#( serving mother miranda realness )

[seluniite-archived]

bbgirl you're so unsettling.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

you should make a donna x reader where donna has a dream about y/n and becomes obsessed with her, thank you!!!

Yess!!!! Thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))

Dreams

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, slightly dark themes, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna, happy ending

Word count: 7,782

Summary: Were you real?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Dreaming is a third part of our life”

It was a phrase that always seemed curious to me. I had been alive for a long time, and a number of days, months, and years were insignificant to me. I was no longer a woman, a person, a human being. I couldn’t count the time passing around me. I had lost count for years.

Sometimes I remembered those more difficult, but different times, when time mattered, when days had a meaning, when dreaming was nothing but a waste of time, a silent theft from the countdown of my existence.

But that was no longer the case, my existence had no end, it was like an eternal sentence, like an unlimited time that was granted to me by the grace of the Black Gods. I couldn’t blame Mother Miranda for turning my life into a succession of days and nights, into a constant reminder of better times. What nonsense, there were never better times.

Stripped of the only thing that made me human, my mortality, the limits my life would have, I became a ghost, an erratic soul that stopped looking for its place, it already had it.

Being a Lord was just a nickname, a nickname that served just for the purposes of the same witch who turned me into what I am now, a monster. A monster they said had no feelings, a wounded, sick monster, one more doll of my creations, a puppet that dances to the tune of this horrible village.

Donna Beneviento, a feared woman, repudiated and turned into a terrorizing machine, making people feel the real fear, that was me. I couldn't say that I didn't like having that power over the people who one day laughed at me, who forced me to isolate myself from the world, who believed themselves better for not having scars.

I had gotten my revenge a long time ago, and I liked doing it. Loneliness was a common thing, another companion, like Angie, like my dolls, a dark shadow that surrounded me, that crossed my body day after day, that reminded me of who I was and how I had gotten there. However, there was something that Mother Miranda had not managed to take away from me, something that the Black Gods could not prevent: I continued dreaming.

I wonder if my siblings also dream, if they are capable of traveling to a different world, if they are happy dreams or horrible nightmares. I suppose their personality has something to do with it, that mine forces my subconscious to torture me when darkness is not just a metaphor, when I want to sleep, to make time pass more quickly, even knowing that the next day, nothing would change.

The nightmares were just another routine, the crises, the tremors… Everything imprisoned me even more in myself.

 Why, Mother Miranda? Why save a sick woman like me? No matter how many times I asked myself, I was never able to get an answer.

If I look back, I even dare to miss those horrible dreams, those memories that torment my disturbed mind; screams, terrors, helplessness, all of that was replaced in a moment by something else, something that made me want to keep dreaming, and at the same time stop doing it.

“If you could choose, what would you do? Where would you like to go?” you asked, playing with my hand, looking into my eyes, looking at my face that was not deformed, at what I never was, nor will I be.

“I don't know,” I answered with a smile, letting myself be carried away by those soft caresses, by the sensation of your skin on mine, by the subtle touch of our naked bodies like every night. “Anywhere, as long as it were with you.”

Your laughter lit up my face, your soft voice, your sighs made my heart want to jump out of my chest, it wanted to feel, just like me, the warmth and softness of your body.

“Are you always that romantic?” you asked, snuggling into my chest, sighing again, making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world, in this dark world.

“Only with you,” I said, leaning down to kiss you, to caress your lips with mine. I don't know why I kept trying…

“Hey, hey, Donna, wake up, wake up!” you said in a gruff tone, shaking me by the shoulders. It was another ending.

“Hey, hey, move your lazy ass and wake up!” an irritating voice pulled me out of that scene, out of that feeling of having you near me. Of course, Angie always took care of ending my dreams, forcing me to return to my horrible reality.

“Angie…” I murmured in a sleepy, angry voice, annoyed by the light that illuminated my room, with my faithful doll, my only friend, jumping on my body in a comical, but annoying way.

I pushed her away with a slap as I sat up, glancing sideways at the other side of the bed, where an empty, cold space reminded me that I had dreamed again, dreamed of you.

Sighing, I rubbed my only eye, wishing to return to that alternative world, one in which you were with me, in which I was not completely alone.

“Wake up, wake up!” the doll shrieked, with a mocking laugh, which disappeared with my furious look, with my furious growl at her attitude.

“Oh, Angie…” I sighed, uncovering myself and approaching the dressing table, where the reflection of that cruel mirror revealed my deformed face, revealed my true nature, my true appearance, the appearance of a monster.

I combed my hair slowly, avoiding looking at myself in the reflection more than necessary, remembering that pleasant dream before my mind forgot it. Well, forgot part of it. There was something I couldn't forget, that my head still kept intact: You.

“Buongiorno…” the doll sang, irritating me even more.

“Angie, I dreamed about her again,” I whispered, closing my eye, hoping that, when I opened it, I could return to your arms. I couldn't, I never could. It would never be real.

“Oh, the mysterious girl,” the puppet commented, with a mocking but understanding voice. “Was it a nice dream?”

“Yes, it was,” I whispered, leaving the comb on that horrible dressing table, getting up to start another day, another day of terrible and anguishing loneliness.

It hadn't been long since I started dreaming about you, since your figure appeared in the middle of the fog, dissipating it, making way for you with the light of your beauty.

I didn't know who you were, what you were, I didn't know if you existed, but I wanted you to. There were many possibilities. It could be that my head had created you just to relieve me, so my madness wouldn't get worse, at least during those hours of sleep.

A warm smile, silky and shiny hair, the perfection that I could never have. At first I thought that maybe it was a coincidence, that the nightmares had managed to give a break to my tormented soul, but it wasn't like that; you kept appearing in my dreams, you kept talking to me, telling me that I was beautiful, caressing me...

If you didn't exist, why did I feel you? If you were just a creation, why did you always look the same? Why did my heart beat the same way when I saw you? I never knew how to answer, I never wanted to answer. If you could live in my dreams, at least you would live. If you didn't exist, at least you would do it in my mind.

But the passage of time worsened that desire, that desire to dream, that desire to be more and more disconnected from reality, where you didn't exist, to live in an unreal world where you did. The first few times I took it as a relief, like a balm, a warm bath in the coldness of my dark life.

Little by little, it became an obsession, and I knew it, but... How could I become obsessed with someone who didn't exist? Did you really exist, or were you just like another one of my dolls?

“Have you tried asking her name?” Angie asked, after I got dressed, preparing to live another day without you, a vigil that was torture, just because you weren't there.

“No,” I said dryly, reading a book while eating breakfast, desperately searching for an explanation for your presence.

“I think that's important, don't you?” the doll said, looking at me over that old essay on dreams.

“Get off the table, you know I hate when you get on while I'm eating,” I ordered the puppet, who grumbled, changing the table for my lap. “Angie…”

“Let's see, let's see…” she murmured, turning the pages in an unpleasant way. “Look, Donna, it says here that it can be a recurring dream.”

“Of course it's recurring,” I said, laughing nervously, impatiently, frustrated for not getting answers to all the questions in my mind. “I don't dream about anything else.”

“Okay… Look, it says that it can also be due to sexual dissatisfaction,” the doll joked, making my cheeks turn red-

“Don't talk nonsense,” I whispered, turning that horrible page.

“Nonsense? Tell me, Donna, tell me, tell me… What do you think about when you kick me out of your room at night?” the doll mocked, which made me push her angrily off my knees, terribly embarrassed.

“What do you care? That's private,” I said furiously, pretending to read, pretending not to have your image in my mind.

“Bah,” the doll sighed, with an amused gesture. “You think about her, huh?”

I stopped reading, closing my eye and the book at the same time.

“I can't stop thinking about her,” I admitted, passing a hand over my forehead, holding my coffee cup with a trembling hand. “I think… I think I'm going crazy.”

“Well, that’s not new,” the doll mocked, with an unpleasant tone, with that independence that I gave her and that I sometimes regretted.

“You don't understand... I... I...” I said, gritting my teeth, hitting the table with my fist. “I can't be like this... I... I don't even, I don't even know if... If she's real.”

“In your dreams she is,” Angie said, with a more serious tone.

“That doesn't mean anything,” I murmured, trying to relax, trying not to let my demons force me to break everything, to hurt myself again. “Maybe, maybe I can, I can ask someone for advice.”

“Who?” she asked curiously, with a tone that I didn't like at all.

“I, I don't know... Alcina, maybe,” I said, shaking my head, crossing my arms, scratching the fabric of my dress with my nails.

“Do you know what Alcina is going to tell you?” Angie said, with an ironic tone.

“She'll offer me a poor girl to play with,” I sighed, head down, knowing that Angie was right, that no one could help me.

“Maybe that will help you,” the doll commented, giving me a shiver. No, I could never do that.

“I've already told you…” I hissed, denying to myself that it was one of the reasons for your presence, that I needed a body to have fun with, that then, you would go away, you would leave me alone again “… That it's not about sex. Cazzo, Angie, I haven't even been able to kiss her…”

“But you can talk to her, right?” the puppet asked. I nodded.

“More or less,” I said thoughtfully, letting myself be carried away by my obsessions again, thinking about you, always about you, always about your look, about your smile, about one that I couldn't, didn't want to know if it was real.

“Then ask her name,” she said finally, just as she had advised me at the beginning.

It seemed like absurd advice, stupid, but little by little I began to consider it.

In one of those books something that made my hopes suffer appeared, something that perhaps explained my obsession, the games my subconscious played while I slept. Apparently, a person could dream about someone they had seen once in their life, or had just passed by. The brain, the human mind is incredible. It was designed to torture me with an unknown girl.

Thinking that maybe you were that, a ghost from the past, a random village girl I saw once and whose image stayed inside of me forever was not good news. I wanted to think, to believe, to know that you were real, that somewhere there was someone… Someone who could love me.

There was only one way to get out of doubt, to know if I already knew you: by listening to Angie, by knowing your name.

“It's a beautiful day…” you said, walking hand in hand with me, with that smile so real and so ephemeral, so… You.

“With you every day is wonderful,” I said blushing, enjoying your caresses, your hand in mine, the feeling that could disappear at any moment. “W, wait…”

“Mm?” you murmured, leaning on me, without losing that smile.

“I want, I want to know your name,” I said unsure, not knowing what was going to happen, if I was going to wake up, if I would lose you again.

“(Y/N)” you whispered with an almost imperceptible voice.

(Y/N)…

“(Y/N)? No, it doesn't ring a bell,” Angie said when I told her your name, when I was finally able to name your presence, when you were more than just a beautiful girl, when you seemed more real…

I frowned as I worked on my dolls, an increasingly insignificant hobby, one that I thought would make me forget you for at least a moment. I couldn't do it, once I knew your name my mind only repeated it over and over again, only projected your smile, I could only see your eyes in those porcelain dolls.

“Doesn’t it?” I asked, delicately painting a head, a head with your eyes, (Y/N). “It's not a very common name.”

“Did you know it?” Angie asked, taking me out of my thoughts and ramblings again, making me concentrate unintentionally, not wanting to know if you were just part of my past, if you were someone who really existed but were unreachable for me.

“No, I don't think I've ever heard it before,” I said with a nervous voice, with the trembling of my hands ruining your porcelain face, once again.

“Curious,” the doll said, holding my hand so I would stop ruining her companion, something she hated. “How can you dream about someone you don't know? I mean, you can't know her name if you've never even heard it before...”

She was right, and her question had a possible and horrible answer.

“I think it's pretty obvious,” I whispered, leaving that head in a safe place so my messy strokes wouldn't deform her face, your eyes, your smile... “That's because (Y/N)... doesn't exist!” I said furiously, feeling how the darkness loomed over me, how it forced me to kick the floor when hitting the table, losing control.

“Hey, hey, Donna, no, no!” Angie interrupted, trying to stop my outburst of anger, trying to uncurl my fingers clenched in a glass jar before the rage of knowing that I could never have you shattered it into a thousand pieces. “Don’t do that! Silly Donna!”

