiencing more pain.

And finally, her walk had ended. Or at least the blindfolded portion. She could tell by the scent of it that she knew this place. It was the same dank smell of rot and mold. Decay. The basement. A new flood of memories accompanied the fresh wounds in her mind of the assault, of her death. Her torture. Her day spent in this basement being tortured and pried and picked apart, only ever experiencing blessed relief in her unconscious state. A relief from the pain. Knowing she was being cut open had served her no better than not knowing. Both scared her. Both traumatized her in a different way.

She didn’t need her sight to know this place. She hadn’t realized she’d broken from reality briefly, spiraling in the memories of the dirty basement until she heard the familiar voice of the man who’d tortured her. It made her skin crawl. Like there were small bugs traveling over her. Every hair decorating her body stood on end. And as usual, she felt tense.

“Little angel,” the voice alone had part of her spiraling back into the memories. The cut of his blade as he would sing the nickname in the singsong tone. Pain spiking through where he’d cut open. His absent humming, as if he was doing something menial like writing a grocery list. “We called you because we have a task for you,” she was so simmered out on her emotions, she felt something she rarely ever felt, annoyed. As if his words hadn’t indicated the obvious. Instantly she felt guilt at thought. Even with this horrid man, she felt guilty for even thinking something rather rude. And then she felt shame for being such a pushover, quickly believing it was this thinking that had led her to both attacks in the first place. Then more guilt and shame because she’d felt the shame to begin with. It was a rollercoaster, one reaction spiraling another. And her mind pulled her off in different directions.

“What is it?” She eventually answered, her voice strained, tired, weak even. As much as she wanted to seem strong and unbroken. She couldn’t. Not in those moments. She couldn’t muster the strength in her voice.

“You’ll see,” and once more, that unwelcome annoyance came. She grit her teeth. The vague nature of these tasks grated on her. It grated on the thinly worn nerves she already had. It was so ugly, this anger, this annoyance. She hated the emotion so much. It pained her just as much as the mental trauma did. Worse because she knew she was letting it contort her into this. Guilt once more.

But she followed after him when he started walking. It was clear he would not wait. The path was very similar. It stood out. She had walked this one only a few days ago. She recognized some of the defining features as she walked. A crack that was shaped into an odd formation in the wall. A scant, stained piece of paint that remained relatively derelict, the rest having fallen off that was shaped idly like one of the countries she’d seen on a map. She couldn’t remember what it was right now. Then there was the scent difference in the air as well. The way something more sterile could be caught in the air as they entered the new environment.

This was the path she had walked to reach Lola. And soon the environment had changed entirely. The dank and dirty basement was gone, and it looked like a clean medical facility. The assault of bright lights and blaring, obnoxious white color in the room hurt her eyes that were both sore from crying and had adjusted to the dark. She didn’t throw up a hand to her eyes. The pain helped her focus, bringing a sharp clarity to the fog that had settled in her mind from the tiredness. It did take a moment to adjust enough to see properly. The room was fairly basic, as she remembered it. Only this time there were three lab coat wearing people perched at a table in front of the window. With their heads bowed, she could tell they were writing something by the odd almost scratching noise of a ball point pen on paper. She recognized it from school. It was the first memory that hit her that night that wasn’t so totally unpleasant. Exams that had once stressed her out seemed so simple to her now.

Two brunettes and a blonde. One woman, two men. The woman was slight, short from what Gillian could see. One of the men was rather small too, slight in size to the point where she was immediately sparked with concern if he was being fed enough. She hadn’t worried too much about the way the other doctors were treated before. She always had other thoughts on her mind. The other man seemed like he should have been a line-backer on a football team. She immediately wanted to shrink away, identifying him as a bigger threat in a pure, instinctual way. But she fought that urge. “We have a new subject that we’re watching particularly closely, someone we picked up a few days ago. We’ve tested him,” there was a rather twisted grin following that, one that showed that the man seemed to enjoy what he had done. One that also indicated exactly what “tested” meant. She felt some sympathy for whoever the subject was, once more being reminded of her own painful torture. “But there’s a few questions we simply can’t get out of him. We thought maybe he might…be more forthcoming with a fellow supernatural,” there was the same sly tone in his voice that made her think there was more than he was telling her. But she was truly too tired to think about it. She couldn’t focus on it. She just wanted to do what they wanted of her and get back to her room. “Okay, what do you want me to ask?” She asked him carefully. She feared the questions would be grueling or cruel. Gillian did not want to be cruel. She’d lost so many battles this night, had been so tired she had been reduced to annoyance and anger, she did not want to have to be cruel to some creature whose only crime had been being a supernatural.

“How he’s been receiving his blood, what he did in the human world to blend in, how he coped with his supernatural nature,” he trailed on and on, listing off questions she truly didn’t believed mattered to what they planned to do with whoever it was. But she quickly determined that the creature was a vampire. There was an odd itching in the back of her mind. Something telling her there was something strange about this. But the itching, that small possibility she knew something she couldn’t drag out was so tiny, she couldn’t be bothered to drag it up.

Once more, the familiar man gripped her arm. He put a wide girth between her and the window. She didn’t get much of a chance to see anything through it. Once more, it was strange, and a part of her felt paranoid, that maybe she was being led into a trap. The door was opened, and her footsteps were more hesitant and careful, resisting the fast pace the man was trying to establish as he pulled her.

She noticed more about the room this time. It didn’t have the same set up as it had when Lola was here. The room that had looked clinical and cold before had a more sinister nature to it. The lights were harsh and blinding, and she could smell the metallic scent in the air that told her blood had been spilled in this room. And then she saw the tools that lay idle on the table. Surgical tools were there, no doubt about it. But there was much more than that. There were tools that had no place in a medical facility. Tools that she remembered being used on her in times of the man’s “fun.” She recoiled almost at the sight of the torture devices alone.

Then she saw it. She saw what had been waiting for. The subject. The man she was supposed to speak to. She saw who lid on the table, strapped down with straps that were clearly slicked with moisture. Moisture that seemed to be causing what looked like smoke rising from the contact. Binds soaked in some sort of poison. That was not her focus. The faint sizzling sound held little in the way her ears began to ring once more when she saw the familiarity in the face. She saw the familiar structure, the brown hair crowning his head, tousled and messy. The fully oval shaped face. The harsh, thick bushy brows that were a few shades darker from the hair. She remembered what that face had looked like, contorted in sickening pleasure as moisture beaded the skin that she remembered to be clammy and disgustingly warm. She remembered the thicker, sturdy build that much reminded her of the doctor she’d seen in the adjoining room. The build that had allowed him to hold her down and put her completely at his mercy as he ripped away her innocence. The world spun, her body began to shake violently, the perfect combination that sent her crashing to the floor. The ringing in her ear’s made the hollow scream of terror sound far away as the world went black around her, the last thing she’d been able to coherently see was the face of her rapist. -- Gillian came to with her body still violently shaking. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think couldn’t speak. She was lost. Lost in a place she was scared she couldn’t come back from. It was all so raw here. Every emotion was so illicit, full and intense that she felt nothing but that. And it felt like it was ripping through her mind painfully. Like a headache, only as if someone was shredding her brain from the inside out as she was forced to endure it. She wasn’t aware of anything. The passage of time meant less now. She wasn’t even sure what time was now. She wasn’t sure of anything. Just the pain. The pain. It was acute. It was so sharp and intense she felt nothing but it. The divides of physical and emotional had broken down. It was just her. Just her and that pain, nothing else. Nothing to bring her back.

Wave and wave of pain hit her, and the more it hit the more she succumbed to her seizing state. Lost in the world of it. She wasn’t sure how long it took her to come back. She didn’t know. Slowly but surely those waves of agony slid back away, slinking into the recesses of her mind as she started to gain some control back. Gillian wasn’t entirely sure what dragged her back from the netherworld of torture either. But as she started to feel and become aware again, she felt pain stinging her face. Sharp pain. It wasn’t quite the same as what had been happening in her head. Much duller compared to it. It had a quick zinging nature to it. It wasn’t so deep, but the nature of it was enough to bring her some control. She ended up rather fervently clawing at her stomach. It was different from her usual prodding at the scar. This was desperation to feel her clawed nail-tipped fingers hit something solid. That scar to anchor her somehow. There was more pain with that, and she was certain she’d ripped her dress more. The pain held, and the realization that the scar was there, asking as its usual anchor helped too. Finally the shaking stopped. She opened her eyes, not even aware that they’d been closed. She hadn’t been aware of anything but the agony in the place she’d been in, in the recesses of her mind. And what she saw with the blinding light was the face of the man she disliked so much. And he was grinning. That sadistic, twisted grin that showed he relished in the pain that had been brought to her by seeing this man. It glared down at her, accompanied by the glint of amusement in his eyes. The ugly, ugly anger flushed through her unlike it ever had before. Pouring into her limbs, igniting her with a fiery hatred she’d never felt anything of the kind before. It pushed through the bounds of her tired body and mind, it lit her up. And she was so lost in it she couldn’t even despise the emotion. She couldn’t bring herself to meet the violet and chaotic motion with her usual disdain for it. But she knew turning it on the doctor would be unwise, even in her blind anger. She was on her feet in a minute. Her body vibrating, the shaking lower this time, quivering through her. The adrenaline sparked by her anger, or the purity of the emotion racing through her. She didn’t resist as she walked towards the table, stalking was more like it. Quick, long bounds of her legs, wasting no time in reaching the table to stare down at the man on it. He looked scared. It was different, and for a minute, she felt a sick twist of pleasure. How he’d frightened her by throwing her into a world that had been familiar to him, and now he lay at her mercy, frightened of the girl who should have been dead. Even in her state though, she felt immediate guilt. Immediate guilt for that brief thought. She wasn’t like this. She fought the anger. “You’re dead.” The statement might have sent her into the dissociative nature once more, torn between if she was alive or dead. But she couldn’t battle past the rage enough to spiral in confusion again. She was too angry. Her entire body shook with it. “I was dead,” she said simply, the stiff tone in her voice surprising even her. “You killed me.” They hurt to say. But she was not greeted by flashbacks this time. The anger blocked those out too. No intense flashbacks, just memories that fueled the anger. “You drove a knife into my stomach, twisted it,” her hand came to rest on the table, gripping it rather tightly. Her hand was shaking too. That terror didn’t leave the man’s eyes. But there was no pleasure with it this time. That brief jolt had woken her up enough for that. But slowly, something washed over his face. She could tell it was forced. Tell the bravado pushed onto his expression was put there by desperation alone. A smirk came onto his face. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was enjoying it too. “Well I really fucked you up didn’t I?” His voice reminded her of a less contained version of the doctor who took such joy in torturing her. Sadistic and twisted. But this was rawer, not so watered down or disguised like the doctor’s was. Gillian snapped. Something inside of her snapped. Different from the pain. “Superficial wound on the neck. Bruising on the knees with an abrasion to the right knee. Bruising on the legs conclusive with that of fingerprints. Pulled muscle in the left leg. Entry wound in the abdomen indicating the blade had been twisted with puncturing to the liver,” she stated it off, listing off things she’d read in the report, each one delivered with a cold, harsh nature she’d never thought she was capable of. It was like nothing she’d heard before, not from herself, and it shook her to the core. But she couldn’t stop. “Minor abrasion to the labia minora,” she was shaking harder now, and the emotion was slipping through in that cold tone, the shakiness evident in her voice. “Deep tearing to the posterior fourchette,” she was shuddering now, and thrown back into reliving it. She could feel him inside of her again, feel the pain lancing through her body. She hadn’t been able to scream. Her mind was at a war with itself. She felt like she might implode. “Torn hymenal tissue,” she became aware of hot tears spilling down her face again. She wasn’t fully there. Once again she was back in the mindset of what had happened. Anger was gone. Most of it was, replaced by despair and pain.

She wasn’t really looking at him. She couldn’t. She saw him in her mind anyway, over her body, ripping into her and enjoying every minute of her pain. “That’s right little angel, show him what he did to you. Make him feel it,” she heard the voice, and it reminded her of a serpent almost, in the way it seemed so sly, so cold. The doctor, he was taunting her, goading her on, encouraging her to give in to the darkness. “He killed you, and he almost killed your little sister. Make him feel your pain.”

She looked up at the doctor, shock forming in her eyes. It all came together now. She was not here to ask questions and make inquiries about this man’s feeding patterns. She was here for another game. This was a torture, just like any other, a test to taunt her into a darker path. He was pushing her to see if she would break, give in. He wanted her to torture the man like she’d been tortured, to unleash hell on him. “Come on little angel, if you don’t do it, I will,” his voice was a threat, showing that either way this man would meet the same fate. She slowly looked down at the man who’d killed her, her murderer. Her eyes were wide, vulnerability and shock painted in them. It was hard to believe almost. She couldn’t believe what was happening in those moments. But the most shocking part was that small, angry part of her born of trauma and pain wanted to give in. It wanted to hurt him, to make him feel her pain in its entirety, to take everything from him like he’d taken to her. And it terrified her. That tiny part of her scared her so deeply, but she could not quiet it, she could not push it down, or hide it away. It was there, raging and trying to build in her mind, to take up base. Whatever was in her face must have flashed in her eyes because the man’s demeanor changed again. “I would have done it to your little sister to you know. I would have drained her just enough so that she was dizzy, tired, near the very edge of her death. I was going to do to her exactly what I did to you. I was going to tear into her and make her last moment’s Hell, watch the light fade from her eyes and feel the power of every second of it. I would have done it.” The anger gained more ground.

It was winning. One of her shaking hands that had gripped the table he was strapped on began to reach for the different table, the one laid out with different hellish looking devices. Different blades and wooden knives. She’d never seen anything like it. Never seen these things before. But the more he spoke. The more her raved and ranted it made her anger flare again. She wasn’t sure what she was reaching for. Something, anything to start the path of pain and vengeance. It was a little wooden knife. Small in size. But she didn’t want something big. She wanted something to hurt, but tear away slowly, like her mind had been doing since he’d hurt her in the beginning. “That’s it little angel, that’s it,” the voice encouraged her. “Do it!” The man was roaring this time, her attacker screaming at her, as if he was begging for the pain. “Rip into me like I ripped into you, tear me apart!” Her hand shook, and she was ready to. Ready to succumb. She wasn’t sure where she would target. Anywhere. Anywhere was fine with her. She just needed to satiate the need to avenge herself, to defend herself in the way she should have in the first place. Defend her little sister the way she should have in the beginning. Then she saw something in his eyes, aside from the raving madness he clearly held. Fear. He was terrified. Her shaking hand unclenched, the little knife dropped from her hand almost immediately. Her actions were so quick, she started to bend like she was moving to pick it up, one hand extended as if she was reaching for the knife. She wasn’t looking at it though. Her other hand moved to the table so quickly, grabbing for the too perfect weapon she’d seen before. It was thick, pointed at one end with a flatter base at the other. As her hand wrapped around it, she could feel that it was smooth, sanded down.

This man would face torture. Hours of it. He would suffer, and eventually die. There had been seemingly no way around it. One way was cowardice, ducking away and letting it happen. Being exactly who she’d been before. The other way was dark, and angry, born of a place that craved vengeance above all. A contrast to who she was, who she wanted to be.

Her technique was rather shaky with her trembling hands. She had no idea what she was doing. And to solidify her hands she wrapped that second previously extended hand around the base, bringing it down in one precise swing to where she wanted it. The move was quick, direct and the pointed tip of the weapon hit its mark, sinking into the flesh with a rather sickening wet sound. She didn’t break composure, and she didn’t let it stray. Her mark was clear. There would be no added pain, no pure suffering. Just a quick sudden end.

“But I’m not you,” she said to the shocked face of the man beneath her, the man who she had just driven a stake through the heart of. There had been one other way. One way to save the man that pain, to protect him from the torture that maybe he did deserve, but Gillian was not willing to break the core of who she was to give. A quick death. Death. She’d never seen it as merciful before. But she knew there would be no more pain. Even though her actions had been nobler of intent, she still shook, it still hurt her to kill someone. But she forced herself to meet his eyes as the odd tone took over his skin, a greyness of sorts traveling over his corpse, encasing it. Not in a vicious way, the opposite maybe. An apology that life had brought them both to this end. And forgiveness, not to the man he was, but the man he’d been before he’d become a pure monster.

Slowly, her hands loosened up, and she brushed her hands over his eyes, closing them. She met the doctor with one steely glance. She was shaken, but this time she was not bowing down. Not after that. Not after this. Carefully she walked towards the door, ready to make her exit. Ready to leave. The doctor started to step in front of the door. “Don’t,” she said it carefully, her voice strong but tired more than anything. She truly was exhausted now. But whatever was in it, whatever had been witnessed by him clearly had made an impression, because he actually ceased in his movements to block the door. And she walked out. Warm tears spilled over her cheeks once more, but she could hold onto the fact she’d held onto herself.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Mort Part 1.

● Setting: Henderson Asylum, 2014.

● ❝You can't wake up this is not a dream.❞

● Trigger Warnings: Gory depictions, direct references to rape, direct mentions of murder.

Gillian glanced down one more time, studying the tiny form that clung so tightly to her side.

She still wasn’t used to it. She had become used to being isolated from most others. She had grown used to shying away from touch, or just not coming into contact to begin with. She had grown adjusted to the cold feeling that came with being an angel, or maybe that was the feeling of being alone, she wasn’t sure which. She had grown used to not having someone to take care of besides herself maybe, and the plants outside in the garden.

And now she was here. Lola.

It was almost like a miracle. In the times where she was of a clear mind over those past few months – the times when she hadn’t been dizzying from the loss of whatever the doctors had taken from her while she lay helpless on a table, the times when she wasn’t paralyzed by fear and terror – that was when she had been certain that she would never see the small child again, never get to have the girl who was more like a daughter than her sister back in her arms once more.

Not without its conditions, the doctors had bargained with her. Or the doctor, the one who had been the very fronting of her torture. He’d made her the deal if she agreed to help him, he would help her. She hadn’t known it at the time, but his help had been delivering Lola to her, giving her back her sister. And now she was to be called upon at any time. She didn’t like it. But if it meant Lola was with her instead of locked up in one of those cells downstairs, being twisted and turned into some sort of monster. She shuddered at the thought.

They were still working on the room with a joint room for Lola. For now she shared Gillian’s bed. She was okay with that. After those months and hearing what had happened, what had been done to her, the last thing she wanted to do was let her go, keep her too far away. In those few days since Lola had been returned, Gillian hadn’t allowed her to leave her side, she was too scared to. She was desperate to protect her from any danger she might face.

When she was certain with her study that Lola was sound asleep – judged by the child’s even, but deep breathing, the closed eyes and complete stillness of her body – she finally drew back a little, curling on her side a little at first. She’d always done that ever since Lola was a baby, having to curl and turn over. If she sat up all at once it would often wake her up. Feeling Lola’s arm drop away from her and hearing the slight raise in Lola’s breathing, she paused and stilled for a moment, ensuring she was back to the same even breathing pattern as before.

When she was certain Lola was asleep, she sat up from the bed and stood up, making her way over to the little nightstand. Qhuinn had Max, he had for the last few nights, since Lola had been back. They didn’t want to introduce him to a new person when he was already getting used to so much. His little box’s usual spot on the night table was empty. Carefully she pulled open the drawer, taking out the rather thick file she’d been given by Colin. Her file. Her murder case.

She had been avoiding looking at it. She wanted to do Colin right by giving thought to what he’d said, about knowing being worse. In all the happiness though, she couldn’t forget. In the rare moments of peace she’d gotten, it still plagued her brain. What had happened to her? What had been done to her body? Her mind had twisted into the darkest sides of it, spiraling into a place where she feared she could not drag herself back from.

In the end the conclusion was the same: she had to know.

Carefully she settled down on the bed across from her own. It was meant for a roommate, but she hadn’t been back long enough yet for them to assign her one. She didn’t think they would until she moved to the updated room that would have a place for Lola too. Carefully, she brought her knees to her chest and settled the file atop them. It took a few deep breaths and mental urging to convince herself to open it.

It was hard, like she knew what she wanted to, knew how to make her hands move, but her hands just had stopped responding, remaining frozen in place, stuck there. A big part of her feared what she would find in the file, what marks had been left on her body. She only knew the scar on her stomach, the one that had not been erased when she had been brought back. There were so many mysteries left untold.

A few deep breaths. In and out. In and out. She had discovered as an angel she didn’t entirely need to breathe, though she often did out of habit. Sometimes she forgot she was doing it at all. But now she needed it. She needed to try to get some semblance of calm to wash over her to replace the anxiety and tension that wracked her body as her mind spun with the possibilities. But that was why she was doing it. The not knowing was killing her.

Forcing life and motion into her hands, her fingers gently hooked around the edge of the tan colored folder, pulling it open. She didn’t look at it, not right away. Just the mere action of opening had her hands shaking. She was terrified to see it all, laid out in front of her, in clear, objective text. Another few deep breaths were drawn in until she could still the shaking in her hands to a gentle quivering. Gathering an iron deep within herself once more, she forced herself to look at the first page.

It was a basic case summary, summarizing the initial report on what had happened. She forced herself to read it over. There was not much there. It detailed the initial emergency line call, the arrival time of the police to the scene, and the state of the place when discovered. It was nothing she didn’t really assume. Nothing completely damaging, other than the fact that Lola had been by her side when she was found. That turned her stomach. The idea of her innocent little sister beside her corpse. She spared a look over at the child next to the bed. What she felt was guilt mostly. All the effort to spare Lola from the pain, the dulling of her screams, the way she tried to dull the noise of the struggle. All to save Lola. And she felt disappointment that those efforts had been wasted, because still the innocent pure mind of her sister would be forever tainted with haunting images of a dead Gillian.

She shuddered at the idea of it, trying to push it out of her mind. Slowly, she flipped through the first few pages. All case summaries, updated and dated to suit the added information she supposed. More details. The detailing of the entry point, of the assumed events of how the break in took place, more details of the struggle. Brief details of the assault. She squeezed her eyes shut, but quickly opened them once more when she realized the memories flashing through her head were so much worse when she closed her eyes. With her eyes closed she was lost. She was back there, feeling the way his rough hands groped her body, the way he’d forced her down, pushed inside of her and eclipsed her into a world of unimaginable pain.Her hands were shaking again.

Once more, she forced herself to calm. It was not easy. It wasn’t easy at all. There was so much she hadn’t dealt with, hadn’t understood yet. So much she was pushing back to make way for the constant feed of trauma that had come with her torture by the doctors, with abandoning Lola, with finding out she’d been kidnapped. But it was there, the pain, the brutal memories and fear, bubbling inside of her, waiting for its chance to escape.

“No,” she whispered quietly to herself, one hand gripping the edge of the file a little too tightly, wrinkling the thicker material it was constructed with. The other hand rubbing in a monotonous pattern over her stomach, over that scar. The scar hurt, not physically, but mentally. It hurt. It still pained her, still plagued her. But it reminded her she wasn’t there. Because she no longer felt the hot spill of warm crimson life on her hands. It was that bulging, jagged scar from the knife that had punctured her body much like the wielder had only moments before. “You’re not there, you’re not there,” she whispered it like a prayer, as if she could remind herself. Soon it worked enough so that she didn’t reduce back into the hysteria that threatened.

Finally she had the strength to go on. Next was the evidence. She flipped over the little slip divider that had been tucked in to divide the sections. Her fingers that had formerly been gripping onto the edge of the file brushed over the page. She did that often, busied her hands when she was anxious. Something repetitive, like gripping her dress and smoothing it out, over and over until she felt better. This time it was smoothing her fingers over the paper until she felt well enough to bring herself to see what was on it. She distracted herself with idle thoughts, like how unflawed the paper beneath her fingers was. Pristine in condition. A perfect white color, no wrinkles. Colin had taken good care of it.

The page was something of an index, listing the particular evidence and their reference numbers in the file. She flicked over it. Slowly she turned the page. First were the photos. Crime scene photos. She’d thought she was ready, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t ready for what she saw. At first, it was no so terrible. The broken glass. It was not easy, because as she saw the photo of the broken glass, taken from both inside and out, she was back in Lola’s room for a moment, hearing the glass shatter under the force of something. An elbow, she’d read that in the evidence article summary. Panic spiked through her body like electricity, angry and fierce, igniting her limbs into some sort of action. Like she had to run. Once more, she reminded herself she wasn’t there. Brushing her fingers over the glossy film of the photo helped somewhat. It reminded her that this was a picture. She would not have seen this. She would have been in the room.

It was rather simple, those few photos. One outlined the jagged pattern that resembled something of a multi-lopsided-star from the outside, taken from her bridge that led to the door no doubt. Another outlined the same image but from the inside, depicting the tarnished brass doorknob. So simple. There wasn’t even a dead bolt on the door. Just one little lock. How easy things had been when she felt safe like that, safe enough to have one lock. The blue, chipped paint that covered the door. It took her home. But home wasn’t safe anymore. That safety had been taken from her. The next photo depicted the broken shards of glass on the ground. There were a few more pictures, boot prints in the snow outside the house, half and fully formed prints composed of water droplets with yellow numbers listed beside them.

There was more detailing about the house, the state it was in. Captured pictures of where there was apparent disturbances like in the dining room. So many pictures of small things, insignificant things. It seemed there was a particular arrangement for the photos. The first persisted mostly of the setting and initial evidence collected. But once those photos had passed through, each one sparking a new clarity, but also a pain in her, came the pictures of the body. She flipped unknowingly from one page to the next, not prepared to see a picture of herself staring back at her. It was more of a glare really, it was that intense.

At first she didn’t believe it, not fully. It couldn’t be her. The lifeless, pale pallor. It was different from someone who simply had a fair complexion. All signs of life were gone from her skin. The once flush in her cheeks was replaced by a chalky white color, reflective of the corpse she was looking at. And that was just the fact. She remembered the dress, the little, barely noticeable patterns on the sleeves and skirt. But it was not her dress. It couldn’t be. Because this dress was smeared and painted at the abdomen with red. Pure crimson. It ebbed and joined with the blue as it radiated out, but in one spot in particular, the material was completely soaked. The moisture of the one spot still reflected, she could tell by the image that one spot was slicked suitably with the red. Blood. The position of the body was stiff and awkward, bent in an unnatural way. It didn’t look right at all.