“Non ne posso più!” I yelled furiously, losing control, losing my mind, not bearing the true reality of my discoveries, knowing that your name, that you, were just an invention of my mind, that I could never have you, never. “I can’t take it anymore…”

“Donna, Donna, basta, basta!” Angie said, trying to calm me down, fighting my attempts to scratch my ugly face, to pull my hair, to hurt myself for being so stupid, to want to stop existing in a world without you.

Surrendered, unable to even hurt myself, I buried my head in my arms, crying inconsolably, crying for having lost something I never had, and will never have.

“Angie, I… I… L’amo…” I confessed, I confessed a shameful truth, a truth that shouldn't exist, a truth that couldn't be, that didn't make sense, that my mind forced my heart to feel. I couldn't love you, I couldn't, but I did.

“What?” the doll said in an exaggerated tone, patting my back to try to comfort me, stopping as soon as she heard that terrible and delirious declaration. “You can't, you can't love her,  Donna.”

“I do… I… I’m, I’m in love with her…” I said again, sobbing, noticing the absence of Angie, who had retreated with a furious sigh.

“No, no, no, you can't, Donna,” she said with an unsure tone, knowing that what she was going to say would hurt me. She was not wrong. “Come on, come on, you can't love someone who…”

“Say it,” I said raising my head slowly, stopping crying, changing the sadness, the crying for pure anger, for rage, for the pain that such a horrible truth produced, for the dagger that common sense slowly sank into my chest.

“Um, Donna, I…” the doll said with a different attitude, surely due to my cold, dark and dangerous gaze.

“Say it!” I shouted, getting up from the chair, making Angie run away from me, making my madness terrify her again. “Say that I can't love her because she doesn't exist! Say that (Y/N) is nothing but a name I read in some book and she's not real! Say that I'm so disturbed and lonely that even a dream can make me fall in love! Say that I can't love a dream!”

Angie fled under a table, looking at me terrified, unable to say that truth, which I knew and didn't want to see, which tortured my mind, the love I felt for you, the love I felt for something unreal, for a dream.

“Porca puttana!” I screamed, kicking the chair, clenching my fists tightly, hurting myself, injuring my body as well as my mind.

Angie was right, I was disturbed and nothing could cure me, nothing but you, nothing but that non-existent presence I could only enjoy while sleeping.

“Of course… Of course… That's it, right?” I rambled, passing a hand over my forehead, my body shaking, my hands moving erratically. I had lost control and you could never help me. “Donna is a stupid crazy woman, a disturbed woman who will never have someone who loves her, who is so lonely that she can only love in dreams, she can only be loved by women who don’t exist, because, because she is a monster, right?”

“Do, Donna, calm down,” Angie said, hiding behind a table, shaking from my anger, from my nerves, from me. “Nobody, nobody said that…”

“But they think so,” I said, mad, pointing at the doll with my finger, starting to walk aimlessly through the old workshop. “Yes, it's surely their fault. They're the ones to blame! They’re always so elegant, right? With a perfect face, with maids who would do anything for them, with charisma, with… With possibilities of being loved… Donna can't be loved, she can only dream, right? Well, fuck you all! Fanculo a tutti!”

“Come on, come on, calm down,” Angie said, coming out of her hiding place with her hands out in front of her, fearing my reaction, that my madness would hurt her. I couldn't blame her.

“Lasciami!” I protested when her wooden arm reached my leg, shaking her to get her to move away.

“Donna…” Angie said in a sad voice, getting up from the floor because of my push. At that moment I collapsed again.

“Angie…” I whispered, sorry for my attitude, for taking out my frustrations on the doll, on my only friend, a real one. “Gods, I'm, I'm so sorry…” I said, helping her up. She shook her head, understanding as always, too understanding.

“You should calm down, Donna, nobody hates you, I'm sick of telling you that,” the doll said, with a cocky pose. I shook my head, sitting on the floor, leaning my back against a wall.

“I can't stand it,” I murmured, crying again, calming my heart, my breathing, my madness. “I can't stand the idea that (Y/N) doesn't exist… “

“She exists in your dreams,” Angie said, in a more casual tone, sitting next to me, as always. I don't know what I would have done without her.

“I can't live on dreams... I, I can't... But I can't forget her either, she appears every night, every time I fall asleep she's by my side, she hugs me and... She, she loves me and... I... It doesn't matter if it's crazy or if I can't do it, I know what I feel and, I, I love her...”

Angie sighed comically, resting her hands on my knee, letting the silence flood the workshop, the thoughts echo in my head, recognizing my irrational obsession, my stupid love, my heart's inability to stop getting upset just by thinking about you.

“Phone!” Angie shouted, when the screeching sound interrupted my silent crying, my lament.

I nodded, returning to the reality of my sadness, to my duties, to my only purpose in life: to serve the Black Gods, and Mother Miranda.

“Donna, is everything okay?” a soft voice on the other end of the phone asked, my sister, Alcina.

“Y-Yes…” I lied, stifling my sobs, not wanting pity, compassion. No, it wasn't for pity, a crazy woman did crazy things, felt crazy things, it couldn't be understood, it couldn't be helped. I could never change.

“I've been calling you for a while, dear…” Lady Dimitrescu murmured.

Yes, probably the thoughts of you had silenced my hearing, my senses. I could only feel, see, hear you, (Y/N), even if it was only in dreams, in memories…

“I'm sorry, I was… Busy…” I apologized, with Angie tugging at my dress, offering herself as an interlocutor. No, it wasn't necessary. My sadness overshadowed even my fear of communicating with others.

“Mm,” my sister murmured with disinterest, snorting. “Mother Miranda has summoned us for the monthly sermon to the Black Gods. I know it's a hassle for you, but I'm afraid that...”

I sighed. No, being surrounded by the villagers and the rest of my siblings was definitely not what I wanted at the moment.

“I know,” I whispered with a broken voice.

“If you're not feeling well, I can tell Miranda that...” she said, feeling sorry for me, like everyone else.

Poor Donna, she's so crazy...

“No, I... I'll go,” I said abruptly. “I need some fresh air.”

After that, I hung up the phone, telling Angie to bring my black veil, my curtain, my wall that blocked me from the world, that prevented me from being seen, that allowed me to hide that... I was a monster.

The church was too crowded. The whole village was there, everyone was looking at me, judging me. I could hear their criticisms, their thoughts. It was a simple paranoia, but a torture nonetheless, one almost as horrible as the idea of ​​not being able to have you.

“Is everything okay?” Mother Miranda, my creator, my savior and my executioner asked. She was the woman who put an eternal sentence on my existence, an eternity without having you…

“Yes,” I answered dryly, with a voice so low that I doubt the rest of my siblings heard it. Besides, as always, they fought among themselves.

“You don't look well, Donna,” the witch repeated to, putting her golden claws on my shoulders. I moved so she moved away. I didn't want pity, I only wanted you.

“I'm fine,” I said abruptly, clenching my fists tightly, causing the priestess to frown and Angie to squeeze one of my hands, reassuring me.

If Miranda got angry and finished me off, I wouldn't be able to dream of you again. That was a punishment worse than death, than the condemnation of immortality.

“Mm,” the priestess murmured, distrustful, sighing, possibly tired of putting up with a fool like me, disgusted by having such a stupid daughter, a daughter who had fallen in love with a ghost, with a dream…

Then there was silence.

“Children of the Black Gods,” Miranda began, spreading her wings elegantly, moving away from me, standing in front. “I welcome you.”

“In life, and in death, we give glory…” the faithful crowd repeated, like an obedient and sinister flock. I sighed tiredly, wishing that this torture would end, that I could dream of you again.

My ears didn’t hear her words, her untouchable mantras, her prayers and proclamations of salvation and glory. Nonsense, no one could be saved, I could never be saved. My eye wandered absentmindedly through the crowd, watching those perfect faces, imagining them disappearing, those pews empty.

My heart stopped when I looked at the back of the chapel, when I saw a figure that my mind recognized before my gaze did. A young girl leaning disinterestedly against a wall, arms crossed, bright eyes, silky hair, you.

It couldn't be possible, I even blinked several times, shifted in my chair, closed my eye, opened it again. No, I wasn't imagining it, my obsession hadn't overcome my madness. It was you, (Y/N).

The same clothes, the same face, a different expression but with the same affectionate touch, with a tender but tired look, those same hands, those playful fingers tapping your arm impatiently. I wasn't crazy, you were there. You existed. It wasn't a dream.

But the little rationality I had left screamed to be heard, to make me understand that, even if you were real, it wasn't you. Yes, it could be a coincidence, it could be someone who looked a lot like you, too much. I got nervous, I wanted to believe it was you, I needed to believe it.

The sermon ended before I could make sure of the reality of what I saw, before I could know who you were, if you were the girl of my dreams, the girl I had fallen in love with. It seemed crazy, it surely was.

Without saying goodbye to my siblings, I walked away from the altar, pretending to want to leave, to want to go home. Of course my steps weren't as hurried as other times. My walk was slow, opening a corridor of people who lowered their heads when they saw me. They feared me and... I liked that, deep down I liked it.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” a voice caught my attention, a voice addressing that mysterious girl, you, a voice that called you by your name.

(Y/N), that was your name, it was you, there was no doubt.

“We are going to go to Luiza's house to have tea, it's Irina's birthday and we have bought a lot of food, are you in?” that annoying villager asked, talking to you, talking to the owner of my dreams and my broken and disturbed heart.

I stopped without wanting to. I turned my head towards your perfect figure. You smiled, so did I. Your smile was the same, it was you, there was no doubt. I had found you.

“Of course,” you answered with a kind tone. Your voice, (Y/N) the voice that sounded in my dreams filled my ears, calmed my heartbeat, made me sigh. You were real. “But first I have to do some chores at home, I will meet you later.”

“Oh, perfect, perfect,” the boy said, turning slowly, paling when he saw my dark figure looking at him. I wasn't looking at you, stupid. “Oh, Lady Beneviento…” he said, bowing in respect.

Then it happened, your eyes looked at me, your expression relaxed, changed to one different from my dreams, to a worried, thoughtful and nervous one.

I ignored him, I could only look at you, you could only look at me. It was a strange moment, perhaps too strange. I dreamed of you, but you… You couldn't know.

Scared by my own behavior, I turned around, looking at you one last time before leaving the chapel. I could feel it, I could feel your eyes fixed on the back of my neck, that shiver you always gave me when you came close in my dreams.

“Angie…” I whispered, walking slowly, discreetly separating myself from the crowd. The doll, which rested peacefully in my arms, nodded.

“Yes, yes, it's her, it's her,” she said with a slightly lower voice, jumping comically in my arms.

“Yes…” I sighed, not being able to help but smile, to feel happy. I had found you. “Wait, this isn't a dream, right?” I asked, scared, thinking that I would wake up again with the emptiness of your absence at my side. “Ow!” I screamed when the doll hit me hard in the stomach. “Angie!”

“It was just for you to check that it wasn't a dream,” the doll joked, getting off of me and peeking through a nearby bush. “Look, look, Donna, she's there!” she said excitedly, pointing at you.

I approached nervously, watching you from afar, seeing how you chatted with what seemed to be your friends, how you gave them that beautiful smile. I felt jealousy invading me, absorbing the joy of having found you.

“Donna, Donna,” Angie called me again, waking me from those horrible images of me not being your company under the sheets. “What are you going to do?”

It was a good question, the best one, in fact. Now that I had found you, that I knew you were real… What should I do? You were you, but you weren't the same as in my dreams, you didn't recognize me, you didn't know you were part of my life.

But you had to be. I had been dreaming of you for so long, of having you by my side. What you thought didn't matter. All I could see was you, all I could think was that fate made you mine even if you were incapable of knowing it.

I couldn't let you go, let you get away from me, let me stay dreaming of you again, conforming to your distant image in a mass, with your smile that wasn't directed at me. No, my rage increased, darkness loomed over my skin, over my hidden gaze. You had been in my mind for a long time, I couldn't, I didn't want you to disappear again.