The memories ambushed her once more, filling her head with the memory of looking down at her stomach and watching the sharp jerk of the blade from the muscles of her stomach, the sickening wet sound it made as it left her. The memory of staring down at her bloodied hands, the ordinarily peach colored smooth hands coated with slick, hot blood. She remembered watching as the blood ebbed throughout the material, webbing and radiating out through it in a circular pattern, staining the material. She remembered the way her vision grew foggy, how quickly she felt so weak. Her knees giving out from under her. There was no pain, not after the first second, there was nothing really, all of it dulled by the shock. And then there was nothing. Nothing at all. The darkness had swallowed and enveloped her in its reaches.

This was her. This was her dead body. She tried to look at her hands, but when she saw them, she saw them in that ghostly white shade, smeared with the blood once again. “Dead,” she whispered lowly. And for a second she was sure of it. Sure that somehow she was looking at her animated corpse. “I’m dead, I’m dead,” she was whispering it, chanting it over and over. If it wasn’t for the fact she was whispering, she was certain she would have woken Lola by now. Slowly, what had become something of a hallucination faded, and she could see clearly once more. Saw her hands for what they were. They looked alive, but that hallucination remained. She could still see it like most memories in her head, and she knew that the images of her body would not fade from her mind. They were seared there, a scar she could not see but could feel.

Slowly, she brought herself to flip through the next few pages. More photos of her body. Close-ups of her limbs, of her face, of her abdomen. In one of the images depicting her legs she could see the trails of blood on her thighs with the awkward way her legs had come to rest when she had fallen. Some of the tendrils were uninterrupted, others were smeared – the result of what she guessed was from when her legs had rubbed together in her mad dash to the kitchen. She hadn’t even noticed at the time.

She forced herself through those, each one bringing her back to worrying she really was dead. Each time she talked herself out of her spiral, reminding herself she was alive, she was not the corpse portrayed in the photo. She was here. It took many different tactics of hers, grounding herself. But with each image she forced herself to pull back together. She powered on through. The pain was there. Yet there was relief in it too.

For nights she had laid awake, haunted by the ideas of what could have happened. And for those nights she slept, she was haunted by the different ideas of what she looked like. Sometimes she was haunted even by the image of her mother. She was haunted by the idea of doctors examining her corpse, prodding and poking at her. There was one nightmare she remembered in particular. One of her undergoing an autopsy, only in the nightmare she was aware of it the entire time. She hadn’t been able to scream or shout for help. At least now what haunted her would be concise, she knew the facts. The mystery and unknown variables were slowly being drawn away.

The truth would haunt her no less though.

And then the autopsy report came. It was strange, giving her that odd feeling that she was gone. Everything here said she was dead. And she was dead to the world. To the outside world, Gillian Marin was gone. And here she existed. The people around her new she was real, but to those outside she wasn’t. It gave her and odd sense of distance from herself, as if she was in two places at once. Here but also laying back on her kitchen floor, an awkward twist of limbs.

She read over the basic information, hoping maybe the simple laid out facts would be easier to swallow, distract her for a few seconds for from the dysphoria. Her name read easy. Her date of birth. Case number. Race. Sex. Age. Date of Death. Body identified by. One by one they went. The last two were the hardest to stomach. Both bringing her back to that odd and brief confusion. But there was a particular pain once more in the identifier of the body. Lola Marin. Another pang of guilt in her chest. She’d failed to protect her once more.

A part of her, an unworthy feeling erupted, along with one of shame. She had been exposed in this state, she blamed herself. She had fallen victim to this, and people had seen the brutality done to her, including her small sister. And for a second her mind spiraled with ways she could have stopped it. Delusions of how she could have escaped what happened. “My fault,” she couldn’t shake it. In all these months, she’d felt that haunting thought. But now it hit her like a stone, sinking heavy in her stomach.

Once more, she pushed it back. Forcing herself to look at the autopsy report. Slowly she started to read. There was a summary of the external examination. It detailed things like her weight, her height, the color of her hair, the state of her eyes when she’d been brought in even. It was very strange, reading it in such an objective clinical detail. Once more shame came. There had been no emotion in this, and she felt as if she’d allowed herself to fall victim to it. It was so strange. And she had a new feeling, as if she was nothing but a blip. A small piece of paper.It detailed the few bruises that had formed on her knees, an abrasion mark from the collision with the floor on one of them. There were details of bruising on her legs and thighs that held a shape and pattern of fingerprints. She could feel it as she read it. The collision where her knees met the floor, the slide along the floor of one knee that had likely caused the abrasion. She could feel the fingers digging into her flesh, prying her legs open, forcing her to the will of the hands. Like the door, the photos of her body, she was taken back. She felt the memories in flashes, in vivid flashes as if they were happening. She had to check her legs and knees to make sure the injuries weren’t there. There was another surprise, an apparent detected scratch on her throat, an incision made by a blade. The blade he’d been holding to her throat. She hadn’t even felt it. Now she could though. She felt the bite of the steal, detailed and fueled by her imagination more than anything. It felt like there was no air in the room suddenly.

Her hand brushed her throat, as if she was searching for that blade, trying to see if it was there, cutting off her air supply somehow. Once more, she used her more traditional methods to come back, realizing she didn’t need the air, and also coming to find her ability to breathe once more, realizing the blade was not pressed against her. She read on, forcing herself to read through the injuries further. Posterior fourchette, labia minora. She didn’t understand it fully, didn’t recognize what parts in particular it referred to of the area that had been defiled.  It was painful to imagine though, and it made her shut her legs a little tighter, once more filled with the shame and embarrassment, haunted by memories of how she’d felt in those moments.

The claustrophobia, the feeling like the very walls were closing in. He’d been too close. She had been able to feel the heat of his body, the dewing moisture on his skin. And she could feel as his appendage ripped into her mercilessly, like he enjoyed the pain he caused her. She felt like she was there, lying beneath his body all over again, subject to humiliation, and trauma, and pure torture. It was killing her inside, paining her in a way she’d spent the last months trying to bury.

She forced herself on once she pulled herself back from those vivid intense memories. She was shaking still. At this rate she’d just accepted it. She could feel the wash of warm tears down over her face. It was funny, she hadn’t even realized she was crying, at least in her hysterical, reduced mental state it was. She hadn’t even realized the salty tears stained her face. Just like she hadn’t noticed the metallic crimson staining her thighs.

She went on. Internal examination was next. She read through it. Once more it was strange, the idea that her body had been cut open and sewn back together. That more hysterical part of her mind was thinking of how much work it must have been to put her broken body back together. Once more, the data on most things mattered little. The detailing of her abdominal injuries and genital system were the worst. They were painful. Once more she was forced back to repetitive flashes of what had happened to her. Once more she felt as if the pain was happening all over again. The most she could do was try to keep her crying down. That was a memory too. Hiding her pain so she didn’t hurt Lola. She wouldn’t fail this time.

When she got through the report, she felt tired more than anything. Exhausted as she read about the details of how her blood had poured from her body, killing her quicker than normal due to her punctured liver. It was all so real, raw now. She knew. She knew what killed her and once more there was that dysphoria of feeling alive but dead at the same time. This time she was not the corpse on the floor of her kitchen, she was the corpse in the coroner’s office, laying on a cold steal table. Reading it was not easy, but she pushed back level after level of trauma to get through it.

Finally, she reached the photos attached from the examination. That was what did her in. There was a blue tint to her skin in these this time. Her lips were a purple color. She did not appear peaceful. She looked like she was sleeping, but as if she was locked in the pain of a nightmare. There was more detailed images, close ups of each individual image, some of the bruises and wounds were next to measuring devices. When she reached the close up of the raw looking stab wound. She felt sick, the building nausea caused bile to raise in her throat. Finally, she was unable to go on when she saw the injuries to her defiled, once pure place. She tossed the file aside, rushing to the bathroom. She barely made it before she emptied her stomach into the toilet, any of the supper she’d shared with Lola coming back up and spilling into the porcelain basin.It would never leave her. The image of her raw and savaged body. The depictions of her injuries, the way her body had been hurt so much more than she knew. The only real signature of it all had been the scar on her stomach. The revival as an angel hadn’t made that go away. But it had knitted and forced her skin back together. It had erased most evidence of her pain, her torture.

She knelt there on the bathroom floor, her forehead resting against the seat of the toilet with little care of where it was. She didn’t care. She was drained, physically, emotionally. Everything was gone. Nothing was left but the pain. Raw and real like those injuries. She let her tears flow freely, still controlling the sound of the sobs that racked her, but not so much as she had before.

Gillian did not know how much time had passed. She knew that eventually the tears stopped coming, though her body still racked with tearless sobs. She still shook, still felt the overwhelming splay of emotions that almost made her wish like she really had stayed dead. The dysphoria, the overwhelming pain, guilt and shame hitting her all at once. One after another. She had no time to breathe, to think. She had no concept of time. Twice more she emptied her stomach. Four times she’d broken into a fit of heaving with the sobs, though two had been dry heaves, twisting and contorting her stomach as it desperately sought bile to drag up.

Her ears were ringing, and she heard most things as if it were far away. Over and over her hands twisted her dress. Twisting until she heard the fabric tear in that far away. Then it broke through. Not at first. Knocking. She jumped when she heard it, immediately wanting to curl up and hide. No one could see her like this. She didn’t want to be seen at all. This shadow, a broken shell of what she truly felt inside. There was nothing hidden by her smiles now. But the knocking persisted.

She found the strength to stand up, shaky, hesitant footsteps carried her into the room. When she opened the door, there he stood, her resident torturer, accompanied by two guards.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Promise Part 2.

● Setting: Henderson Asylum, 2014.

● ❝Take my hand and we'll be fine. Promise I won't let you down.❞

● Trigger Warnings: Near death of a child, mentions of torture and sexual assault.

Kidnapped.

Kidnapped.

The word kept playing through her head. It hadn’t stopped since she’d been told by Bel’s guard friend. She’d spoken it out loud, letting it roll of her tongue in a mix of slow or fast paced speech, hoping somehow that maybe it would help her understand or come to terms with it better. She’d said it other ways too, spelled them out in her head. She felt like a thesaurus at this rate. None of it helped though. None of it changed the fact that she had failed.

She’d failed again. First she’d left Katie. She’d went out for coffee instead of staying around to protect one of the few people who meant the world to her. She was often told she couldn’t have known, but she did know. She too had been at the end of her step-mother’s striking hand, and she should have known. And now Lola. The sweet, innocent and pure child she’d sworn to protect no matter the cost. Yet the price was different than she had thought.

She had been sure that giving up Lola, letting her live a normal life in the human world instead of the supernatural world was right. Gillian had been certain of it. She knew her sister deserved a normal life, so she’d left her behind. She thought the price to pay for the Lola’s safety was her own discontent. But it was clear now, she’d made the wrong choice. Lola had been kidnapped, and she knew full well it never would have happened if she had simply been there.

And now she was paying it with a misery like no other. The misery of knowing that something, anything could be happening to Lola in the moment. And the crushing weight of the guilt that she hadn’t done something while she could. She’d spent the majority of the last few days stalking along the asylum border. Pacing back and forth, trying anything to find a weak spot in the fence or the spell itself. Scorched pink blisters formed on her skin from the odd, weaponized dark magic in the gate. But she didn’t care, they’d heal eventually. The hole in her chest that would surely remain if she failed to find a way to save Lola surely never would.

Once more, agony radiating through her hands as she pressed and pushed at the gates. She grit her teeth, hissing slightly at the pain. Tears burned in her eyes as she tried to push with both the added physical strength and the blow of her powers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t budge. It hadn’t budged at all over the last few days, but she hadn’t stopped trying.

Hearing what sounded like the sizzling of water meeting grease, she pulled back, glancing down at her hands. They were sore and raw looking. Blisters bubbled, some popped to expose oozing liquid and crimson blood. She knew she had to stop. If she kept this up she’d drain herself silly. She shook her head stubbornly, ready to press her hands back up against the fencing for a take two. She’d already tried to go for the point where the fence had stopped. While the barrier didn’t scorch her hands in such a torturous way, it didn’t let up at all.

For once she was controlled not by her kind nature, but by her maternal nature, the deep rooted instincts to protect Lola. She knew she would do anything to do it. Whatever it meant in those moments, she would handle it. If it meant Lola’s safety she knew she would take every risk, even if it meant sacrificing herself to save the child. Deciding to shake it up, she stepped back a few paces and darted at the gate, colliding with it shoulder first. The material of her dress guarded her from the horrid burning, but an aching sort fanned through her shoulder from the collision.

“That won’t help you,” it was a man’s voice, a very familiar man’s voice. The voice sent shivers down Gillian’s spine, calling every nerve ending to attention. Her anxiety swelled and terror slinked through her veins, freezing her in place. She’d heard the voice many times, too many times. Heard him speak to her while he hurt her, while his medical tools had invaded her body. Her torturer.

The fear kept her frozen, but the different kind of anxiety – the protective kind that was white hot with animal instinct to protect and defend as opposed to freezing cold like the fear – rose up inside of her. It allowed her to battle some of the ice in her veins so she could turn to face him. The look on her face must have been scary to say the least. She was often decorated with a warm smile, and even when she’d been under his knife, she’d never been vicious, never been so hard. But his face paled a little before he got a hold of himself.

“You won’t get out, you’re not strong enough,” he was definitely cocky about that.

“Then let me out,” she retorted simply, the tone in her voice surprising her.

“You won’t find what you’re looking for out there,” he said. She stiffened once more. What did he know of what she was looking for? She’d been careful. She hadn’t mentioned Lola before. Surely Colin hadn’t spoken of it, had he?

“What is it you think I’m looking for?” She held her ground. It wasn’t easy. She didn’t like the approach she’d had to take. Sure she’d tried kindness before, and it had never worked with this man, but it didn’t feel any better to stoop to this coldness. But if it got her to Lola.

“Your sister.” He replied simply, his voice nonchalant as if he was discussing what he would eat for supper.In a second, she was in front of him. She wasn’t sure if she’d materialized or run. But the mention of Lola, it had drawn her in immediately. She didn’t even think about how she’d gotten there. “What do you know?”

“I know that though you try, you’re still weak little angel,” he said with obviously feigned sympathy. She felt it once more, a sharp pain in her side. She glanced down to see what had caused it, but she already knew. He’d fooled her somehow, tricked her. He had used her weakness to get her over, to get her close. He’d waited till her defenses had dropped long enough to get her. She stated fading rather quickly, and soon enough unconsciousness claimed her.

~~

“Time to wake up little angel,” she blinked once, twice. It didn’t help much. It was dark. Even with her angelic sight, she had trouble seeing. The familiar damp, moldy scent reached her nose and she realized rather quickly she was in her old space. She waited for it, for the ache and agony of her body, for some sort of protest to show that she’d been hurt somehow. She didn’t feel anything though. Her hands felt odd, like they were buzzing with a current, but maybe that was just their healing from the torture she’d put them through in trying to pointlessly knock down the gates.

“Come on now, you don’t want a special wake up call, do you?” Memories of torture and terrors filled her mind. The feeling of brutal agony gripping her, no matter where the central source was. Over and over. She tried to shake herself out of it, but her body was being attack on all side by her senses. The familiar scents, sights, the feeling of crumbled rocks under her body, her mind immediately associated those with her torture. It was hard to pull herself away from her trauma on the usual day, but surrounded by one of the places it had been born certainly didn’t help.

Pressing her hand on her stomach, she easily found the jagged, risen lump that was the scar of her stab wound. It was a reminder for her, that she wasn’t in the danger anymore, that it was over, not healed completely, but not still open and exposed. It had become a stress relief when it came to memories of her torture too.

“That’s a girl,” the voice was amused, to say the least.

“What do you want?” Her voice came cracked, tired. She could still feel the weight of whatever they’d dosed her with in her system.

“Well, I have a proposition for you little angel.” The voice was laced with a smugness. She didn’t like the way he called her “little angel” it reminded her too much of her father, what he used to call her before he died. She didn’t like the way the new voice said it with a twisted cruelty. “Now you see, usually I wouldn’t make a deal with /your/ kind,” his voice showed clear disdain, and he knew he didn’t just mean the angels. “But I see a unique opportunity here. There’s only so much we can learn by cutting you open and pulling your insides to the outside. We can do that over, and over, and over again,” there was definitely a sick pleasure in his voice. He was enjoying it. “But I can’t learn much of your powers, of what you can do if you aren’t willing to cooperate.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to control her mind and the ugly rearing monster that was her anxiety and terror. Gillian remained silent, locked in a silent battle in her mind.

“Now last night we caught ourselves a vampire, he was new. You know those monsters can’t control their thirst,” disgust and disdain, but also that pleasure, as if he was glad the “monster” couldn’t control itself because it gave him a chance to attack. “He had attacked this child, little girl only a couple years old. Barely old enough to have lived life really.”

She stiffened. With Lola fresh on her mind, the idea of some other poor child being hurt by a vampire made her uncomfortable, pained. She didn’t respond yet though, stayed quiet as her fingers massaged the spot where her stomach was scarred through the material of the dress she wore. The blonde angel waited for him to continue with his ravings.

“Luckily we go there in time so she didn’t die,” he noted, seeming proud of himself. As if he deserved a badge of honor for one small action, as if it made up for all his atrocities. “But you see, she’s not doing so well. She needs help. Help that we cannot offer,” more disdain in her voice. He didn’t like admitting weakness, especially to a creature he seemed to hate so much. She quickly caught onto what he wanted. He wanted her to heal the child they’d rescued.

“You want me to heal her,” she spoke carefully, sitting up a little from her slumped position. It was in reaching out with her free hand to prop herself up that she realized she was in a cell of sorts, her hand brushing the bottle row of the bars. She knew the deal would be a poor one, whatever he offered her, if he even offered anything to heal the child would be poor. But she also knew she would help, even if she ended up back on the table to be tortured in the end.

“You’re not as dumb as you appear.”

“If you let me go…I’ll heal her,” even her attempt at bargaining was only half-way. The words sounded unnatural, and there was a false note attributed to them that even she could immediately recognize. A laugh sounded in the darkness. A familiar, amused laugh that she had always thought bordered somewhere on the edge of insanity.

“We’ll discuss your payment later,” he said with amusement. Hearing the jingling sound of keys, she realized that he truly did have her figured out. She didn’t like that, it unsettled her. A little dizzy still from the drug they’d dosed her with, she stood up, making her way in the direction of where the jingling had sounded from. She was a little off, but with her hands extending she managed to pat her way to the exit.

A rough hand gripped her arm, leading her off. It was odd how a touch could seem both reluctant and careful but at the same time harsh and absolute. She let the guiding drag her around, terror of the situation still coursing through her veins. Eventually she was led to a much cleaner, more pristine room. It was lit up, and looked out of place compared to where she’d just been.

Slowly she stepped through, being pulled along by the hand. She had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the bright lights – fluorescents like at the hospital – after being in the dark for so long. It was blinding, causing her eyes to protest for a second. Rather quickly her eyes adjusted, and she had time to take a look around the room. It was empty. She looked over at her torturer in confusion, fear lighting her features. Could it all have been some lure?

Seeing the sparkle of amusement in his eyes, she prepared to run. But his hand dragged her forward to the window of sorts on the other side of the room. Reluctantly, her limbs bound and quivering with fear, she followed. When she got within eyeshot of the window, able to see through the pane of glass, something new darted through her body. It was a mix of that terrible anxiety, her instinctive desire to protect and the burning maternal love she felt.

It had to be a dream. Surely.

A nightmare maybe.In the room there was a simple doctor’s table and machine’s surrounding it. But on that table, laying calmly, too calmly was a child. A young girl, who looked as if she couldn’t be older than six years old. Blonde curls graced the crown of her hair, flowing with the pale sunlit nature that Gillian knew so well. The skin was pale, too pale, sickly pale. The calm serenity of the features was still there, the very same this child had possessed since a young age.

Lola.

Gillian practically battered against the glass, ready to slam right through it. She didn’t even feel the impact as she collided. Though her body quickly rebounded. Some kind of extra strength pane. She hadn’t even left a crack in it. She was about to target the door next when that hand on her arm gripped her tighter. It didn’t really hurt, but she didn’t like the way it felt.

“Ah ah,” the voice shamed her. “You agree to help us, to work with us and we’ll let you help her, let her stay her. You don’t…” he trailed off, no doubt for the dramatic effect. “And well, our systems might just power down for a couple minutes…just long enough for those machines keeping her alive to turn off.” It took everything in her not to completely lose it. The only thing that tethered her to her sanity was knowing she’d be helpless to help Lola without him somehow letting her through. Surely everything was supernatural proof.

“Fine,” she said it. She was already making her way towards the door. She was practically rocking on the balls of her feet while she waited. When it was unlocked, she stormed in, heading right for the bed. She wasted no time. “Lola,” she whispered solemnly, holding out her hand’s over Lola’s stilled body. She closed her eyes reluctantly, scared that when she opened them the girl might be gone. Focusing, she summoned her power within herself, building and nourishing it. The power was warm, like sunlight, like everything good in the world wrapped into a feeling. She cast it out, channeling it out through the palms of her hands. The machine’s beeping picked up and she immediately opened her eyes, watching the child intently.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed. Seconds. Minutes. Hours maybe. All that mattered was the child, and keeping her safe. She didn’t care about the fear in those moments, all that mattered was Lola, keeping her safe. Nobody interrupted them. That surprised her, but she didn’t think too much of it. Finally, she noticed the twitch of Lola’s small hand. Alert as ever, Gillian glanced to the fact of the child. “Lola?” She asked gently. Gillian watched as Lola’s brown eyes fluttered open. At first there seemed to be an alarm in them, but when they fell on Gilly there was a mix of both excitement and fear.

“Gilly?” Gillian felt her eyes watering. She never thought she’d get to hear the voice of the child again, never hear that little nickname. Her hand found Lola’s smaller one, taking it in hers.

“I’m here pumpkin, I’m here,” she said, offering her a real, honest grin.

She felt the tiny hand squeeze hers. But then fear seemed to come back into Lola’s eyes again. Gillian heard the machine beeping louder. Lola’s heart rate was speeding up. “Gilly there was a bad man,” the child hiccupped. “He bit me,” Lola had begun to cry. In a matter of seconds, Gillian scooped her up as if she was still that small baby, cradling her.

“Sh sh sh,” she whispered soothingly, rocking herself a little so the soothing motion would hopefully calm Lola. “It’s alright baby doll, it’s alright, I’m here,” she told her gently. The small child was still sobbing, still shaking, but she seemed to calm down a little.

“What if he comes back?” Lola’s quivering voice asked, an innocence, fear and vulnerability obvious in it.

“I’m going to keep you safe,” Gillian whispered gently, and she meant it. She would keep her safe. “Whatever it takes,” it was the same promise she had made the day Lola had been born. This time though, her promise was falling onto ears that understood what it meant.

“But what if you go away again?” That seemed to upset Lola more. The poor child was likely confused. Gillian didn’t blame her. She would try her best to explain it eventually, but right now comforting the child was more important.

“I’m never going away again, okay pumpkin? Never again,” she swore it, every word laced with conviction.

“Promise?” Lola’s voice wavered once more.Gillian didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I promise.”

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Promise Part 1.

●Setting: White Mercy General Hospital, 2010.

●❝I'll hold your body in my hands be as gentle as I can.❞

●Trigger Warnings: Mentions of child abuse.

Gill, when are we going to see the baby?” It was easily seen that Katie was excited. She had been like it all night, constantly asking when they’d get to see the baby. Not that Gillian blamed her, she was excited too.

“Soon Katie,” Gill promised, a warm smile resting on her lips as she brushed her hand down over the small child’s sleek brown locks. Lydia and Rosa had left a few hours ago, they’d wanted to go home and sleep. She didn’t entirely blame them. She was tired too. But Kate was so excited, and she’d be lying if she wasn’t excited to see the new baby.

Yet there was fear too. She’d seen what her step-mother had done to the others. She had seen the bruises that were explained away by clumsy natures. And she’d tried to report it, to get anyone to listen to her about what her step-mother was doing. But her cries had fallen on deaf ears. The only thing she wanted, more than anything was the child to be safe.

As Katie rested her head on her shoulder, Gillian wrapped an arm around her. She was surprised that the young girl had managed to stay awake so long. It was in the early AM and while some nights on the weekends for particularly special occasions, she’d agree to stay up a bit of extra time with Katie, this was late for the both of them. For the last hours she’d been watching Katie yawn, stretch and try to find distractions in little things.

The hospital waiting room was not a place designed to sooth the nerves of an eager child that was for sure. Gently she let her hand rub in small meaningless circles on Kate’s shoulder, hoping maybe she would be able to get her to sleep somehow. Even an hour or two was better than nothing. Her father had already said they didn’t have to go to school tomorrow, but ruining Katie’s sleep schedule entirely didn’t seem like a good idea to her.

“Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” Katie asked, her voice a little muffled against Gillian’s shirt. She could hear the tired strain in her voice, that far off sound to it that said she was simply asking questions to try and stay awake.Gillian had thought about it. Pondered whether she would have a brother or sister. But it hadn’t been the most important thing. The most important thing was trying to make them safe, to make all of them safe, even Lydia and Rosa. 

“I can’t say for sure,” Gillian said thoughtfully. “But, I think what really matters is that when they’re born, that they’re really happy, and know just how much they’re loved.”

“I’ll show it how much I love it!” Katie said, finding a brief, half-winded moment of energy that quickly burned off.

“I know you will. I think you’re going to be a great big sister,” she spoke warmly, genuinely. It was true, of the three girls she’d grown to know, Katie was one of the most compassionate. Difficult at times, with a wit of someone beyond her age, yes. But she was kind, and Gillian had every assurance that the little baby would be loved greatly.

“You will too,” Katie perked in, tilting her head up to look up at Gillian. A smile rested on her lips as she glanced down at the child. There was often a division made between her and her step-mothers children. While the division was created by her step-mother and elder step-sisters, it didn’t feel like there was much of one between her and Kate. Kate was her sister, bound in a way far more important that blood.