“Come,” I whispered to the doll, with a sinister voice, camouflaging myself among the bushes, following your steps, waiting for the moment, the moment when you were alone, defenseless. I don't regret thinking like that, you had to be mine, you already were.

“Are you going to be bad, Donna?” Angie asked, making me rethink my intentions. She didn't succeed, the darkness dominated me. Your body was the only thing I was looking at.

“I need her,” I whispered as I walked slowly, chasing you without you knowing. You, who seemed as intelligent as in my dreams, turned around several times.

Could you do it, (Y/N)? Could you feel me stalking you? Could you feel my gaze following you? Sure you could.

You turned around, frowning, blinking in confusion. You didn't see anything, I wasn't behind you, but you could certainly feel me. As expected, given my subtle harassment, you walked faster, towards the part of the village where you seemed to live, a lonely path, perfect for me, unfortunate for you.

“Who's there?” you asked nervously, scared by my presence, by one that you could only sense. Nothing, I didn't answer, I didn't reveal myself. I simply went a little closer, just a little closer. “Shit, shit...” you whispered, running, scared by something you couldn't see.

I followed you, I ran after you, without worrying that you could see me. I didn't care anymore, you were mine.

“Shit!” you shouted again, turning around, watching how I chased you slowly, without running, knowing who I was, but not what I wanted. I wanted you.

You screamed again, as Angie ran after you, making you trip loudly in the snow. You turned on the ground, dragging away from my slow walk. I didn't want to scare you, but I wanted you, I needed you. I couldn't lose you now that I knew you were real, and not just another dream.

“Hey, hey... I... Let me go... Don’t, don't come closer...” you moaned in pain from the fall, looking at me with eyes of terror, with the fear that I was supposed to generate in the villagers.

You had the sight of a monster slowly approaching, crouching beside you, placing a hand on your forehead and closing my eye so I could concentrate.

“No, no, please…” you whispered, losing the strength of your voice, rolling your eyes as my powers acted on you, making you faint, making you collapse in my arms.

“KO, good job, Donna,” Angie said, while I held your unconscious body, taking some time to caress your hair, to check, once again, that your beauty was real. “Now what?”

“I'll take her home,” I whispered with a cold look, picking you up in my arms, lifting you off the ground, keeping you very close to my body.

“Home, home!” the doll sang, surrounding us, surrounding my dark figure, my figure carrying yours, hugging your body, holding you against me.

You were so beautiful… Even asleep, unconscious on a sofa, I could feel your warmth, your beauty, the one that lived only in my dreams. I, sitting next to you, played with your hair, caressed your forehead. I cried, laughed with joy. I had found you, and now you were mine, you had to be.

My caresses seemed to move you. You groaned confused, frowning, waking up little by little. I wonder what you were dreaming about.

You opened your eyes slowly, focusing on me, knowing who was next to you, moving back weakly, almost agonizingly, causing my hand to stop touching your perfect skin.

“No… No… What…?” you murmured, pressing your temples with your hands, confused, scared, trembling. I only laughed, I could only laugh, cry with love.

“Ciao, bellissima…” I said in a whisper, with a smile that you couldn't see, helping you to sit down.

Hearing my voice confused you and you shook your head, looking at me, as if something I had said had surprised you. It shouldn't have, I was used to adoring you in my dreams.

“That voice…” you whispered, almost without a voice, with that same expression, one that changed instantly, surely when you remembered what had happened. “Oh, my, my…” you said scared, pushing my hand away, trying to get up from the sofa, something that I prevented with a hand on your shoulder, forcing you, perhaps a bit roughly, to sit down again.

“Sit down,” I whispered in a tender voice. Your eyes were still terrified. I didn't see love, only fear in your gaze. It was too late to back down, to consider the terrible possibility that my love for you was not reciprocated.

“Lady Beneviento,” you sighed, shaking your head, blinking several times to situate yourself, to know where you were. Deep down, you knew. “What…?”

“I have finally found you…” I sighed, caressing your face, unable to reason, to do something to calm you down. No, I couldn't, I only wanted you. I wanted everything from you. You pulled away in an unpleasant way, which produced a knot in my stomach. Your gaze didn’t leave its fear.

“What? I, I don't... What am I doing here?” you asked, trembling from my innocent caresses. I sighed. I wasn't going to let you go, no matter what you said.

“You're with me, (Y/N), you have nothing to fear,” I said softly. You blinked again, shaking your head.

“What? Why do you know my name?” you asked, shifting nervously on the couch.

“I know more than your name, tesoro...”  I said with a tender, but terribly dark voice.

“Oh, shit...” you sighed, closing your eyes. “This, this is because of what my friends said about you, right? I, I promise you I didn't say anything. Besides, I've never sneaked onto your property on a dare or something like that and... Shit...” you stammered, more and more nervous.

I started to think that you really didn't know who I was. You didn't know you lived in my dreams.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said in a serious tone, slowly losing my patience. I wanted to hear your sweet voice, not swear words, you never said them. You weren't like that.

“I don't know what I'm doing here either, I mean... Why?” you asked, gripping the fabric of the sofa tightly, shaking with fear. I didn't want you to shake.

“You know why,” I said simply, sighing at your passivity.

“No, I don't know, have I done something that could offend you? If, if so I apologize but please...Don’t, don't kill me...” you said, putting your hands together, lowering your head and squeezing your eyes tightly.

“I'm not going to kill you,” I said in a dark tone, nervous, more nervous than I would like. “I've spent so much time thinking about you...”

“About me?” you asked again, pointing at yourself, unable to stop me from caressing your cheek, from feeling the softness of your skin again. “I… I…”

“You are even more beautiful than in my dreams… I can’t believe you are with me,” I said in a delirious sigh, one that scared you even more.

“Dreams? No, I… Please, let me go, please,” you said, stabbing a dagger deep into my heart. You didn’t say that in dreams. I had found you, you were mine… You weren’t going anywhere.

“You can’t go, (Y/N), not when I’ve spent so much time dreaming of having you,” I murmured. Your expression stopped being terrified, your eyes darkened. I could only see disgust in your gaze, disgust towards me.

“No, no…” you said, getting up slowly, scared but confident. “You, you're wrong...I, I don't know what's on your mind but...I , I have nothing to do with it, I'm just, I'm just a villager, I've never hurt anyone, I've never messed with you... Let me go home, please, I’m begging you.”

“Cazzo…” I hissed, moving away, frustrated, disappointed with the long-awaited meeting. “Stop denying the obvious! You are the girl of my dreams! You are going to stay here, with me!”

“You are, you are sick in the head…” you whispered with a pitiful voice, walking slowly, taking advantage of my loss of control. “I have nothing to do with you!”

“Do you think that by insulting me I would be able to stop loving you? I could never do it,” I said, frantic, unable to believe my own reality, that the dreams were casual, a projection of my desires, not yours. You didn't love me.

“Love me? No, no, this is not happening…” you murmured, moving nervously, looking around. “Help me!”

“Don't yell!” I screamed furiously, preventing your escape with a strong tug on your arm, one that made you hiss in pain. Still, you didn't give up, no matter how hard you tried, you wanted to get out, you wanted to leave me, to get away from me. You couldn't do it.

“Let me go, you crazy bitch!” you screamed, trying to offend me. Nothing you said could hurt me. Only losing you could.

“Shut up! Don’t, don't say those things to me...” I protested, pulling you tighter. “Don't insult me, amore mio...”

You growled furiously, pushing me, making me let you go, so you could run away.

“Get her, Donna, she's getting away!” Angie shrieked, pointing at you when you had already reached the hall.

Suddenly, you stopped, staring at my portrait, which hung on the stairs. You were confused and nervous, your gaze fixed on mine, one that you could see.

 I ignored your sudden stop. I just threw myself furiously at you, knocking you to the floor, with my legs on either side of your hips, fighting with your hands, which were struggling to defend themselves.

“Stop! Stop... Resisting!” I screamed, straining with my hands. “Why don't you love me?!”

“Leave me alone! Let me go!” you screamed.

“Fight, fight, fight!” Angie encouraged, among grunts and sounds of effort. You were strong, my love, but I was much stronger.

Without thinking about the damage you were doing to me, you moved your head forward, giving me a painful blow to the forehead, knocking me to the floor. Still, the pain of your blow, of your betrayal, was not enough to stop me.

I roared furiously, reaching out my hand to pull on your ankle, knocking you again as you kicked to get rid of me.

I dragged you across the floor, using all my strength to reason with you, to make you understand why you couldn't leave.

“You can't leave, you can't leave me alone... you can't!” I screamed, pulling you. You took advantage of my weakness again to pounce on me. Running away was no longer an option for you, you wanted to fight. I was falling more and more in love with you.

Your hands fought against mine, moving with me on the floor, with my back pinned to the wood. You were winning, and that only meant I would lose you.

“Damn it...” you hissed when you saw you couldn't do anything against me, that, even immobilized, I was much stronger than you. I always would be, you were my only weakness. “Fuck!”

With that last scream, you managed to free yourself from my grip, moving your hand furiously, managing to grab the black fabric of my veil, tearing it from my face, leaving me exposed. You shouldn't have seen me like that.

Far from continuing to be furious, from continuing to move, you stopped, open-mouthed, catching your breath, losing yourself in my face wet with tears in my eye that shone with rage and desperation.

You ran a hand over your forehead, shook your head and let me go, with a confused and strange look.

“No, it just can't be...” you murmured, also with tears in your eyes, covering your surprised mouth with your hands. “It's, it's you...”

I didn't answer. I limited myself to hating you for a moment, hating myself for living in dreams. I didn't even pay attention to your confused look.

“Gods…” you said in a calmer tone, getting off my body, dropping to the floor, not being able to stop looking at me. A strange smile formed on your face.

I sat on the wood, confused, sad, sobbing, wishing you wouldn't try to leave again. It seemed that, for some strange reason, you didn't want to.

“Oh, it's you…” you sighed again, crawling towards my position, putting an unexpected hand on my cheek, looking at me, then at the portrait. “I can't believe it…”

“It's you, it's you. What are you talking about, stupid?” Angie interrupted, helping me deal with that horribly confusing situation.

“Gods, I… I've been, I've been dreaming about you for months… I… Oh my Gods…” you said as if you had gone from hatred to euphoria. My crying stopped, and my gaze darkened once the voices in my head let me hear you.

“You…?” I asked in a weak, distrustful voice. It could be a trick. “Have you dreamed about me?”

“Yes, I…” you said with a smile, getting a little closer, with a happy glow in your eyes. “Well, I, I didn't know it was you, you know because…” you said, changing your mood completely, gesturing towards your face. “Because, because of that veil and… Well, because, because, you didn't have much clothing on so…”

“What? Are you kidding me?” I said nervously, incredulously, taking your hand away from my face. You cringed again.

“I, I… I don't know why but… I'm telling you the truth. There isn't a night in where I don't see you with me… In fact, when I've heard you talk I… I can't believe it, it's you…” you sighed with a sincere, surprising smile.

“I dream about you too,” I whispered more calmly, looking at the floor, not letting you see me, not letting those dreams you had be tarnished by my ugliness. “Every night. I, I didn't even know you were real and when I saw you, I…”

“You froze,” you finished my sentence, just like you did in my dreams. “I, I understand you, I… Me too.”

“I, I didn't want to hurt you, (Y/N)…” I sobbed again, regretting my attitude. “I just wanted, I wanted… For my dreams to, to come true…”

“I wanted mine,” you sighed, sitting next to me staring into space, like me. “What a coincidence, huh? I didn't even know what you looked like.”

“I'm sure you find me disgusting,” I murmured, pointing at the portrait. “You were expecting something like that, weren't you?”

“The truth is, no…” you said in a low, confused tone. You were nervous too, I could see you trembling. “I saw you just like right now.”

I laughed nervously, scratching the back of my neck, not knowing what to do with that information, with that cruel coincidence. I never believed in destiny, but it was never too late to start doing it.

“It's incredible... It was you,” you repeated, making me more nervous.

“Will you stop saying that?” I said nervously, confused and upset. “How the hell was I supposed to know that...? Cazzo...”

“How was I supposed to know that you existed? I thought I was going crazy,” you said amused, looking a little more like the (Y/N) of my dreams.

“Me too,” I whispered, looking into those beautiful, bright eyes, looking at the reality of your beauty.

“Donna, um… Can I call you Donna?” you asked, touching my hand, grabbing it, interlacing our fingers like in my dreams, like in yours. I nodded. “There's something I've never been able to do in my dreams...”

I looked at you as you approached, fearlessly overstepping my personal space, grabbing my face, looking at me before closing your eyes. Then you did it, you kissed me, your sweet and soft lips landed on mine.

You sighed, I sighed, we kissed slowly, enjoying that unattainable, pleasurable feeling. I cried again, grabbing your body, kissing you deeper, not wanting our bodies to separate.

“(Y/N)…” I sighed, pulling away against my will, overcome by emotions. You looked at me confused, caressing my skin, as if you were feeling the same, something that seemed impossible. “You are definitely the girl of my dreams…”

[margaretoakgrove]

Darkest mystery of soul

Any ordinary person who saw lord Heisenberg for the first time in their life could surely say that he gave the undelible impression of a tough, self-confident and fearless man.

And indeed, on his long and rather difficult life path Karl, willy-nilly, was forced to witness countless bloody horrors and endure excruciating tortures on his own skin, so now it seemed that absolutely no one and absolutely nothing was capable of shaddering his steely spirit in an utter terror.

But in actual fact, any single living soul on earth was not aware that the slightest thought of you, the lord's true and only love that he appreciated more than his life itself, seeing him in the given by Cadou parasite monstrous mutated form instantly made the warm blood freeze within the veins of his.

From that very moment when unpredictable fate forever tightly bound the two of you with the unbreakable chain of love, Heisenberg, inside himself, felt a strong irresistible desire to be completely and utterly honest with you always and in everything because exactly in you he finally found that same soulmate his heavy lonely heart had been desperately craving one day to meet especially at the times of long-lasting sleepless nights.

Fully trusting you, Karl, little by little, revealed you the innermost mysteries of his not so easy living that he had been keeping securely hidden for many years from everyone within the tormented soul of his. Your beloved clearly explained you that, perhaps, to all local villagers he was very well known as one of the four great devoted lieutenants of mother Miranda herself, but, in reality, he fiercely hated her for the cruel and creepy sufferings she ruthlessly put him through for the purpose of achieving of her own selfish goals.

Upon confessing you that already long ago he had begun to plot a secret rebellion against the woman who took his right to be free and independent away, the lord demonstrated you, located deep down underground, the lowest areas of his old factory where day by day and night by night for long decades he had been doggidly and hardly working on constructing of a rather considerable army of cyborgized reanimated corpses that would be supposed to help him to annihilate the obssessed with the idea of reviving her long-dead child insane witch.

Speaking with all sincerity, by the frightening appearance of the mechanical soldiers, that were staring at you with the unblinking lifeless eyes, you were not repulsed nor terrified at all. Quite the opposite, to their brilliant creator you fervently stated that you were very proud of him for taking courage to rise up against the cold and calculating ruler of the village and fight bravely for his liberation until the very last exhale, and also that you were wholly certain that for these resurrected by him back to life dead men it would be the greatest honor to serve under his command to take brutal revenge on Miranda for once immersing their and their loved ones' lives into a real pitch-black nightmare.

Nonetheless, the darkest of his secrets about the ultimate transformation of his body Heisenberg could not ever bring himself to uncover to you, inwardly acknowledging he was afraid that as soon as you found out the horrifying truth that he, actually, was a dangerous appalling monster, you would run away from him in dreadful horror and never return. But Karl could not lose you... Heisenberg simply couldn't lose the only dear to him person without whom all the life of his even in so much desired freedom would be thoroughly imbued with darkness, emptiness and loneliness...

But at this late rainy evening of the judgment day he did not suspect one bit that you, worrying beyond belief about him, disobeyed his strict order not to come out of the factory in any case because the situation outside was getting too unsafe. Through the semidarkness of the long corridors were you walking slowly and wary to the main exit of the building where, eventually, you beheld an incredibly gigantic, never seen by you before, unimaginable creation, which represented itself a peculiar amalgamation of human flesh and metal scrap, but, realizing in a blink what human was trapped inside this robot-looking creature, without hesitation you quietly called out.

"Karl? Is it…is it you? Is it really you?"

Having heard his name pronounced by your voice, the transformed lord in an instant froze. In his grand steel glory he stood unmoving and unbreathing paralyzed by the horrid thought of that everything he had been so much fearing for all this time now became a tough reality for him.

"Yes, it's you. Of course, it is you. Who else can it be? I recognized you." A small step you took towards the beloved one of yours.

"No! Stay back! Don't come any closer!" All of a sudden Heisenberg wildly exclaimed, making all your body flinch.

"W-Why? Why not? Are you hurt?!"

"No, i am not hurt! I…i just…i just don't want you to see me like this…" Heavily Karl sighed, in total desperation lowering his head. 'I am a monster, Y/N, as you can see it for yourself. I am so sorry...I know, i should've told you about this much earlier. Forgive me for not doing that, if you can. Miranda…That goddamn bitch stole my humanity, by her fucked up experiments turned me into this disgusting abomination, and for this unforgivable deed, from minute to minute, she is going to pay by the cost of her miserable existence! As for you, my darlin', well...Now when you understood who or, heh, should i say, what i really am, i don't even dare to hope you will stay with me, let alone beg you to do so. You do remember, Y/N, that for you i wish nothing but the best, and therefore after Miranda's bloody demise you must leave straight away and forget about me once and for all. You shouldn't be anymore with a damned monstrosity that, unfortunately, will never be able to provide you with a happy normal life which you, my precious, have always been deserved…"

These bitter words pierced your entire being with a sharp arrow of unbearable pain, but it did not stop you from approaching your beloved and standing right before him without any fear.

"You can call yourself a monster as much as you wish, Karl, but…but i can't see any monster in front of me. All i can see right here and right now is the man who i love too much with every cell of my heart and each fiber of my soul, and neither mother Miranda nor this inhuman look of yours, you've never desired to possess, and no other power in the world will ever manage to change for you my feelings and push me away from you!"

When large tears uncontrollably flowed from your eyes, the lord raised his glance and looked at you in the greatest of astonishments, unable to believe in everything you had just said. With both your hands carefully you touched the skin on his face and placed a light gentle kiss on the bridge of his nose.

"I don't want to leave you! But...but if it's only possible-i am sure it is!-i would like to spend all eternity with you and you alone for without you, my dear, my life simply cannot be normal nor happy!"

And in a loving manner you leant your forehead against the lower jaw of the beloved one of yours.

"I am staying with you, Karl! I have made my choice. And i have made this choice consciously of my own free will. I am staying by your side, my love, no matter what happens, even if it means to inevitably die tonight!"

"Haha! Like hell we are going to die tonight, sweetheart!" Confidentely chuckled Heisenberg. "I am sure as hell it's too soon for us to die as right after me with my huge metal horde and our trustworthy allies burn Miranda's kindgdom to the fucking ground, our true breathtaking journey through life will only get started! So, what will you say, hm? Do you agree with me?"

"Yes, i agree with you." A genuine warm smile appeared on your lips. "I do absolutely agree with you..."

"Heisenberg!" To the unexpected sound of a loud male voice you turned around in order to see extremely tired yet determined to keep fighting to rescue from the tenacious claws of evil his little daughter Ethan Winters with the armed to the teeth Hound Wolf Squad team members led by captain Chris Redfield behind his back. "We're all ready! Are you coming?"

"Yes, hero-dad! I am already coming!" The freedom fighter responded lively, anticipating a forthcoming victory over his oppressor. "Haha! Just you wait, Miranda! Better start praying because the long-awaited moment to beat your crazy ass from the pedestal has finally come! Haha! I feel so alive!"

But before going and together with his comrades-in-arms participating the final tremendous battle against the leader of the Black God cult, Karl gave you the small vintage compass, he usually liked wearing on his neck, as a sworn promise that he would come back, come back to you, come back alive to begin to live the way both of you had always been vividly imagining in the wildest dreams of yours.

And pressing firmly his necklace to your chest, you didin't have the slightest doubts that Heisenberg would definitely fulfill this promise for you, for himself and for your brighter common future no matter what.

[eletricheart]

The Great War

*image creds to the owner

Word count: 1.371

"that was the night I nearly lost you"

----------------------------------------------------

Miranda wasn't the most open person, sometimes you didn't even know if she actually enjoyed your presence, but since you were never kicked out, you stayed. You weren't stupid, you knew of her experiments, you've seen the results in the woods, criminals she would say. You'd ask about the lords, "I did everything I could, I saved their lives".

You believed in her for a while, you understood and trusted her.

However, she never told you the extent of her trials, never told you the age of some subjects, never told you she doesn't feel remorse for all she's doing.

A lie won't go too far, she expected you to stay in the haze, blindly trust her, but Miranda was careless.

All of her experiments were failing, soldiers kept knocking on her door, Alcina's and Heisenberg's endless fighting. She was stressed, she forgot to lock the door, forgot to sedate the child.

When you first heard the screams, panic took control. You raced down the stairs to find Miranda covered in a little girl's blood. The urge to vomit was immense but the initial shock kept you completely frozen.

Miranda knew she messed up, she knew you wouldn't approve this, but her daughter was more important than anything in this world. So why did she care? Why was she worried about how you would react? It took you a month to properly look at her after finding the laboratory, how long would it take now.

Miranda watched as your mind worked relentlessly, trying to make as little movement as possible to not scare you off. Until all you could ask was why.

Miranda scoffed at this question, it was as obvious as the existence of the sun.

"Children have a more similar anatomy to my Eva, obviously".

You were perplexed, stuck between anger and sadness, not being able to formulate any long sentences with the way your mind kept going up and down. "But she's just a kid".

Miranda wanted to laugh at this, but instead she just furrowed her eyebrows and smiled. "My Eva was just a kid, besides it's not like this one was useful, didn't even pass the incision, no need to be worried".

So it clicked, Heisenberg's fury towards Miranda, Donna not leaving the house, Moreau disfigured and the Dimitrescu trapped inside a castle.

You want to be mad at her, for all of the suffering she has caused. But you were just upset with the lying, if she just talked to you.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh please, you were dramatic knowing about those creatures, with this you would be an even greater nuisance".

"Miranda this was a child! Not a criminal or someone close to dying, it's a kid. This is completely wrong. Oh my God what have I done, I can't believe this, I've been going against everything I've ever believed during these past few months for your to lie to me. I've been trusting you, trying so hard to understand you, to give reason to your actions, to have an excuse for all you've done and this is what I find".

"I never asked for you to do any of this, you chose to stay, you chose to accept my mission, my holy mission. I was blessed by the Black God and now you come to me thinking I have time for your petty complaints. You're nothing more than means to an end, don't blame me for your pathetic love expectations. I will do anything for my daughter, these subjects are serving a purpose greater than you could ever understand".

"Miranda, listen to yourself, this is insane, you're acting completely crazy".

So she slapped you.

𓄿

You would think that after living with someone for months, you would know the person. Neither of you knew each other, not even superficially, you just stayed close. Maybe it was fear of the other not liking the real personalities, maybe none of you wanted to meet the other.

Miranda saw you as a hypocrite, someone who acts like an activist but turns a blind eye to her cruelty.

You saw Miranda as a grieving mother, willing to give her life to Eva, someone who has done many bad things but still has good inside.

In reality, both were right in a way. You were a hypocrite but you still cried everyday for her experiments, you still helped the village with their basic needs, you still tried. Miranda was indeed grieving, but the pain was larger than you could possibly imagine. At a certain point she did go mad, she didn't care for the person laying on the table or dying in the cages, all she could see was the main goal, bringing her daughter back.

𓄿

You left after she slapped you, no one followed. You left the village, no lycan crossed your way and no crow watched you.