“Well don’t you know?” Gillian said playfully, her voice light. “I already am a big sister,” she finished off, brushing back the stray strand of baby hair that was always falling into Kate’s face. The words got her a big smile. She loved to see her sister smile like that, see the joy on her face. She liked to see the joy on the face of anyone really. But for her sister, a young girl who’d seen so much, who was constantly knocked down in ways no child should have experienced, it was different. It was different because it meant someone Gilly cared about could find happiness in even a dark situation. Feeling the arms of Katie wrap around her, squeezing her lower rib cage.

“I love you Gill,” she murmured.

“I love you too Katie,” Gillian replied gently. Soon Katie settled once more, and Gillian made of job of doing small actions to try and encourage her to go to sleep. She was between lightly rubbing her hand over her back, twisting the strands of her hair in a gentle manner or humming to a quiet tune – nothing in particular, just different songs she’d heard on the radio that day. – Soon enough, she heard the even intake and outtake of shallow breathing, laced with the light whistling noise Katie always made when she slept.

She didn’t move from her spot on the plastic hospital chair next to Katie’s, she didn’t want to disturb the child from her rest. After the long night of endless waiting, she knew she definitely needed it. Instead of moving she tried to relax back in her chair, mostly watching the clock on the wall. It wasn’t entirely quiet in the room, there was a few other scattered people there. Three or four. They too were waiting.

Watching the clock, she was acutely aware of how much time was passing, going by with the ticking of the hands. It was boring, there was no arguing that. But she did her best not to let her thoughts wander too far. She feared where they would go if given the opportunity. The fears and the worries that something bad might happen to the child that was about to come into the world were all too eager to pounce upon her more excited thoughts.

One hour passed.

Another one.

Three.

Three and a half.

Seven minutes.

Eight minutes.

Staring off at the clock, almost hypnotized by the moving of the hands, she didn’t hear it at first when her name was called. “Gilly?” She heard it, her father’s voice. Immediately, her gaze moved from the clock to the source of the voice. Sure enough, there stood her father. He looked tired, but more than anything he looked ecstatic. There was a joy in his eyes she hadn’t seen for a long time.

“Is the baby here?” She tried to keep her voice down somewhat, Katie had turned and bent into what looked like a rather unnatural position, finding refuge for her head on the arm rest. She slept soundly, despite the awkward way her body was bent. Gillian had covered her up somewhere between hour two and three, fearing that she might get cold and wake up. There was still that glimmer of excitement though in her voice, the dawn of the smallest hope that perhaps the new life would change things. But behind that the twisted monster of anxiety told her that it might not make things better.

Her father gave a rather quick nod of his head, confirming Gillian’s words. “She’s so beautiful,” he seemed like he might cry almost. A girl. A sister. Capsizing the anxiety and eclipsing it just for a moment, the spoken words that came out gave her joy. Joy because her father seemed so happy in the moment, and joy that a new life had come to earth. Her sister.

“What’s her name?” Gillian inquired, her bell like accented voice coming out with a curiosity. “When can we see her?” As excited as she was, she didn’t want to push too much, especially not where her step-mother was concerned. She might have been eager to see the child, but she didn’t want to risk stepping over a line, especially one that might make her step-mother angry and lead to her taking it out on one of the older girls, or worse yet the baby.

“Right now,” her father responded easily. “If you want that is.”Gillian glanced back at the sleeping girl next to her on the seat, unsure about her course of action. Whether she was to wake her, or somehow try to carry her without stirring her. Surely she’d get some form of witty remark if she ended up messing that up somehow. “What about Katie?” She asked.

“She’s fine here, we’re just down the hall,” he told her, nodding briefly, but affectionately towards the child. Gillian glanced back at the girl once more. She wasn’t entirely sure about leaving her here. But she’d always felt that way. When they would go to the stores together, she felt uncomfortable leaving her in the isle alone. Perhaps it was just the protective instincts. “She’ll be alright, she needs her rest anyway.”

Gillian nodded and walked towards the small reception desk. It was much smaller than the main one, and she got the feeling that the woman behind it didn’t enjoy her job so much. “Do you mind taking her down to the room when she wakes up, please?” Gillian asked politely, offering a warm compassionate smile. She didn’t need to give the room number, the amount of people there was small enough that it wasn’t necessary.

“Of course,” the tired looking woman responded with a nod.

“Thank you so much,” Gillian said, the smile staying in place. She tried not to rush towards her father, she didn’t want the woman to think that she was quick to get away. It wasn’t easy to control herself though. She was undeniably eager to get to see the child. The new baby. Her sister. For a while there, she had been worried that she would never get to see her. Sure, her step-mother had never found out that the report had come from Gillian – or she’d never said it at least – but she always worried that somehow she knew, and she’d ban Gill from the life of the child.

Gillian’s father led her through the archway and down the hallway. They followed the dotted blue line. There were about three different patterns aligned on either side of the floor. Green dots, straight green stripe, and the same with the blue, along with a red line. She tried to remember what each led to in a way to keep her from practically skipping about in joy, but in the moment she called on it. Glancing over at her father, her chocolate brown eyes took in the fact he looked almost tense.

“Don’t worry,” she said comfortingly, patting his arm gently. “Everything will be okay,” she assured him. She wasn’t sure what he was nervous about, if it was the fact of raising another child at his age, or if it was about her step-mother, but she didn’t want to see him tense and upset.

“Thank you angel,” he called her that a lot. She remembered that her mother had called her that too. They always said she was an angel since she had seemed to come from heaven itself. His hand gently came to rest over hers, patting it gently.

“Any time dad,” she told him, smiling softly. Finally, their short journey down the hallway came to the end. They slowed and eventually stopped outside a door. It was opened a crack, but the only thing that could really be seen through that crack was the pale peach material of the privacy curtain. Pushing the door open, her father held it for her and then followed her in shortly after. Gillian grew more nervous the closer they got to her step-mother. She waited for her father’s cue, watching as he peeked around the curtain briefly before pulling it back. The sound of the chain holding it to the draw system rang out, rattling for a moment until the curtains topped.

Gillian was tense with anticipating. She moved purely by her father’s cues, stepping through the fissure he’d created in the curtains. A breath of relief left her when she saw her step-mother was sleeping soundly. She tried not to make it too audible. Her father might not have affectionately loved the woman, but he seemed to care for her. And she didn’t want to ruin his good move.

“Come here angel, meet your sister,” the suggestion was gentle, no doubt the result of him having noticed the way she only moved when asked.Her steps were vigilant, as if she stepped too hard on the floor it might collapse from under her feet. She remained alert as she nervously approached. There were several thoughts running through her head. Wondering if she would be a good big sister to the small child, wondering if she could protect the baby and keep her safe, worry that somehow she wouldn’t be allowed to be a big part in her life, hope that this new life might bring a new radiance and joy to their family. She was definitely emotional.

Finally, she stood by the crib and let her brown eye’s look up from the basic blue flats she wore to the small child. Eyes widening in awe, she watched the tiny child. The baby was swaddled in a blanket. She was definitely small. Gillian was certain she hadn’t seen something so tiny before. And her father was right, the baby was definitely beautiful. Small tufts of pale blonde hair decorated the crown of the baby’s head. The color was like sunlight, shining under the fluorescents of the hospital room. Unlike what she’d heard, the newborn had a rather even complexion that leaned towards the pinker side, the sign of true newness. The soft, content face of the sleeping child added to it all. She truly was gorgeous. Much like a little angel. Immediately, Gillian was possessed by the urge to protect this small life at all costs, driven by the familial love she already felt for the infant.

“Can I - ?” She trailed off a little, hoping desperately that she would be able to hold the child. Her father gave her a nod. And despite how badly she wanted to hold the baby, she feared that she somehow might break her. She was so small, so fragile. Luckily her father helped with that. With skilled actions, he scooped the child up. For a second she was almost unsure as to if she should hold the baby. Surely if she couldn’t pick her up holding her might not be the best. But as her father held out the child, she shifted her arms into something of a cradled position that she had once used with the dolls she had played with as a girl.

Still in shock and awe, she blinked a couple of times as the small body of the child was placed in her arms. It took her a moment to fully registered, but slowly, gently, she rocked the baby, gaining some confidence that she wouldn’t somehow mess up. “Wow,” she whispered lowly. “She’s so -,” she cut herself off for a moment. “You’re so perfect,” she spoke directly towards the sleeping infant.

Carefully, she walked back and forth the length of the room, attention almost completely on the small infant as she rocked and held her gently. The child didn’t seem to mind at all. She didn’t stir, simply breathed in and out. She was certain that she would never let anyone hurt this child. Much like the protective instinct she held for Katie, it was the same for this baby. “I know you probably won’t understand,” she whispered gently as she made it to the other end of the room. “But I’m your big sister,” she continued on. “The world is very confusing, and sometimes it can be sad, or cruel. But if you have strength, and courage, and continue to be kind, you can find power in it,” she whispered gently, knowing the child could not hear her voice in her sleeping state, nor would she understand if she did.

“What’s her name?” She’d asked earlier, but she’d quickly forgotten of that when the promise of seeing the child came up.

“Lola.” He told her. His gaze hadn’t left her and the child.

“Well, Lola,” she said, speaking directly to the child again. “I’m going to keep you safe, whatever it takes, and I will love you until the end of forever,” her voice dropped to a whisper once more. “I promise.”

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Normal.

●Setting: Lola's Foster Home, July 2014.

●❝It's too cold outside, for angels to fly.❞

●Trigger Warnings: Abandonmnet, mentions of death.

Gillian was getting used to her angelic powers powers, slowly but surely, enough so she was capable of getting a hang of the tactic where she could remain unseen by a person. That was the one she used as she waited outside the house her little sister was in. After checking through the windows for the accommodations of her sister, she settled for waiting outside the bedroom window of Lola. She was watching carefully, waiting for the right moment to take her sister back. She knew her time was short. Any time the asylum could use their spell to call them back, and she’d have to get her sister before then.

She watched carefully as Lola walked into the room, and Gillian’s form immediately perked up. Her sister didn’t look bad. She wasn’t starved, her hair was brushed and she was dressed, in pajamas at least. That made sense. It was getting dark and it was more than late enough for the child to be in bed. She watched carefully as the foster mom they’d provided her with tucked Lola into bed. Lola didn’t seem as warm with the woman as she did Gillian, but she smiled at her all the same.

Gillian tried to imagine Lola in the room with her and Leo, the demon she was bunking with. She pictured the bright sunshine that was Lola tucked in the dank white walls of the asylum, curled up on a bed with Gillian because she surely wouldn’t have her own, and deprived of the normal human interaction, of anything that she’d need.

The image was not a kind one. She tried to picture her adjusting to a life of creatures, ones who weren’t all friendly, ones who’d love the aspect of an innocent human child. She cringed a little. Her gaze shifted around the room Lola was in, it was normal. She had her own bed. A dresser decorated with princess stickers, a few books on a shelf. It wasn’t perfect. But it was normal.

Normal.

The words played over and over in her head. And she realized she would never have this again, not until she was freed. She would be deprived of that in the asylum, she’d never see places like this again. No humans, no normal interactions, no more normal life. She wouldn’t go to school, wouldn’t see her two jobs again. Normal wasn’t real for her anymore.

But it was for Lola.That truth was more painful than the blade that had pressed into her gut. Thinking about it, as usual brought on the mannerism that had her lifting her hand to her stomach. She’d gotten better, she didn’t cringe away from the thoughts anymore. Sometimes, when she’d wake up, she’d still hold her stomach and check for bloody hands, but she quickly realize the warmth of crimson no longer stained her hands.

However she was certain that this pain was a different one. It was one where her heart seemed to twist in her ribs. She knew it wasn’t real, but she knew that the realization meant she was going to have to feel the painful throbbing in her chest a little more. Finally, she noticed the lights go off in the home and gave one more perimeter sweep that told her the foster parents were in bed. She rounded back to her watching post, and closed her eyes, summoning on another power, materialization.

In a moment, she was no longer outside, bearing weather that no longer affected her. Now, she was inside. The house was warmer. That was good. It was comforting Lola was keeping warm. Slowly, she lifted the invisibility, just so that Lola could see her. She wasn’t betting on the woman coming back, or the man she lived with, but she had to be careful. Her appearance could spark questions.

Her steps were careful, quiet. She could walk like that now, like a cat, without making a sound, at least until she reached the bed, which she gently sat upon. After taking a breath, she reached down and gently brushed Lola’s shoulder. “Pumpkin,” she mumbled the affection nickname she had for her. She wanted to stir her, but not in a way that would completely clue her in.

“Gilly,” a sleepy murmur, one alone that made Gillian’s heart leap. There was a sudden alarm on the girl’s face that seemed to take place of the sleepy impression on it, and the familiar eyes flew open not long after it set in. “Gilly!” She exclaimed, and in a split second, Lola’s arms were wrapped tightly around her. Another painful assault of feelings took her. But she didn’t take time at all to wrap her arms around the child and gently place a kiss on her head.

“Is this a dream?” Lola’s familiar voice had a lot of glee in it.

“Perhaps,” Gillian said softly, not quite ready to let go of the child she’d longed to hold.

“Where have you been Gilly? Are you an angel? This really nice lady says you’re an angel now,” Lola chattered on curiously. A pang in her chest. She knew what it meant. Whoever it was that had said that Gillian was an angel because she was dead. She imagined that Lola didn’t quite grasp the concept of death. But the truth was Gillian was an angel, a real one. “Have you seen Katie?”

That pulled another heartstring. Kate, affectionately nicknamed Katie by those who loved her. Of course that’d been what they’d said about Kate too. That she was an angel now. But Gillian hadn’t seen her about anywhere. That was the most heartbreaking part of it. Of all the people she’d want to see in death Kate was one of them.“Nevermind that,” she said softly, smiling a little. “How are you, are they treating you nicely?” Gillian asked, though by the looks of it, she could tell that they did.

“They treat me really nicely, and Sharon is a really good cook. And I made a friend at preschool,” Lola spiraled on about her life now, about the normality that Gillian knew she would have in this world, and it only made Gillian’s decision that much more final.

“That’s really good, I’m happy pumpkin, I really am,” Gillian said, looking away from the child for a moment to hide the fact that her eyes were watering, and there was a lump forming in her throat.

“Will you read to me?” Lola asked softly, ignorant to the pain Gillian kept so well concealed from her. Gillian to a moment, swallowing the pain and nodded a little.

“What shall we be reading?” Gillian asked, though she was certain she already knew the answer. It was an easy one to figure out, knowing Lola as she did.

“Cinderella, Gilly,” Lola was off the bed, away from Gillian’s side and over to the shelf. In a few moment, she had the book off of it and was handing it over to Gillian. The same copy she’d read to her so many times before. She’d kept it. Another little piece of her broke as she thought of all the memories that came with it.

“Of course, how foolish of me to even ask such a question,” her voice was lighthearted, far more than it’d been in the last few weeks of her life. It was a lighthearted carefree-ness that only existed around Lola.

Gillian took the book and let Lola get situated, tucked under the crook of her arm with the book outstretched in front of them. Gillian started into the story, going over the familiar words one more time. She almost had them memorized as she read them to the child, speaking softly and looking over at Lola every now and then to see the happiness on her face. Just like old times, it was what Gillian needed so badly, all this time.

They were nearing the end of the story, but Gillian had taken her time and she couldn’t help but know that it wasn’t just the story was ending, it was this simple time with Lola, the time she’d needed so badly. And before she could fully grasp her emotions, she knew she was crying. She felt the warmth of salted tears brushing down over her face. She was no stranger to tears. Especially not in the last while. It seemed a lot of what she did was cry.“Why are you crying Gilly?” Lola’s attention turned from the book to look up at Gillian. Gillian reached up and brushed a tear from her face.

“The ending of this story is just getting to me more than usual today,” Gillian lied. She didn’t lie much to Lola, but this was a blatant one, but the child seemed to accept it just fine.

“But you told me that most stories don’t really end Gilly,” Lola’s voice was chipper as she spoke the words to Gillian. Gillian nodded a little, a wide grin resting on her lips despite the tears that seemed to fall a little faster down her face.

“That’s right,” Gillian confirmed. “They keep going on, because the characters and the lessons they share live inside of us,” she informed her, ignoring the tears as she pressed another kiss to Lola’s forehead before she finally had enough clarity of vision to continue reading. Once she had been able to relax herself enough, she kept reading through the story, eventually closing the book with a shaky breath as she set it on the nightstand.

“Do I have to go to sleep now?” Lola asked softly, her attention back on Gillian again.

“Are you tired?” Gillian asked softly.

“A little,” Lola said, and right on cue a yawn escaped the young girl. Gillian smiled weakly, brushing away a few more lingering tears.

“That’s alright, lay down,” Gillian told her softly. As per her instructions, Lola laid down beside her on the bed, curling into her side, her small head resting gently on one of Gillian’s legs. “Close your eyes.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Lola asked quietly. And Gillian brushed her hand through the fine hair of the child.

“Don’t worry about that, just don’t be too scared when you wake up,” Gillian told her softly, offering a small smile as she brushed her hands through Lola’s hair to soothe her. It was an action that more than often worked. When Lola was sick, Gillian would often take the day off work and stay home to pay attention to her.

“Okay Gilly,” Lola said quietly as she got as comfortable as she could. They stayed like that for a few moments, quiet. Gillian listened carefully to the sound of her breathing. For a while, it clearly showed that Lola was still awake, but soon enough, she was asleep, her breathing evening out.

Gillian found more tears coming to her eyes as she looked down at the child. One hand gently brushed over her cheek as she breathed out quietly, looking upon the peaceful features of the child. The tears were coming once more, and she knew that she’d regret her decision if she didn’t act quickly. After gently pressing her lips to Lola’s forehead, she closed her own eyes, forcing more tears down over her cheeks, taking a few moments to focus.

In a matter of seconds, she was outside again, back into the cold temperatures.

“Gillian,” Qhuinn’s voice caught her attention and she looked up at him carefully. 

“Where’s Lola?” He noticed the absence of the child of course.

“She’s inside,” Gillian said, the emotion in her voice more than evident.

“Well, we should get going soon, you should get her quickly,” he prompted.

“I’m not getting her, Qhuinn,” the words brought on more tears, and she quickly tried to hide her emotion by looking down.

“Why not?” There was clear confusion in his voice, of course he was confused, all she wanted was to find her sister.

“Because I think the biggest part, of being a parent that I learned was that, the child’s needs come before yours. I took on two jobs to make sure she had everything she needed to have a normal life. A good life. I gave up everything so she could have that. And this past while, all I’ve wanted was to get back to her, to find her again. To bring her back to me. But…it’s selfish. Because she can’t have normal in the asylum, she can’t have a life,” she whispered solemnly, the truth hurt so much more when it was being spoke out loud. “The best thing I can do, to protect that little girl right now is to let her go. I have to let her go,” with those words, the harshest of all truths, she was practically sobbing.

“Gill…” he trailed off, though she knew he couldn’t argue with her. She was right.

Gillian took a few steps towards him, a little unsure of her actions herself. She’d touched him before, was no longer terrified and filled with the dreaded anxiety each time her skin met his. There was still that base fear, the instinctive, subconscious fear, but she could overcome it with the select few people she’d grown to trust. But this was different, completely different. And there was no holding back when she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head against his chest. It took a second, what she assumed was a stunned one for his arms to wrap around her, but when they did, they held her quivering form as she sobbed as quietly as she could manage.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Protector.

● Setting: The Marin Home, June 2013.

●❝It's too cold outside, for angels to fly.❞

●Trigger Warnings: Death of child, mentions of child neglect and abuse.

Gillian usually didn’t get out a lot. Not at all really. It wasn’t because she didn’t like to. She loved going out, seeing people. She didn’t have a lot of friends though. It was hard to hold up friendships when she could never go out anywhere. The only times she really ever got to go out was when her step-mother had her go on grocery runs for her. It was the only real social time she got, and those were brief greetings to strangers she didn’t know, or a few classmates from when she’d been in school.

Mostly her limits for not going out was because she was never allowed to. Sometimes it was a straight up refusal, and other times she was simply made too busy to leave the house. Cleaning, watching the kids, and by the time she’d finished up she was too tired to go out. It kept her from seeing any of her few passing acquaintances at school, and from doing anything truly social.She didn’t mind though. She had Kate and Lola to look after. They were enough company for her. They needed her. It wasn’t as if they got any true care from their mother, or from anyone else in the house. Occasionally Lydia and Rosa would take interest in Lola. Only for the briefest of moments though. Those were the two that were always out. She didn’t blame them entirely for that. Sometimes they suffered the same abuse that Gillian did.

Tonight had been different. She’d been approached by a few of her friends from high school at the grocery store, and they’d asked her if she wanted to go to coffee. At first she hadn’t been entirely sure, but she told them she would ask and get back to them. When she’d gotten home, she asked her step-mother, certain that somehow she’d be turned down. Much to her surprise, she’d been told she was allowed.

Gillian was incredibly eager to get to go out. She’d managed to save up some money from when her father had been around, and that was what she brought along with her. It was a nice night. They mostly talked about what they were doing, and Gillian explained that she was mostly staying at home with her siblings. It was a little saddening to hear that her friends were going to university, but she had kept on her smile, and remained happy for the girls and the lives they had.

After an hour or two, they’d finished up at the coffee shop. One of the girls offered to give her a ride home, but she wanted to walk and enjoy her time out a bit longer. It wasn’t a far walk, nothing too exhausting, but it wasn’t a short one either. She took her time, stopping to take in the surroundings of the town she was living in, and to admire the cloudless sky, and all the stars she could see.It was a beautiful night. Colder, not so much that she felt the need to completely bundle up, but enough so that she could feel the chill. Enough that she had buttoned up her old jacket on the way out. There was one button that was missing, she hadn’t had time to sew it back onto her jacket before she’d left, but she’d get around to it before she’d go out again. She just had to remind herself so she didn’t forget amongst all the chaos of looking after the kids.

Finally, she made her way down the street that she lived on. She was mindful of the grooves and dips in the sidewalk. Once upon a time as a child when she and her mom had been walking home, she remembered tripping up and scraping up her knees. She’d only done it a few more times after that, but it’d been enough to learn to be mindful as she walked.

That was when she saw it, near the end in her view. Flash lights, red and blue. The closer she got she saw squad cars, and what looked like an ambulance, parked right outside her house, almost blocking her from seeing the drive way. Immediately, panic took her over. She saw those flashing lights and ice flooded her veins. For just a few seconds, she froze, her mind spinning with possibilities on what had happened.

Those thoughts were ultimately what snapped her out of it. Whatever it was, whatever had happened she had to be there. She didn’t waste any of the time, and the fear stopped seizing her in place. Almost immediately, she started racing towards her house, no longer being mindful of the grooves in the sidewalk. There were more important things. She crossed the street halfway through, for a split second she wasn’t even mindful of traffic.

She only got as far as the few people lingering outside of her house. Gillian tried to get through them as politely as possible, but everyone was so busy chattering and trying to figure out what was going on she couldn’t manage it without pushing past a few people. She wasn’t running on kindness and polite manners anymore, she was running on adrenaline, and the worse thoughts that ran through her head.There was a break between the wooden blocks, and she made a movement to get through them, but a police officer quickly stopped her. “Miss, you can’t get through here.” He said, almost sounding annoyed with her.“I live here!” She exclaimed, not much evidence of the sweet person she usually was left. She was too driven.

“You still…you can’t get here,” he said slowly, as if he was suddenly saddened. Gillian felt her heart stopped for a few moments. She wasn’t sure what to think, but the sadness in his eyes, in his voice, something was wrong, something was terribly wrong.

“Why not? What’s going on?” She asked quickly, knowing this time what was in her voice was demand and panic.

Gillian looked over his shoulder, desperately searching for any clue of what was happening. She had to know. She hoped she might see Rosa, or Lydia, or Kate or her step-mother. She wanted desperately to see anyone, someone who could explain to her what was happening. What had happened while she’d left? What had gone so wrong? 

She started counting back the last while as she looked over his shoulder, watching the scene behind him. There was only stillness, nothing significant. She couldn’t even see much activity within the house. The sirens blared loudly, but she was too focused trying to figure out how long she’d been gone. With the walk home it couldn’t have been more than three hours.Surely nothing so terrible could happen in such a short time span. Maybe her step-mother had taken ill, or one of her step-sisters had tripped or something. That didn’t explain the police officers, but she was so desperate to cling to a reason that wasn’t drastic enough to bring her world crashing down that she was able to briefly ignore the logical questions that came about. Whatever had happened had drawn some of her neighbors out of their houses.

“There’s a-,” suddenly his words sounded far away. They weren’t the focus of her attention anymore. It all sounded far away, including the sirens. She got her answer though, so his words didn’t matter. She got her answer as the door opened. At first she hoped that it’d be one of her sisters, anyone. But it wasn’t them. It was a uniformed man, wheeling out a stretcher. There wasn’t a body on it, not that she could see at least. The form on the stretcher was encased in a black bag. A body bag.

Her world came crumbling down in that moment. She barely even saw the second man exit the house. She could see because her eyes blurred. The lights in the corners of broke into circles, seen through the filters of watery eyes. She shook her head briefly, quickly finding a way to deny it. It had to be something else. Anything else. This was all a sick joke. It had to be. Or a dream. A nightmare born out of fear of losing one of the two people she cared most about. This was just a sick, twisted creation from the back of her mind. There was no other way to explain it.

Maybe it was her step-mother. Yet that brief glance at the body bag told her the form was too small to be her step-mother. She looked around, desperate to see the face of Kate. Her eyes were already too watery that she wasn’t seeing anything but distorted face after face. Someone she knew, anyone she knew. There had to be someone. They all blurred together as she spun desperate around, hoping to see someone in the crowd. The world slowed around her almost.

Eventually, her desperation turned her back to the officer. “Who? Who was it?” She wasn’t aware she was yelling. She wasn’t aware of what she was doing. She managed to push past the officer, slipping into her drive way and running towards the stretcher. She had to know. She had to see. A part of her didn’t want to know. Or at least didn’t want it to be real, because deep down she already knew. She already knew what frail body lid beneath the bag.