You went back to your city, tried to live a normal life, tried to forget the priestess. You really tried, but everything you did a memory would go through your mind, it could be something as simple as watching the sky and remember the day where you dragged her out of the cabin to see a rabbit shaped cloud.

You missed her and felt guilty for it, so you didn't come back, at least not for the next six months.

Miranda went back to work, crueler than before. The crops started to die, the lycans became more erratic, the crows were more aggressive.

Even the Lords noticed the changes, Moreau's reservoir was starting to lack fish, a sudden coldness reached the castle leaving it's inhabitants trapped inside without enough food, Heisenberg was having more troubles with the lycans and an absurd amount of new corpses.

Donna was the only one who didn't feel such a difference, except for a certain sadness in the air, one that wasn't her own.

They all tried to speak with the Goddess but she was unreachable, either spending weeks performing experiments or laying in bed for days.

It was the darkest six months the village had faced in many decades.

That was the state of the village when you returned, the common people tried to drive you away, to spare you from the land's cruelty, but you kept going, simply following the crows. Finding her at the lake, five minutes from the center of the village. There she was in all glory, waiting for you.

Miranda saw your return, she noticed how you looked skinnier, more tired, as if the world didn't treat you right.

The priestess wanted to kill you on the spot, no one insults her and leaves alive. And then you smiled at one of her devotees, your dimples faintly showing. So she forgot to kill you, forgot even the reason why she was supposed to hate you.

All Miranda felt was relief, a strange feeling of hope that maybe you forgave her. How comical, a Goddess wanting forgiveness from you...it was something she truly wanted.

Neither of you knew what to say, both still remembered the last conversation.

You could feel your hands shaking, your fast beating heart and your happiness to see her.

"I'm sorry."

Miranda released a breath she didn't even notice holding, and gave you a small smile.

"I'm sorry too."

Suddenly, the crops grew healthier, the sun shines brighter, more fishes started to live in the waters, the lycans became completely manageable.

Both of you agreed to talk more, she promised to try not to experiment on the innocent and you promised to never leave again.

Everyone noticed that both changes happened with your exit and return, some villagers even started worshiping you. The Lords were apprehensive, Salvatore wanted to impress you, Karl planned your murder, Alcina probably wished to eat you and Donna was quietly curious.

Everytime you fought the Lords would know, Miranda would be more demanding than usual, and the fact that you went to Donna's after her fight made her even angrier.

So yes, things turned out to the better, vows of never going back to that bloodshed were made.

However, this time when you fought, you would always receive a letter from Alcina and Karl, begging to forgive Miranda.

"I vowed I would always be yours."

----------------------------------------------------

masterlist

[reverseenchancia]

Chronicles of Wassailia in *Sofia the First*

Wassailia is a fictional holiday introduced in the Sofia the First series, specifically in the episode titled "Holiday in Enchancia." This non-denominational winter celebration serves as a backdrop for themes of family, generosity, and the true spirit of the season. Below is an exploration of the lore surrounding Wassailia, its significance in the series, and its connections to real-world traditions.

Origins and Significance of Wassailia

Wassailia is celebrated during the coldest days of winter, characterized by joy, warmth, and togetherness. The holiday is depicted as a time when families come together to share gifts, sing carols, and enjoy festive meals. This aligns with many cultural traditions surrounding winter holidays, particularly those that emphasize community and familial bonds. The term "Wassail" itself has historical roots in old English traditions where people would go door-to-door singing and sharing drinks to celebrate health and goodwill. This concept of communal celebration is mirrored in *Sofia the First*, where characters engage in acts of kindness and generosity, particularly towards those less fortunate.

In the episode "Holiday in Enchancia," Sofia's journey reflects the essence of Wassailia. As she navigates challenges to reunite with her father, King Roland II, she learns valuable lessons about what truly matters during the holiday season—family and friendship over material gifts. The climax of the episode sees Sofia and her siblings giving their presents to a less fortunate family, reinforcing the moral that happiness comes from love and connection rather than possessions.

🎁Character Dynamics During Wassailia🎁

The interactions among Sofia, her siblings Princess Amber and Prince James, and their mother Queen Miranda highlight various aspects of family dynamics during Wassailia:

- Sofia embodies selflessness and empathy. Her concern for her father's well-being drives her actions throughout the episode.

- Amber initially focuses on receiving gifts but learns from Sofia's example about the importance of giving.

- James provides comic relief while also participating in the lessons of generosity alongside his sisters.

The appearance of Princess Aurora as a guiding figure adds depth to Sofia's character development. Aurora’s advice emphasizes that true magic lies within oneself and one’s relationships rather than external circumstances.

❄️Cultural Impact and Reception❄️

Wassailia has sparked discussions among fans regarding its representation of winter celebrations. Some viewers appreciate its inclusive approach to holiday storytelling, while others express concern about its departure from traditional Christmas themes. The creation of a unique holiday allows for a broader interpretation of winter festivities that can resonate with diverse audiences. The lore surrounding Wassailia continues to evolve as fans engage with it through fanfiction and discussions online. For instance, stories set in Albingoria explore how other characters celebrate Wassailia, further expanding on its significance within the *Sofia* universe.

In summary, Wassailia serves as a rich narrative device within Sofia the First, encapsulating themes of family unity, generosity, and personal growth. Its blend of fictional elements with real-world traditions creates an engaging holiday experience that resonates with both children and adults alike.

[tornrose24]

How would the beginning fairy tale for the resident evil au go?

Would scratch be a lonely ghost who gifts the protagonist food?

Would Eda be a scary looking but gentle owl who gifts the protagonist warm feathers?

Would belos pretend to be his younger self, Phillip wittibane while interacting with and “guiding” Star? Much like how mother Miranda disguises herself as a crone to guide Ethan?

I admit I did not put much thought into the storybook beginning��I could see Star hanging out with Marco as he tries reading it to Mariposa and then stopping in the middle to go “Wow, this is dark. Also, how did I get this book again?” And then it turns out the book used to belong to Star’s mother (and if you saw my previous post about the crystalization scenarios, you’ll know why that might be important.)

-Considering how the story is meant to foreshadow things to come, Marco and Star would serve as ‘the Boy’ and ‘the Princess’ who were friends who got separated, and the Boy ended up lost in the woods (much like the girl/Rosemary in the original version.)

I think the lords would be represented by creatures/beings who would foreshadow how Star will have to face off against each one. (I admit, Doof was actually the toughest to figure out and if there’s a PaF fan who can give me something better, then I’d like to hear it.)

Eclipsa–The Moth Queen. Gifts the Boy with a sword of adamant to protect himself.

Scratch–The Dark Phantom. Gifts the Boy with golden fruit to sustain himself.

Eda–The Great Owl. Gifts the Boy with a compass to guide his way home

Doof–The Clockwork Behemoth. So, this one needs to be materialistic, so perhaps the Boy takes a suit of golden armor when he assumes its another gift and this angers the being?

Belos-The Sorcerer. Not much different than the Witch from the original version of the tale. Traps the Boy until the Princess can save him.

As to the other question… You know, I think he would.

I imagine that most people assumed Philip died with grief when his brother passed away, and then when Philip found the Megamycete, he could pass himself off as a healer who was able to secure a position of power in the village, but he keeps the mask on in public and ESPECIALLY around the lords since he is the ageless. Of course, no one would recognize his original human appearance, and he would pass himself off as a researcher/devout follower of Belos to Star.

But yeah, I think 'Philip' would be 'guiding' Star and maybe subtly dropping hints as to how to kill the lords, but Star is NOT interested in that, so he has to just resort to watching from a distance and crystalize whoever screws up/fails him.

(And considering where the old woman appears in the game, I’d say ‘Philip’ ran into Star–who had Mariposa and Meteora in her arms–after Eclipa’s defeat and he was secretly pissed to see Meteora was immune to crystalization. And Meteora INSTANTLY sensed ‘Philip’ was dangerous, but she couldn’t communicate that to Star since she was a baby, beyond growing extremely feral toward him. Also, he was unable to find the mystery caravan and its merchant–Papa Titan was damn good with using real magic.)

In the end, the only person to figure out Belos’ true identity pre-events was Eda, who told Luz about it before things went south.

[saintsofwarding]

BURIAL

Chapter 14

On and on.

A fall through darkness.

Elena didn't let go. She wound her fists into Donna's jacket and held on. Glass rained around them, cold against her face, and then nothing at all, both of them drifting in the dark like it was water, like they were sinking, not falling.

Hours, seconds. Elena couldn't tell how long, just that they had at last reached some kind of bottom. Elena's boots sank into water, calf-deep, cold and dark as ink. They settled, together, wound around another, Donna's hand still clenched around the scissors deep in Elena's shoulder.

Each breath hurt, but it was a real hurt, not a spectral one, red and raw, tearing a little. Elena's eyes filled with tears as she curled to her knees, Donna draped over her, her breathing sharp and ragged.

For a moment- silence.

Then, a thin voice-

"Where am I?"

Elena lifted her hand and cleared the veil from Donna's face. She stared into the dark with her single eye. "I don't know. The bottom, maybe."

"Are you real?"

"I hope so."

She buried her face again in the crook of Elena's shoulder. She felt like a drowned thing saved seconds from death, shaking and shuddering and bony and pale. Elena's hand stroked down the channel of her spine, settled against her waist.

She felt her ribs against her palm, expanding and contracting with each breath. Fragile, but they'd served her this far.

"I stabbed you," Donna said.

"Yep. It really hurts."

"Oh-!" She pulled back and with a single sharp jerk, yanked the scissors free. Elena yelped; blood pulsed from the puncture, but it slowed after a moment. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought, just a gash to the top of her deltoid.

She heard fabric tearing and looked round to see Donna pull her veil from her head and tear a strip off the front panel, antique black lace ripping like paper. Deftly as a trained nurse, Donna rolled up Elena's sleeve and bandaged the wound.

"Better?" she asked, tying off the silk.

"Yes...sure."

Donna pressed her fingertips to her lips, then to the silk, over the wound. "There's nowhere else to go," she whispered.

"Out."

"She's out there. I hear her." She slid her fingers into the matted gray-black tangle of her hair. "Waiting for the right moment. Like a blood clot in the brain. "

"Then..." Elena let out her breath. "We'll just have to go back past her. Together."

"...Together?"

"You're stuck with me, Lady Beneviento," Elena told her. She touched Donna's face, brushing her thumb over her eye growth. Its pulse fluttered at her skin, calming as a lullaby. "Whether you like it or not."

Donna gave a weak little laugh. "Good thing I like it."

"Now think. This is the bottom. The end. The deepest dark. Where do we go from here?"

"We don't," Donna said. "It's safe in here. It's good. She won't bother us in here. Nothing will. We're so far down it's like we don't exist at all."

Light speared the dark. Elena looked up. A beam. It made a circle on the darkness, a circle of white light, and in it: shadows. They were gray, indistinct, blurry as a reflection. Elena watched they sharpened, becoming not shadows but two girls, black-haired and pale, as alike as beetle shells. They played in a sunlit birch forest, laughing and dancing hand in hand, braiding flowers into one another's hair. All in silence, save for the faint click-whisper of the film.

Donna watched it with a soft look in her eye. A smile touched her face.

"I loved her, you know," she murmured.

"I know."

"I wanted only to protect her. Like Mother tried to protect us. But I learned my ways from her, and Mother only knew fear. So she taught me that fear in turn. And in the moment, the last moment before I realized she had stopped struggling, you know what it was I felt?"

"What?"

"Perfect love. Pure and innocent. Because I knew I would do anything to protect her. And I had. I took her from Miranda. I took her far away. And she can never be touched now, can she?"

Elena shook her head. Young Donna and Claudia whirled through the sunlight, a day lost forever, a day that was a memory, an echo. Again, and again. Around, and around. It would never change. It would always be perfect.

"She's dead, Donna," Elena told her, gently.

Donna's mouth quivered.

"She's gone," Elena went on. "You're not. Don't die with her." She took her cold hands in her own. Her fingers were rusty with blood, dark crescents trapped under her nails, her palms a mess of scrapes and scabs.

"I can't do it," Donna said. "It's too much. It's too heavy."