Arms stopped her, gripping onto her upper arms and pulling her back. “Miss! Miss! You have to stay back!” The words were sharp, desperate, but not half as desperate as she was.

“Kate! Kate!” She called desperately, hoping to get a response. She yelled it so loud that she was sure everyone in the area could hear her. She hoped that someone would. She needed someone, anyone to hear her. She needed to see Kate walk out of the house, or separate from the crowd so she could see her.

The men wheeled that stretcher right past her, and she threw herself towards it, desperate to break the hold of the man. “Who is it?” She screamed the words, unsure of who she was yelling at, the men wheeling the stretcher or the officer who held her. “Who?” She demanded, needing the answer, but not wanting it at the same time.

“It was the young girl, Kate,” he sounded so unfamiliar with the name, so unsure of it she almost felt angry. He didn’t have the right to say it like that.

“Please let me go!” She exclaimed, pulling a little harder, using all the strength in her body to try and get away. She had nothing on the man holding her though. He was too strong though, she couldn’t break free, not that she was sure what she would do if she got free. Tears streaked her face. She’d failed. She’d failed.

Soon the strength left her, the adrenaline left her. All she was left with was gut wrenching disappointment, guilt and absolute and utter devastation. She slouched back into the arms of the officer, knowing he wouldn’t let her go now. Not that she had anywhere to go. All she could think about was Kate.

She was in the clutches of her sadness, knowing that whatever happened, it was her fault. She should have been there, she should have protected her. She could have done something. She knew she had to have done something. If she’d been there, if she hadn’t gone out Kate would be alive, she’d be safe. They wouldn’t be wheeling her out in the body bag.

She couldn’t bring herself to ask what happened. That’d make it too real. It was already real. The wrenching pain in her chest, and the sickness in her stomach told her just how real it was. She let out a scream, a scream that ended up in a sob. She fell slack against the officer, her legs weakening beneath her and giving way. It was only then that she was actually let go. His hand still rested on her shoulder, but she didn’t feel much anymore.

Nothing but the emptiness of knowing that of all the people that she’d let down, Kate had been one of them. She couldn’t even grasp at how alone Kate must have felt. She couldn’t feel anything but crushing sadness. It ached, and pulsed through her. Kate was gone. Kate was gone. She was gone. There would be no more watching her come out of her room in the morning looking for whatever breakfast Gillian could throw together.

There’d be no more reading fairytale books to her and Lola at night. She’d never gotten to kiss her forehead after she’d fallen asleep nestled against her side. She’d never get to see her smile, or hear her laugh. She’d never watch her walk back in the door from school. The girl, who’d been her sister but more like a daughter was gone. She was gone, and she had died alone.

Gillian dissolved into a sobbing, broken mess, the entire world around her bleeding away. She was left with nothing but the fierce, burning ache left behind. The guilt, the depression. She was left with the image of what Kate would become if she’d been there, if she’d been able to save her from this fate. Left with the guilt of knowing she would never graduate, her grow old.

She wanted to scream, but she had no energy left. She had no energy left to breathe it felt like, but her body just kept going. She didn’t want it to, not at first. Each sob racked her body, shaking her body. Gillian didn’t feel even the ground beneath her. Just pain. Internal pain. It was so dominating, and so strong, she couldn’t even think properly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered desperately, as if Kate could hear her. Even speaking was painful. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered and over, her voice broken and withdrawn, only coming out between the frequent sobs.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Scream.

●Setting: Henderson Asylum, April 2014.

●❝My demons, are begging me to open up my mouth.❞

●Trigger Warnings: Mentions of a previous rape, torture depictions, gore depictions.

The barrier was down.

At last the barrier was down.

She’d been there for what – two month?

Maybe more.

She’d been keeping only a loose track of the days, not overly focused on each passing minute. Or at least not as focus as she’d been when she’d first arrived. On her first day she’d obtained a tiny little desk calendar so she could keep track of the dates. The small little sticky pad of months was scribbled in with different dates of the month she’d been sent. When she’d gotten her second job. The day she’d had her home visit from the social worker. The day she’d…been killed. The day she woke up. The day she’d arrived here. Like clockwork, she’d marked off all the day after that, checking carefully to monitor how long she’d left Lola for.

As the days stretched into the weeks, and then into the long two months, she’d learn to relax a little. Relaxing for her, in that matter at least was maybe allowing herself to skip a day of calendar marking or two. She’d always go back and ensure she was caught up afterwards, but she tried to be more comfortable in the place she was in. After all time would no pass slowly if she didn’t at least settle in somewhat.

Over the past week, she’d heard chatter that two of the occupants were going to break down the barrier. She wasn’t sure who, and she wasn’t even sure how, really. She just knew that what she’d wished for those two months was finally coming true, and she couldn’t be more excited. After all the time away from Lola, something that’d been akin to being forced to walk around without her heart, she was going to see her again.

Gillian knew there would be commotion when she left. The asylum would no doubt be in utter chaos. Everyone would be looking to get out of there. They’d be angling to escape and go be free once again. From what she heard it would only be temporary, and she knew that everyone would be quick to take up their free time in the outside world, some would no doubt even spend it trying to permanently keep the barrier down, so they couldn’t be brought back by the curse on the food.

That was why she waited. Being caught in that commotion wouldn’t be good for her. She’d be caught amongst the bodies of several people, some male. She’d hear the horrid pants of breath as people groped for their escape. She’d be sent back to a time when those touches had been harsh, and when the panting had been of a man defiling her. Being caught in that would do no good but perhaps give her a minute or two in advance to see Lola.

She waited ten minutes, watching out her room window, anxiously gripping onto the edge of the window sill. She was careful not to do so too tightly. Being an angel now, she was stronger than ever. She was still getting used to that strength. Sometimes she had to remind herself to be gentle with things. It was never a problem before. But without realizing her own strength half of the time, she’d often forget and broke one or two things. It had made her feel so bad she ended up repairing both things she’d broken.

Once the crowd thinned, she made her exit, only grabbing her bag packed with things for a night or two. She didn’t plan to be gone long. Lola hadn’t eaten the food here, so the same time that she would be transferred back, her sister would not be, and then she’d be gone again for god only knew how long for. There was a chance she could never see the girl she promised to take care of again if she didn’t get out and get her.

She was quickly making her way down the stairs, even more quickly racing down the hall. She was eager to get there, and there wasn’t anyone waiting in the hallway anyway. They’d all moved outside or were gone already. She was more than ready to get out of there. Anticipation was evident. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was finally going to see her, and have her there again. She could take care of her again.

“Miss!” The words were loud and Gillian couldn’t believe she’d taken so long to notice that there was someone else in the room with her. She almost felt guilty for the shortest of seconds. Yet she knew with her excitement it was might have been excusable.

She slowed her run to a walk, though even as she turned around the face who’d been talking to her, she was still itching to turn and run back to the exit. But her better nature, the well-mannered side of herself was able to stop her. It was a well-dressed man. She couldn’t help but feel more unwanted anxiety and desire to leave.

“Yes is there something you need?” She asked offering a polite smile and hoping he didn’t see her nervousness.

“I need you to stop where you are,” he said, his voice which had first been gentle seemed different and contorted. Maybe anger. She couldn’t quite identify the emotion. Not exactly.

“I actually, well I have to go. You see, they broke the barrier down. My little sister is out there,” she explained. Her sentences were choppy, not as well put together as she would have liked, but she really was in a rush, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about his expression. As soon as her mention of the barrier came over him though she couldn’t help but notice that there was definite contortion of his features. Definitely anger.

“I can’t let you do this. You see. You’re an angel, and we need angels. I need to know how you’re immortal,” and just like that, he charged her. There was nothing gentle about this either. She was so taken aback, that it took a split second for her to catch on to run. She was faster, and in that split second she found that she hadn’t been able to use the angel powers she wasn’t so accustomed to using.

Gillian felt a sharp jab in her side and instantly was flashed back to a reminder of that night. It wasn’t quite as painful as that moment. Whatever had been stabbed into her hadn’t quite been as thick as the knife, not by a long shot. But it was close enough, both in size and placement that it reminded her of that. She quickly figured out it was a needle, and by then she was already drowsy. Her last thought was a memory.

~

The pain was so sharp and demanding. It had to be felt. She had seen that flicker of metallic in his hands and she hadn’t entirely realized what was happened. His arm had moved so quickly that by the time the blade had pierced her stomach, she hadn’t quite realized where the flash of silver went. All she knew was that it had cut into her stomach, and sliced through her dress, into her gut. It was sharp, and he was strong that it made her wonder if she’d just break apart like that, like butter.

The knife was yanked out with a sickening jerk and sound of something wet. Her blood she soon realized. The crimson spread around the wound. The pain was terrible, and she could already feel her vision blurring. But for that brief moment, the knife had been inside her. She felt it so acutely, so painfully. And now she was watching the life pour out of her body in the form of crimson warmth.

~~

Slowly, Gillian came around, blinking a few times to try to get rid of the blurriness of her vision. She felt like she was under water. Everything was muted somehow. She felt heavy, and tired. Gillian hadn’t felt much like this since she’d gotten her appendix taken out when she was fourteen. They’d given her the anesthesia and she’d woken up feeling a lot like this. Only now, she knew that wouldn’t work. She was an angel.

Her memory came back. The sharp jab in her side that had pulled her back to the memory of when she’d been stabbed. She remembered the man in the hallway who’d at first seemed the slightest bit normal, at least until his features had come to anger. Some of the drowsy feeling wore off and she was able to take an inventory of where she was. She tried to move her wrists, than her ankles. It was what tipped her off to the fact that she was chained up.

Drugged. With whatever it was, she knew that. And chained up. Someone had felt it was necessary to bind her. She pulled more, with her extra strength. The chains did not break or bend. Not even in the slightest. Something was off. No ordinary chains could completely resist that strength. Sure, they were heavy. She could feel that evidently. Spelled perhaps. In her short time here, she’d learned of the existence of witches.

There was a dank scent permeating the air. It kind of reminded her of how the basement of her house smelled before her father had renovated it. The concrete brick surrounding confirmed had her believing she must have been in the foundations of somewhere. Probably the asylum. She had a feeling whoever it was who’d gotten her wouldn’t bother taking her somewhere else. She wasn’t even sure how far away the asylum was from civilization.

“That wore off quickly, we’ll have to give you something stronger next time,” came a deep rumble of a male voice. She shied back into the wall rather quickly, her gut churning with anxiety. It wasn’t just because of her fear of men either, it was from the feeling that there was something terribly off with this man.

“Who are you?” She asked quietly, trying to have some courage, but knowing her voice came off timid and frightened.

“That’s not important, little angel. What’s important is that you cooperate. If you do, you might live through this. If not, chances are we’ll have an angel corpse to examine,” she could see a twisted grin crossing his features as he stepped closer. Both the grin and his steps toward her had her shifting closer to the wall, her lips pressing together.

“Cooperate with what?” She asked, not letting her eyes leave him. He kept stepping closer, and she had run out of space to step back.

“With our tests,” he commented, as if she should have known. She tried not to shake or show as much fear as she felt. It wasn’t easy since her anxiety had shifted into full blown terror.

“What tests?” She asked, although a part of her didn’t want to know the answer. A big part of her was terrified that she would find out either way.

“You’ll know soon enough. First off, extend your wings,” there was no sense in those words that she had a choice in this.

“What?” She asked, confused. Why would he want her to extend her wings? She didn’t like how close he’d come to her. She didn’t like the idea of poking and prodding at her, or her wings. She didn’t want his hands on her at all.

“Extend. Your. Wings.” He said, his tone low, angry and threatening.Gillian didn’t close her eyes, she didn’t want to let him blind her in anyway. She let her wings push through the slits in her back. She let them unfurl, spreading to their full span. In her peripheral vision she could see the pristine white feathers, it was a sharp contrast against the dingy walls of the basement she was in.

Instead of stepping closer, the man disappeared once again. She wasn’t sure if she was happy with that, or more nervous than she’d been before. She didn’t move from against the wall. Instead she remained flattened there, at least no one could sneak up on her that way. Not that she could fight very well with the shackles keeping her in place.When she saw him again, he had what looked like a very like a very large nail and a hammer. Only it wasn’t a nail, it was more like a stake, made of metal as nails would be. Fear spiked and even though she was stuck with the chains, she still flung herself forward, trying to break them. She had to get out of there. “Please, you don’t need to do this! You can let me go!” She said as she pulled against the chains. “You’re better than this, you are. You don’t need to hurt me.”

The distance closed, mostly. Only his focus was on her right wing. “This might hurt a little,” he seemed like he enjoyed that idea. Without another word, and that sadistic smile, he stabbed the stake through her wing, forcing the thick, sharp length of metal through her wing. Pain exploded in her wing and through her back.

A loud, blood curdling scream escaped her lips.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ First Blood.

●Setting: The Marin Home, December 2013.

●❝Grabbed my hand and pushed me down, took the words right out my mouth, tag, you're it.❞

●Trigger Warnings: Graphic death and gore depictions, graphic rape depictions, description of a home break in, mentions of child abandonment.