"Not between the two of us."

"Us...? No. No...just leave me here, you can't want-"

"Shut up," Elena said. Donna flinched and looked up at her. "You don't tell me that. You don't get to tell me that. Like you don't know me. You think I'm going to abandon you in this hole?"

She gave Donna a little shake. "Can't you see I want it? All of it? All of you? I want to see you in the sunlight. I want to see you dancing, any way you please." She gripped a handful of Donna's sleeve. "Now listen to me. You think I'm going to decide, now, that I don't want anything more than to drag you out with me even if it kills us both?"

Donna blinked. "...No."

"Good. Because I didn't fight my way up here for the fun of it. I came back for you. For you. Understand?"

"I think I'm beginning to."

"We're getting out of this together, you and me," Elena said. "Or not at all."

Donna blinked. She gave a tiny nod.

"You control this. This is your power. Your dream." Elena looked toward the circle of light, the children playing in it. "So change it."

Donna lifted her eye. The light flickered in it. Her lashes fluttered shut, spiky against her cheek. A wind picked up, warm, not cold. It smelled bittersweet. Like flowers.

The circle of light brightened. It eclipsed the memories of Donna and Claudia; they faded into the brightness. It intensified, carving into Elena's vision, so bright she had to look away, so bright it was like looking into the sun.

"She knows," Donna said. "She'll find us. So hurry."

"Come on, then."

They dragged each other to their feet as the sunlight grew. The edge of the circle bit into Elena's palms; it felt like glass. She clambered over, tumbling down the far side, into the light. Donna fell by her side, a flutter of black fabric, then nothing, her vision reduced to a field of pure white.

They landed ankle-deep in snow. Elena's breath shot from her; she stumbled a little. Donna steadied her.

"Where is this, now?" she asked, her voice prim and puzzled.

Elena looked around as the last of the spectral light vanished, the white void smoothing over into snowy sky, frozen ground. Mist lay heavy over the snow, over the ramshackle fences rising around them, painted in peeling red and blue and deep green. The houses rose beyond, shutters creaking in the wind, bone charms jangling as it soughed past them. Past the low-hanging mist, an impression of Castle Dimitrescu loomed, but it was distant, unreal, more like a child's watercolor painting than the real fortress.

All was bitterly cold, but clumps of yellow flowers still grew at the base of fences, at the corners of houses.

"It's..." Elena's mouth was numb. "It's home, it's the village, it's..."

She trailed away. Donna cast her gaze around. "Is this the village? It's been such a long time since I've seen it. It's..."

She paused.

"This is your dream," she told her.

The world shuddered; snow flurried in the aftershock, the wind picking up. On it, echoing from all around, came Angie's laughter and her taunting little song. Fear jolted Elena and she grabbed for Donna's hand.

"We have to get inside," she hissed.

"Elena-"

She jerked Donna forward before she could say more. Through gaps in fences, under trees, around corners; she ducked and weaved through the maze of the abandoned, misty streets. Her heart raced. She knew what she was looking for, at last. Where was it?

Searching your whole life...

She skidded round the next corner.

...never seemed quite right, did it? The way things happened.

It was there, at once. Firelight lay golden on the snow. The windows were illuminated, and past her glimpse of the familiar lace curtains Elena heard the echo of voices, the smell of cooking. Ciorba and sweets, bacon sizzling in the pan, cabbage rolls and spices and baking dough.

Tears filled her eyes. She ran through the gate, pushing herself along on a fence post, up the front path. The door opened at a touch, and she spilled inside, breathing hard, Donna at her shoulder.

"Elena..." Donna whispered.

"We'll be safe in here." Elena stepped over the threshold and into warmth. Firelight, candle-glow, deep shadows. Her home, familiar in a way that it no longer was. This was her memory of the place, a child's recollection, colors too bright, no grime or cobwebs or disrepair. No poverty here, nor grief. Nor loss. The table stretched before her and it was full of people.

Her mother, alive and smiling, crows' feet crinkling at the corners of her kind brown eyes.

Her father, younger and unbent, a red kerchief knotted at his throat.

Andrei, fidgeting in his chair, and Violeta, her long golden hair shining like beaten metal.

Other people, too, strangers she didn't recognize at first. A man and a woman, dark-haired and pale and smiling, dressed in shabby finery. And a little girl, a reflection of Donna, her long plaited hair swinging as she told a story, using her hands to make shadow puppets on the wall.

"We'll be safe in here," Elena whispered, her mouth quivering. Her eyes were warm. Her mother looked up and beamed, lifting her hands.

"Darling," she called. "Elena. There you are. Come in, come in, you must be freezing."

Elena's feet were already moving. Donna's hands clenched down hard on her wrist, tight as a manacle.

"Elena, no," she urged. "This is a trick, it's all a trick."

"What are you talking about? She'll never find us here."

"Who, darling?" her mother said, brows drawn together.

"No one, Mama," Elena whispered.

But Donna yanked at her, so hard she tottered back a step. "This is another trap-"

Elena wrenched her hand from Donna's grip. "Elena!" she cried, but Elena stepped inside, her voice melting away, her terror and her pounding heart and the ache of all her wounds fading as the firelight enfolded her, as she took her place at the foot of the table. It was spread as if for a midsummer feast, an impossible bounty- all the good things she'd smelled, the porcelain glister of egg wash and the deep caramel tone of perfectly-baked bread, stews and bright crisp vegetables and fruits like she'd never before seen, shining like gemstones on intricately-painted china.

Yellow flowers were arranged in vases, and the air glimmered with their pollen. It winked like small stars.

"I'm so glad you could be here," her mother went on.

"She's a good guest," Claudia said, pausing in her shadow play. "Isn't she, Mother?" The dark-haired woman stroked her head, but did not speak.

"The very best," Elena's father said, with a wink. "The best daughter anyone could ask for. Isn't that right, 'Lena?"

"I try, Pa." Elena reached for his hand, but he sat a little too far away, and her fingertips grasped at nothing. She lowered her hand.

White flickered in the corner of her eye. She glanced over. A curious doll sat on the sideboard, long and spindly, dressed in aged white lace.

"Do we have another guest?" she asked.

"Darling, don't you remember?" her mother said. "Your father made you that doll."

"I...no, he didn't. Did he? I don't...you never made me any dolls." "He made so many dolls," her mother went on.

"One for every day of the year," her father said.

"That's too many dolls," Violeta muttered, plucking a sprig of yellow flowers from one of the vases.

Had he made her dolls? Her memories felt like water in her hands. What did it matter, anyway? Elena smiled.

"Elena, please, listen to me."

"Come," her mother urged. "Have something to eat. Rest here a while. Doesn't that sound good?"

"Yes," Elena admitted.

"You can. We don't have to talk...about the past, about anything. You've done so much talking, so much pleading, bargaining, begging. It's good to be silent, to not say anything and simply allow yourself to be loved. And you are, my sweet girl. You're loved, here. Everything precious is here. Everything that was taken from you, that should have always been yours. Doesn't it feel that way? Like your future was stolen from you before it even had a chance to exist?"

Elena inclined her head. "Like a dream," she murmured. "Like it was waiting for me. Beyond the borders...beyond the...the warding-saints..."

"Hush, now. You don't need to worry about running," her mother said. "About what waits for you beyond. Why would you need to run? It's here, it was always here. Deep down. And now you've arrived, and we're all so pleased to have you, so pleased you've joined with us at last. We can catch up in the morning, and for now..."

"Rest," her father said.

"It's safe here," Claudia told her.

"It's good, here," her mother said.

"Nothing to frighten you in the night," her father said. "Nothing waiting in the dark beyond the door. Only what you know. Isn't that right?"

"This is the way it should be," her mother said. Red shining in the darkness. The drip of heavy liquid against stone. She smiled, softly this time, her face a mirror for Elena's in the candlelight. "This is the way it always should have been."

***

"Let her go."

(Let her go? But this is what she wanted!) Angie gave a derisive snicker. (Look how fast she fell for it)

"No. You tricked her. You didn't play fair."

(Nothing's fair, Donna. She's an interloper. A cuckoo. A traitor. She messed it all up and this is really her just desserts, mark my words)

"This...this isn't what I want!"

(I don't care what you want! You stupid, silly little thing, I care about what's best for you! And I know best!)

Donna paced back and forth, back and forth, tension building in her every nerve. The darkness of the well room shivered as if caught in an earthquake

(The well room? Naive Donna, this has been inside your mind all this time, how you cling to the talismans that make you safe and destroy you all at once)

and all the while, Angie perched on the lip of the old stone well, eyes rolling back and forth, following Donna's movements.

(Come back to me, Donna. We can be together again. You and me hiding away. That was good, right? That was the way it oughta be, really. We don't need anyone else. Anything else. That useless old groundskeeper and his nasty little children, poking and prodding like they could be of any help. Simpering Violeta who couldn't handle a couple parasites. And now this one. E-LAAAAAAY-na. A plain brown mouse caught in a trap. Crush its head under your heel before its squeaking gets too shrill)

Another shudder. The stone walls seemed to writhe and squirm around her, the darkness full of eyes and teeth and horrors beyond imagining, all that she feared. Donna clutched at her own arms, her black nails biting deep into the fabric.

(Let me take care of her)

(Feed her to the flowers after)

(All can be like it was before, Donna)

(All can be like it should be)

Donna lifted her head and looked at Angie, right in the eyes. Like looking in a mirror. She lowered her arms.

"All like it should be," she echoed.

She stepped forward.

***

"Do you remember?" Elena asked quietly.

Candlelight, warm hands. Her mother's scent, rosemary and lemon. All good things, none of the shadows.

At the head of the table, her mother blinked. "What, darling?"

"When you left. You said...you told me I would barely have time to miss you." Elena lifted her head. "But I did. Every day you were gone. And every day since your suitcase came back without you. I looked for you everywhere. Not just...not just searching, I mean, I knew you'd died in the castle. In other ways. In the smell of fresh herbs, cut from the window-box, like all of summer contained in the palm of my hand. Another woman's laugh- not quite right, but almost, so close I might pretend it was yours. The sound of footsteps on the front porch. The peace I felt the moment before I fell asleep. Like you'd just finished telling me a story. Like you had just left the room. I thought nothing could touch me there."

A smile touched her lips.

"And in my own face," she murmured. "I watched it change, and I was glad, because as I grew older I looked more and more like you. And in that small way, I could keep you alive."

She met her mother's eyes. The others, her other beloved ghosts, shifted and whispered alongside her.

They were thin, like painted paper.

Like moth wings, trapped in amber.

Like shadows on the wall.

"But you're not," Elena said. "You're not. And you never will be again. I think I never stopped searching for you. Like I could fix the world if only I could make what happened to you right. But it won't, will it? It's not right. You'll stay dead, and gone. It'll all stay empty. Trapped in that circle of light."

"Elena..." her mother murmured.

The smell of rot and damp. The thick, sweetish fug of decaying organic matter. The dring of thick liquid grew louder, and in the corners, where the light didn't touch-

None of this was right.

None of this was as it should be.

"I miss you so much, Mama," Elena said. Her voice trembled, her eyes warm. A tear broke down her cheek. "I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you."

"Then don't, sweet girl." Her voice was soft, a soothing whisper, the way she'd told Elena stories to lull her to sleep. "It's cold outside. Stay with me. Stay with all of us. You said it yourself. It's safe in here."

"I know," Elena said.

Her fist tightened on the arm of her chair.

"But it isn't real," she said.

Her mother's pale gaze hardened. Had her eyes been that color before? They glittered like glass in the candlelight, and when she smiled, something was wrong with her teeth.

"Wrong move, Elena," she said, and Angie began to laugh.

***

(It's too late, anyway, Donna. She's lost. Buried so deep she'll never get out, no matter how much she digs)

"I know you were trying to help me, Angie."

(...What?)

"All these years. You, taking me far away. You, by my side, in my arms. Whispering to me the right thing to do so I stayed safe. I know I made you this way, Angie, and it's not fair of me to turn on you now."

She shook her head, wistful and wan. "How else could you be? This was the way you were supposed to act. You did everything right. But now it has to end."

Angie cocked her head.

(Don't be stupid)

"I'm not," Donna told her. "I know all you did was out of love."

(Don't do this, Donna)

"I have to."

(You're not brave enough-)

"That's not going to work on me anymore. I am more than enough. And I think you realize now what I'm truly capable of."

(Please Donna please, I'm sorry, I'll let her go. Okay? She can live in your house and I won't bother you again. Oh, please, please, please, you can make her doll clothes and give her flowers and anything you want and I'll be quiet, I'll be good, I promise)

"Oh, Angie, my dearest," Donna told her. "You and I both know that's not true."

She stopped before the doll, hesitated, and reached out. She lifted her, then cradled her to her chest, rocking her back and forth, humming to her under her breath, a slow, sweet lullaby. She felt the pulse of the Cadou in Angie's head, the way it harmonized with its elder sibling implanted deep in her chest cavity, its tentacles twining like strangling vines round her ribs.

It had been there so long it was a part of her, nested deep. How cold the scalpel had been, parting muscle and fat, cracking through bone, carving a place for the gift to take root. But now all she felt was warmth, the soft hum of the tandem pulses, the way Angie's comforted her. In all her monstrousness, in all her mutilation, she would never be alone.

(Donna)

"Yes?"

(Do you love me)

"With all that I am."

(Don't go)

A cold hand traced the line of Donna's cheek.

(Don't leave me to the dark)

Donna bent. She pressed a kiss to Angie's porcelain face. "It's all right," she told her. "You're a part of me. You always will be. And I will never, never, never go away."

And she whirled, and opened her arms, and she flung Angie into the depths of the well.

***

"Elena!"

She stood. The shadows around her rose, too, glittering doll eyes trained on her. The view outside the windows was one of blazing golden light. Underfoot, the house began to shake. Her mother stared back at her, Angie's cackle going on and on and on, ringing deep into her skull.

Elena jerked back, but her father reached out, hand snapping over her wrist; his fingers bit down.

"Stay with us," he said.

"Stay," Claudia said.

"Stay," Violeta echoed, tipping her head to the side.

"No- let me go-" She twisted at her father's grip, but he was strong, too strong for her to break free. She reached for her rifle, but it was gone, too; the cutlery on the table melted under her touch. The walls began to melt, too, the world swirling into haze at the edges of her vision. Only her mother's grin was real, slick and red.

"Elena!"

That voice. It was so familiar. Elena remembered in a burst like a kick to the gut. "Donna!" Her voice broke from her, raw and ragged. "Donna, I'm here."

"Hold on-"

And she was there. Her pale hands on Elena's. The house around them broke apart, Elena's ghosts swirling away into nothingness. Her father's grip vanished, and she stumbled against Donna. She was stronger than she looked; she held Elena up, kept her from falling. Angie's laughter became a shrill scream like a buzz-saw; cracks shot through the house, through the table and floor, bright white light streaming through.

"Are you real?" Elena mumbled.

The whisper came against her face, between kisses to her cheek. "Yes."

The dream broke apart. The light seared over them. A swirl of yellow petals, a swooping wrench in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't standing, she was laying down on something hard. A table? Her arms and legs wouldn't move; something restrained her. A vase of yellow flowers was placed by her head, the smell of their bittersweet perfume sticky on the back of her throat. The light stabbing into her eyes- that wasn't dream-light. It was a lamp, hanging over her face. She recognized it in an instant as the lamp in the doll workshop.

It caught a thread of silver light on the edge of a blade.

Elena took it all in. Angie, standing over her. The doll's mouth open in a gleeful, sinister grin. Her arms raised.

The scissors, clenched in her hands.

Elena gasped. Her eyes sprang wide.

The scissors arced down.

The crack was like thunder, like an old land mine had gone off behind Elena's eyes. The side of Angie's head exploded in a spray of porcelain fragments and pinkish, glutinous flesh. It calcified in midair, shards of crystal raining over Elena as she stared, mouth open, unable to move.

Angie screamed. The sound sheared through Elena's skull, on and on- no, that wasn't just Angie, it was the thing in her head, fetal, curled, pulsating, tentacles whipping free to claw and writhe at the air. The scissors spun and clattered to the table as Angie swayed back and forth, tearing at the hole in her cranium with her fingers, like she could put it all back together.

With a sound like crunching glass, the thing in her head turned cloudy, then gray, then to glittering crystal. The scream sharpened- then died. It trailed off in a wheeze, and Angie shuddered, and stilled.

She collapsed. A marionette with strings cut. She fell to the table with a clunk, nothing more than a heap of old lace and lifeless porcelain.

Elena looked back. Donna stood behind her, Elena's rifle aimed at the place where Angie had just been. A wisp of smoke curled from the barrel.

"Oh," Donna said, her voice small.

Elena made herself speak. "Are you sure this is real?" she managed.

Donna blinked, then tossed the rifle aside and rushed to Elena. She scrabbled at the ropes binding Elena to the table, then went for a knife and sawed her loose. She was crying, Elena saw, tears streaming down her face from her single eye, turning her cheek red. "Sorry, sorry," she kept saying. "This dratted old rope, it's so tough- sorry-"

And then she was free, and Elena grabbed for her, and Donna flung her arms around Elena's neck. She was crying, now, in earnest. The both of them were, and Elena began to laugh when she realized yes, this was real, this was happening, and she felt all at once unable to comprehend the moment, the pure, drowning relief of it.

Elena felt something crunch under her hand, and lifted it to find the remnants of the yellow flowers crushed against her palm. She must have knocked over the vase in the struggle.

"Where is she?" Elena asked, brushing the crushed petals from her skin. They left smears of pollen behind. "Angie?"

"Gone."

"Oh, saints- Donna-"

Donna gave her a shaky smile. "It's all right," she said. "I don't need her anymore."

***

They limped up together, arms over one another's shoulders. A four-legged beast, hunched and haggard and bloodied. Donna's beautiful black mourning clothes were all ruined, a couple buttons torn from her jacket, the skirt in tatters. Her veil was gone, hair hanging loose around her sweaty face. Elena couldn't stop looking at her.

"What?" Donna panted, as they collapsed against the side of the elevator, on their way up from the basement.

"Nothing. You're so beautiful, is all."

"Oh." She picked at her skirt, a little smile playing over her face.

"It's true." Elena took a short breath. It hurt. Her vision was ringed with black, creeping in from the edges. "Don't...don't...tell me I'm..."

She crumpled. Donna swooped to catch her up again. "Shh. Just breathe. I'll fix you up. Make you feel all better."

"Just a minute to sit down."

"Yes, that's right. And a cup of tea."

"That'll fix me right up. Do you have any whiskey to put in it?"

Donna stroked her hair back from her sweaty forehead. "I think I can figure something out."

They limped from the elevator, down the corridor, heading toward the main hall. Elena's body was too cold, too heavy. White danced through her lashes as the hallway whirled around her like she was dancing. She tasted blood on the back of her throat. Little wonder, considering all she'd been through in the last few hours. Her fall down the well, her fight with Heisenberg, her flight through the nightmares. What time was it? Near dawn, surely. The long, long night, nearly spun itself out.

Maybe they could watch the sunrise together.

"It'll look..." she started.

"Hmm?"

"...beautiful, coming over the mountains..."

"Hush. Save your strength."

"Donna. I want you to know-"

"I love you, too."

Elena let out a hiss of a laugh. "How did you..."

"I've been inside your head, Elena," Donna told her. Her smile swam in Elena's vision. "I know all your secrets."

She pushed through the door and into the front hall.

It wasn't empty.

Feathers rustled, and spread, unfurling in a glistening, glorious fan of iridescent black. Eight vast wings, the bitter reek of mold, the glow of gilt in the firelight. She had removed her mask, her face beneath pale, beautiful, composed.

Miranda.

Donna jerked to a halt with a sharp gasp. Elena hung from her grip, arm hooked around her neck. She quivered from the exertion of staying conscious, but inside, calm settled down at the pit of her stomach.

"Child," Miranda said. Her eyes settled on Donna. "I've been waiting. And you've been far more interesting than I could have ever anticipated."

"Mother." Donna's voice sounded small, crushed down to a whisper. "I...I did not expect a visit from..."

"Quiet." Her voice rang through the house; it shuddered, like it was frightened, too. Mold glistened in the corners, snaking over the walls. She faced them, fully, those impossible wings radiating from her back. The Black God's prophet, come to do her holy work.

"Leave, Donna," she commanded. "Wait for me elsewhere. Do not wound yourself by watching as I take your servant's life."

Donna lifted her chin. "No."

"Child." Miranda's eyes brightened. "You've defied me enough. Don't you understand? There are no more of your flowers in here. Nothing for you to fight with. And without your dreams, what are you? Not a monster. Not a god. Not one of the Black God's chosen, no longer. Just a frightened child, her time swiftly running out."

"No," Elena said, softly.

Miranda's head whipped toward her. "What?"

Elena could no longer speak. Her strength was gone. All she could do was lift her hand, dripping with dark sap.

And the golden haze of pollen drifting around it, winking like stars in the gloom.

"Poor Miranda," Donna said, sing-song, a ferine grin curving over her face. "Never stood a chance."

The air turned bittersweet: a sudden flare of floral scent, overpowering in these confines. Pressure dropped. It crackled in Elena's ears, aching in her bones. Miranda snapped rigid; her eyes were wide, staring, darting from side to side. She quivered, drawing in her taloned hands. They gripped at her upper arms. Her lips fluttered. A prayer, maybe. Or a plea.

"Deeper," Donna whispered. "Deeper."

"P...please...child..."

"Hush," Donna breathed. "Further down, Mother. Safe down there. Warm down in the dark. Shhh."

The bittersweet smell of flowers strengthened. Prisms refracted in Elena's eyes. She watched as Miranda shrank back, as she curled in on herself, crumpling down to the floor. Her wings curved over her as if they could shield her, but they melted away like ice in the sunlight, becoming a pool of black mold that squirmed and writhed around her.

Fear shone in her eyes. "I...I'm not done...such a long time, such a long way still to go..."

"Shhh," Donna said. She stepped forward to stroke Miranda's hair. It was blonde, Elena saw, under the ornate black and gold veil. Pale blonde, perfectly ordinary. Strange, to find that out, here at the end. "Rest, now. Oh, I see her. Do you see her?"

"...Yes," Miranda said.

"She's with you?"

"Yes." A hint of a smile touched Miranda's face. Her arms moved, as if to cradle an infant to her heart. "My little Eva."

"Good. Now. Sleep. Dream." Donna let out her breath. "Forever."

Miranda slumped from under Donna's hand. The look in her eyes emptied. The pollen swirled in the stillness, the silence, drifting to settle on Elena's skin.

***

"What..." Elena breathed, at last. "What did you do to her?"

"I put her away. Hid her deep," Donna said. She let out a long breath, the look in her eye bright, far away. So far Elena thought she might not come back.

But she did. Her eye focused, and turned to Elena, full of warmth. "I buried her so far down she will never get out. She won't bother us anymore."

"Oh." Elena nodded. "Good."

"Very clever, with the flowers."

"...Donna."

"Yes?"

"I- I think I'm-"

She never finished. Elena's legs gave out. The last thing she saw was Donna reaching for her, Donna's face, her wide eye, her mouth shaping her name.

And darkness fell.

[kaijuposting]

It's mildly fascinating how there's a certain set of people who are convinced that Miranda was just this sweet innocent person before she was "corrupted" by the mold. They're looking at this story through the preconceived notion that evil is something that's foreign and invasive, rather than something that everyone has the potential to commit.

If there's one common theme in the Resident Evil franchise, it's that the extremely human qualities of vanity, arrogance, and self-interest are major reasons why people do fucked up things. So many of the villains are convinced that they have the right to turn living people into commercial products, and even remake humanity entirely - presumably in a way that serves their own personal interests.