“Read it again!” Lola excitedly demanded. It wasn’t unlike her. Cinderella was one of her favored stories after all. It was one of Gillian’s too, she related to Cinderella in it just a little too much.

“Lola it’s eight o’clock, you need to get yourself to sleep,” Gillian said with a small smile on her lips.

“But I want to hear about Cinderella and the Prince again,” Lola said, seeming evidently disheartened by Gillian’s refusal to read the story again.

“Well, I’ll read you the story again tomorrow night,” Gillian said, holding the book in her lap as she glanced down at the small child beside her in the bed. They were both tucked under the sheets, but Gillian had no intentions of curling up there, she’d go to her own familiar bed.

“I want to hear it tonight though,” Lola said, looking up at Gillian with big brown eyes much similar to the ones Gillian so often saw in the mirror.

“You already heard it tonight,” an amused grin brushed Gill’s features as she shut the book, setting it in her lap.

“One more time?” Lola bargained. It was like this almost every night, unless she was particularly tired during the day.

“Not tonight Lola, you need to go to bed, you’ll be tired in the morning. Too tired for school,” Gillian had tried not to let Lola stay up late. It was difficult to make the transition from fun big sister to the one who had to set all the rules and regulations, but she knew that Lola needed it. Just as Gillian was pulling the blankets off of herself, Lola stopped her.

“Gillian, do I have to call you mommy now?” Lola asked, the innocence in her question and in her voice more than evident. That one had Gillian stopping in her tracks. She paused for a moment, trying to formulate how she could answer that.

“Why would you ask that?” Gillian asked, wondering where she got the idea.

“The lady that comes here says that you’re my mother now,” Lola answered. It was easy to put the pieces together. The social worker had no doubt explained that Gillian was the adoptive mother, and using the word that Lola was so used to directing at another woman must have been confusing.

“I’m what they call your legal guardian, yes. But I mean, you don’t have to call me anything you don’t feel comfortable with. You can still call me Gilly, like you always have. Or sissy, or whatever you want as long as it’s not mean,” Gillian said with a small smile on her lips.

“Alright Gilly,” Lola said quietly as if she was mulling on that. 

“Are you sure you can’t read me the story one more time?”

“Absolutely sure,” Gillian said with a small grin, carefully standing up from the bed. That was when she heard it. Glass shattering. The sound rang through the house and in those moments, her veins surged with adrenaline, and a fierce protective nature. The protectiveness won out from the icy fear that caught her as much as the adrenaline did. “Lola, get very quietly out of bed, we’re going to go to the closet, be very, very quiet,” Gill said, her voice a hushed whisper. Instead of leaving it to chance, she walked over and gently gripped Lola under her arms, pulling her from the sheets and briskly walking over to the closet. In a split second, she had the door open and had Lola tucked under the shelf.

Gillian got in herself, crouching into the closed space and closing the closet door behind her. It was a tight squeeze, but she knew it was a good idea to hide. She had to protect Lola at all costs. The urge to protect was strong, and it fueled her adrenaline.

“Gilly what’s happening?” There was clear fear in Lola’s voice, it was quiet, hushed, but Gillian recognized the fear in her voice almost instantly.

“Just be quiet, it’s okay,” Gillian whispered. To try and comfort Lola, she reached out in the dark, eventually finding Lola’s hand and patting it gently.

Gillian leaned her head back against the wall, listening carefully as she traced the sound of the footsteps and how close they were. She had to ensure they didn’t get too close. She wouldn’t let them hurt Lola, not if it meant risking her own life. Her ears stayed tuned to the sounds outside of the closet, trying to ignore the sound of her own heavy breathing. It was practically impossible to ignore the sound of her own heart thumping so harshly in her chest.

The footsteps moved around a bit, fading in and out. It was hard to filter them through the closed closet door and the closed bedroom door. But she even held her breath at some points to try and pinpoint where they were in the house. Back and forth they went, the voices of two males ringing out rather clearly.

Stupid back and forth chatter about what they were stealing.

The footsteps began to get a little closer.

“We’ve yet to hit this room yet,” a male voice said.

Gillian knew they were talking about the room she was in and felt another spike of adrenaline. She knew she had to protect Lola, they couldn’t know she was there. “Lola,” she said quietly in a hushed voice. “You know how you used to climb the shelves and hide on the top one in hide and seek,” she trailed off. “I need you to do that now, press up on the door to the attic, go all the way in and shut it and do not come out until I call you, do you understand?”

“Gilly where are you going?” Lola’s voice asked, the fear more than evident. Gillian breathed out quietly, reminding herself to hold onto her bravery.

“I’m going to make sure you’re safe, don’t worry pumpkin,” she said quietly, knowing the child had to be assured. Carefully Gillian helped Lola pressed herself in the tight space between the door on the shelves. She gave her a careful lift onto the first shelf, hearing the shifting of sheets as she made her way up. Gillian hear the soft thumping noise of the attic door opening. It was too loud for her. She sucked in a breath, holding onto it until she heard the door thump again. Once it’d fallen shut, she opened the closet door carefully, slowly, stepping out of it. She was thankful for no longer being cramped, but knew she had a new mission. Distraction, getting the people out of her house as quickly as possible.

Gillian slowly made her way towards the door, wishing she’d placed phone all over the house so she could call the police. But there was only her cellphone, in the kitchen. She hadn’t been able to afford a house phone.

“Stop it right there,” the voice barked and she immediately froze in place. Be brave, she reminded herself internally. Gillian didn’t move, she didn’t speak.And slowly, the man came up behind her. She felt an arm wrap around one shoulder, and felt the cold metal of a blade pressing into the skin of her neck. Gillian didn’t dare to even breathe, she knew that would only make the sharp edge press into her throat.

“You the owner of the house?” The voice asked.

“Yes,” she spoke the words gently, carefully, she didn’t want to upset him.

“You’re going to co-operate, and you’ll get out of this, if you don’t, I’ll use force, understood?” The man said carefully.

“I understand,” she told him carefully. Another man came into her view and she immediately noticed the way he looked at her, with hungry eyes. She tried not to look too utterly disgusted at the way he was sizing her up.

“I got this one,” the man said, withdrawing something from his own pocket, there was a flash of silver.

Click.

The blade came out.

There was a careful exchange, neither of them wanted to let her out of their sight for too long. She wasn’t that much of a threat to them. But she didn’t point it out, she didn’t say anything. She stayed quiet, and silently begged whatever was above to make sure that Lola didn’t dare to leave the attic.

“Jewelry, where is it?” The man who’d pulled away from behind her and had been replaced by another man asked. She decided that instead of speaking, and risking having that sharp blade digging into her skin that she’d point to the end of the hall.

Gillian felt the shove forward and kept her steps up with the pace of the person behind her, not that she had much of a choice in the matter. She felt a hand roughly groping her bum. She held her breath, trying not to react to the invading touch. No one had ever done that before. And this was definitely not a wanted touch.

She kept walking, reminding herself just to put one foot in front of the other, it’d all be over soon. They’d be gone. Both of the men. She wouldn’t have to worry about the unwelcomed touch any more, she’d call the police and they’d hopefully track down the men. Gillian didn’t care as long as they never returned to threaten her and Lola again.

They were led to the room that her step-mother and father had once shared, before his death. She knew there was jewelry in there, her step-mother had had a lot. She often had her father buy her pretty things. Gillian pointed over to the dresser carefully, and the one with the bag in hand was quick to walk over and stuff everything shiny into one bag, scouring the drawers.

“Electronics we don’t know about?” The man inquired, turning back to her.“No, there’s nothing,” Gillian said. She would have shook her head for emphasis, but that knife might as well have been a weight preventing her from moving at all. She refused to move her head and risk the sharp instrument breaking skin.

“You’d tell me the truth wouldn’t you?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she said, brown eyes looking straight at him to ensure that he knew she was telling the truth.

“Alright, Rafe, let’s go,” the man said rather curtly, nodding his own head. Gillian let out the breath she’d been holding.

“I’m going to do one more sweep while you go out to the car,” she heard the deep voice say from behind her. There was no relief this time. She didn’t like the idea of being left alone by the man.

“Not this one,” the man warned, looking at the man, the one he’d called Rafe behind her with a warning look before he left.

She didn’t like the sound of it. She closed her eyes and tried not to read too much into it. What would the man behind her do to her? What had he done before that would warrant that warning? She felt herself being pushed again, this time it was towards the door. Where were they going?

Gillian walked, keeping her pace the same as the person behind her, not walking too far or too fast so he couldn’t keep up or too close. He led her into another bedroom. Her bedroom. A look around. Nothing. She was led back out and down the hallway. She felt the same hand that had groped her bum coming around to tug the skirt of her gown up.

“No, don’t,” she said, speaking up more than a few words in her steady voice. Gillian wasn’t sure if it would be enough to stop him.

“What? Don’t you want me?” Gillian felt like that was a loaded question. The same rough hand slid up along her thigh and she felt goosebumps forming on her skin as her stomach turned. She felt like she was going to be sick. “You too good for me? That it?” The voice grew a little angry.

“No,” she breathed out, trying to calm him. Maybe he would stop if she calmed his anger. “Just don’t. Don’t do this. You’re better than this. I’m sure there’s a good person down there, please don’t do this,” she tried to ignore her turning stomach.

The knife slipped away from her throat and the hand that had groped roughly onto her thigh had moved. She was sure she was safe, just for a few moments and then she felt the same hand giving one sharp push on her back. Gillian stumbled a little, falling to the ground, her knees taking the brunt of it. It hurt slightly, but she ignored it, quickly trying to get back up from the ground. A hand held her down, turning her over onto her back. The knife was close again, too close, and the man hovered above her. She immediately locked her legs together, hoping it’d be enough to him away.

The knife was pressing on her throat once more as she felt the man’s other hand prying at her legs. She held them together tightly, fighting against him. The blade pressed more harshly on her throat, it was hard to struggle with that knife on her throat.

“Please don’t do this,” she was flat out begging at this point, her voice strained as she tried not to breathe too much and have that knife pressing more onto her. This couldn’t be happening. It was happening to her.

There was no response to her pleas, and his strength won out over hers. Even with the adrenaline spike, he managed to pry her legs apart and force his body in between them. She felt the pounding of her heart in the chest as she tried to kick and get him away. The knife pressed again. She needed to get away, she needed to escape.

She felt his hand a little too close to the area between her legs, the most intimate area that was not for his touch, felt him pushing the cotton underwear she wore to the side, out of his way.

“Please don’t do this,” she begged once more, helplessly. The sound of the buckle on his belt being undone rang through the room and she squirmed as much as she could, trying to get out from underneath him. Tears of fear had formed in her eyes, a lump in her throat.“Stop, stop, please,” she let out a series of pleas, anything that would stop what was about to happen, what he was about to do to her. Gillian continued to squirm, but it didn’t stop her from feeling the tip of his unwanted appendage in the place she least wanted him. She stifled the cry of pain as he forced his way into her body.

Her stomach rolled again, she was certain she was going to be sick. The pain was just blinding though, all of it was. She turned her head to the side, getting sick on the floor. She could feel it, the disgusting unwelcome heat of his body on hers, the pain of the intrusion, him thrusting the appendage in and out of her. She heard the grunts leaving him, his pleasure being derived from her pain, from her suffering.

She tried not to cry too loudly, she knew if she did Lola would try to come help. She couldn’t put her sister at risk like this. The minutes dragged by. She got sick again. His body kept thrusting into hers without any account for her feelings, for the fact she was quite literally sick. Finally his brutal actions came to an end, when his pleasure did. She felt his filth filling her, and then she heard a voice.

“Rafe-,” his words were cut off as the man walked in on the scene. Out of her watery eyes, she saw the man turn away in disgust at the sight. “Just clean up your god damn mess,” the man said, walking out again.Things were a little blurry after that, somewhat. The man remained between her legs as he pulled out of her. 

“Damn, a virgin, no wonder you were so tight,” he said as if he got satisfaction from what he’d done to her. She felt like she was going to be sick again. She knew every graphic image would be burned into her mind forever. “Oh I wish I didn’t have to kill you,” she heard his words and somewhere, deep in her damaged mind she knew she had to get away. She couldn’t leave Lola with no one. She quickly kicked out, ignoring the pain that came from between her legs with the actions.

As soon as she’d hit right where she wanted to, between his legs and he drew back, she made a break for it. She ran right for the kitchen, going for her cell phone, trying to dial in the emergency number. She punched the numbers in and managed to get the talk button before the man was in the kitchen. “Help, help, there’s someone in my-,” she was cut off as the man came at her. She tried to dance around the table to get away, but she wasn’t fast enough. There was that silver flash and then another explosion of pain in her stomach. Whatever had plunged into her stomach was quickly hauled out and she felt to the ground, clutching at the place where the blade had entered her body. There was so much blood. She felt the warmth of it on her hands.She tried to press on it, but there was too much, and she quickly felt the life fading from her as the blood did. Her eyes caught the man walking out of the house rather quickly, saw the door closing behind him. The warmth stained her hands with red. She had one last thought before the world completely blanked out around her.

Lola.