Who is Miranda but any mother who believes that her precious little girl deserves the world? And in the ways she treats her "adopted" children and positions herself as the mother of a village she ultimately discards once it's no longer useful to her, is she not in some ways comparable to a mommy blogger who makes motherhood her entire personality while exploiting and abusing her children?

The notion that an organism that's just been sitting around passively collecting people's memories and even giving people a sort of afterlife for centuries (if not longer) is the real evil here is absurd.

It does, however, point to very specific beliefs about the nature of evil: that it is intrinsically foreign and invasive, rather than something that everyone is born with the potential for.

[corvidamned]

@fallesto | continued All would be revealed in time, she was reassured by someone far kinder and forgiving than Kira deserved. Horrors would be revealed and she couldn't show her hand or this entire operation would unravel faster than a fingernail to a sheer stocking. She promised Chris, she can do this and get out if the flames get too hot.

The uninvited guest seated in her church didn't shiver from the frigid temperatures, didn't shake in her presence. With her tan and healthy flush, she was one of most alive looking things in miles. The only equipment on her person was an old zippo lighter from the 1980s, lightly scratched, left out on her table to judge. Shoulders high and reserved, she awaited the esteemed leader of this place's thoughts and verdict, and found she liked to keep them in her head.

Searching for those eyes, Kira let go from holding her ribbon tie to stammer out her plea. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I came here because…" She composed herself, speaking with a little less squeak and a little more pride. "This was my father's country."

She shuts her eyes briefly, pulling from a time where grief could paralyze and cause a cardiac event. She pulls her handkerchief on her suit a little rougher than necessary. Where it's still partially folded in a triangle, she pressed it against the inner ducts of her eyes and came back with blood. She clears her throat of ugly humanity and growls briefly, shaking her head at an unnatural speed. Gazing off to nowhere in particular near her neck, she works up the courage to state her piece fully before her head's sent flying for being a nuisance. "I don't belong in the world. I am the thing others fear will come for them in the night."

Savior. Mistress. Doctor. She's served many masters cruel and suffocating before her, and each fell one way or another. She could more than stomach another one. She could romanticize in real time, if the rhythm was right. "Mother Miranda, I humbly…" She swallows. "Ask for Sanctuary in your lands. I may not be blood, but I can make myself useful."

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Your works are absolutely marvelous, It’s so nice to see so much Donna content.

Would you enjoy writing of how donna and her maid slowly fall for each other over time, maybe even one of them finally confessing? Any direction you want to take it I know it would be lovely.

Love your writings !! :)

Yess!!! Here it is!! Thank you for your words!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))

I'm not going to break your heart

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: angst, mental health issues, Donna being Donna, fluff,

Word count: 5,408

Summary: You are Donna's maid. She's a complicated woman, but... Maybe with time you can be able to know her...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Oh, this is too long... Again, I'm sorry... Requests are open!!!! I love you all!!! :)))

The village was a horrible, dark place. Even though you were born there, you never felt comfortable. The poverty, the humble lifestyle that was lived there didn’t matter. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem had its own name: Mother Miranda.

The priestess ruled the place. You, the villagers, were a simple flock that followed her footsteps. You never agreed with it, but you knew your life depended on it, literally.

“Did you want to see me, Mother Miranda?” You asked respectfully, with your hands trembling from having that woman so close to you.

“Yes...” She sighed, barely looking at your face. “(Y/N), right?”

“Yes, Mother Miranda,” you answered with your head bowed, fixing your gaze as far away from hers as possible.

“How old are you?” Miranda asked. Of course, a person like her could ask those kinds of questions without fear of seeming impolite. She also wasn’t a woman who liked to waste time.

“25, Mother Miranda,”  you said with a voice broken by fear.

“Mm,” she murmured, barely paying attention to you. You certainly preferred it that way. “You're not married, are you?”

As strange as the question seemed to you, you knew that answering was the only way to get out of that church as soon as possible.

“No, Mother Miranda, I’m not married.”

The priestess raised her head. That golden mask hid almost her entire face, but her icy eyes were still able to pierce your insides.

“Why? Can't find the right man?”  She asked with a sigh, walking in circles around you, as if she were one of the hundreds of crows that flew over the village constantly.

“No, it's not that, Mother Miranda... I...” You stopped just before the words left your mouth. No, she didn't have to know the real reason for your lack of interest in men. It's true that the sexual preferences of the villagers were of no interest to her, but who knows.

“I don't mean to judge you. I'm just making sure you're available. I have to ask you for a favor.

You had to be the maid of one of the lords. That's what she wanted from you.

You had never considered serving any of them. You had heard horrible things about the castle maids. But it's not like you could refuse.

Fortunately, the castle was not your destination. Apparently Miranda wanted you to serve the youngest lord, the solitary and almost unknown doll maker, Donna Beneviento.

Although at first the woman in black refused, all you had to do was to say that it was Mother Miranda's thing and then she reluctantly accepted your services. You had heard horrible things about that woman: that she was crazy, that she could make you kill yourself, that she made you experience true fear... None of that happened, unless your greatest fear is the feeling of emptiness and loneliness.

“Good morning, my lady, have you rested well?” You asked politely like every morning and, like every morning, a slight nod from the lady in black was the only response.

Not even the mystery that black veil hid made the days go by faster. Clean, cook, do the laundry. Your tasks were boring and empty, at least if the Angie doll didn't feel like bothering you.

And again, silence. A dead silence that weighed on your shoulders. You weren't exactly a talkative girl, or one who enjoyed contact with other people, but you would have appreciated some communication from the lady in black.

“Be careful, my lady, it’s still very hot,” you said hastily, making a clumsy gesture to take the coffee cup from her hands.

She backed away like she always did when you got a little closer.

“Donna likes her coffee warm, idiot, not hot as hell,” Angie protested, with a cocky pose.

You rolled your eyes without her seeing you. She was a terribly impertinent doll.

“I'm so sorry, my lady,” you apologized, grabbing the cup carefully. “I'm going to fix it right away.”

“It doesn't matter,” a soft, hoarse voice came from the veil. It was the first time she spoke to you in her own voice.

In those first two months not a single word had come out of her mouth. You supposed that was a good thing, but you were still afraid. Your friends warned you several times to be very careful with that woman.

“I... Fine, my lady," you said, lowering your head and moving away from the lady, who seemed to be studying your gestures.

“You useless maid,” Angie whispered with a childish laugh.

“I’ve already said I'm sorry,” you said, unable to suppress a growl that passed through your throat.

“Enough, Angie. Leave her alone,”  Lady Beneviento spoke again to your surprise. The doll obeyed, huffing and muttering what you thought were insults directed at you, of course.

“You know what? I'm going to cool the cup, so it won't be so hot,” you said, determined to please that stupid porcelain doll. Donna didn't scare you that much, but Angie… Angie was really scary.

The nervousness of hearing her speak for the first time, and the fact that the coffee was too hot, caused the cup to fall to the floor with a clumsy movement, breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Oh, my God... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” you said, hurriedly bending down to pick up the pieces of porcelain.

The lady in black stood up, looking down at you, probably also scared by the sound of the cup breaking.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” you repeated nervously, avoiding looking at that black dress. “I'm so clumsy... Forgive me, I beg you.”

You expected  some angry shouts, even the teasing of the Angie doll. But none of that happened. Instead, you thought you heard a soft laugh coming from the black veil.

“You’re begging me?” She asked curiously. “It's just a cup.”

“Yeah, but, but I...” You stammered, not being able to stop shaking, something that apparently caught Lady Beneviento's attention.

“You're afraid of me,” she whispered, grabbing one of your wrists roughly.

“What? I don't...” You said, surprised by those words.

 “It wasn’t a question. You're afraid of me, you're shaking,” Donna said with a more serious tone while you stood up with the pieces in your hand. “Do you think I'm going to hurt you?”

You didn't really understand the reason for those strange questions. Unfortunately, you couldn't say she wasn't right. You knew who she was, the things she was capable of. In the two months you had been in that house, you had never made a mistake, until that day. You didn't know what the consequences were going to be.

“I... I'm going, I'm going to throw this away and get something to clean the floor...” you said, cowardly fleeing from that conversation, from the first real conversation with that woman.

“No, stay,” the lady ordered, with a demanding tone.

“My, my lady, I...” you murmured.

“What have you heard about me?” She asked, sitting down in the chair again without taking her eyes off yours.

“About you? I don't... I don't understand...”  You said, looking for a hole in the floor to disappear instantly.

“You are my maid, (Y/N). I want you to answer my questions,” the doll maker said, hardening her tone even more, squeezing her hand tightly, as if she were losing her patience.

“My lady, I...” you said in a low voice, unable to understand the situation you found yourself in.

“Answer, stupid, stupid,” Angie demanded, comically leaning over the table.

“Well I...” you said, avoiding looking at her, thinking that maybe running away was a good idea. “They say… They say that you are capable of making people feel real fear, that you can… That you can do horrible things to them.

Donna nodded slowly, listening carefully to her words.

“So do you think I’m going to do horrible things to you just for breaking a coffee cup?” She asked again, seemingly calm, although her clenching hand said otherwise.

“I don't know," you admitted crestfallen, noticing how your nervousness made you stab one of the pieces of porcelain in your hand.

“You don't know,” Donna sighed, with a slightly ironic tone.

You just shook your head.

She was quiet for a moment, looking at you, barely moving. The strength of her hand decreased until her knuckles returned to their original color.

“Pick up this mess and get back to your tasks. I'm not hungry,” she ordered you angrily, getting up from the chair and disappearing from the living room like a ghost.

“I... I didn't mean to...” You stammered, asking yourself what was your mistake.

Her footsteps didn't stop despite your attempt to apologize, disappearing down the old elevator.

“Great...” you whispered, shaking your head.

The days went by. There were no more talking, no more broken cups. The fear you felt was gradually changing to curiosity. What the hell was that reproach about? Were you afraid of her? Of course you were. You knew who she was, the things she was capable of.

One morning, calm as the others, you were cleaning the dust from the stairs, wiping the cloth over the frame of that portrait; the portrait of a stoic woman, with a cold look but undeniable beauty. It was Donna, you knew it was her. You wondered what kind of problems she had, what tormented her so much. Why she didn’t want to show her face, one that you thought was beautiful.

“What is wrong with you?” You asked, looking at the cold eyes of the painting, shaking your head.

“(Y/N),” a hoarse voice interrupted you in your absurd dialogue. The lady in black was standing in the hall. You didn't know how long she had been there, watching you.

“Oh, Lady Beneviento,” you said embarrassed, with a polite smile.

“Who were you talking to?” She asked curiously, tilting her head slightly.

“Oh, I... With no one, with, with myself,” you responded. Actually, you weren't lying.

“Do you talk to yourself?” She wanted to know, getting a bit closer to the stairs.

“Yes, well, it helps me to pass the time,” you said, trying to make sure that the trembling of your hands wasn't so noticeable.

The lady in black nodded slowly, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Do you know how to sew?”

“Sew? Oh, sure,” you said, scratching the back of your neck nervously. “And I'm pretty good at it, to be honest.”

“Fine. Come with me,” the lady said, ignoring your joking attempt, turning around and walking away from you again.

You, of course, followed her silently to the old workshop where she spent most of the time.

Without saying a word, she placed a chair next to a sewing machine and motioned for you to go with her.

“What do you want me to do, my lady?” You asked curiously, while Donna searched through the fabrics.

“The machine has broken. Until my brother comes to fix it, I need you to help me make the dresses for these dolls,” Donna said with a dry tone, handing you the needle and thread and pointing to two porcelain figures.

 “Oh, okay,” you said, taking the objects, accidentally brushing her incredibly soft pale hand.

“Will you be able to do it?” She asked, handing you several fabrics.

“Sure, of course, my lady,” you responded, nodding.

“I hate that,” the lady in black said with a growl. You opened your eyes, surprised and confused, looking for a thousand ways to apologize, you still didn't know why.

“What?” You asked, sounding truly stupid.

“I have a name, you know?” She said with a reproachful tone.

“I don’t…” you stammered, looking around erratically.

“My name is Donna, not my lady,” she said nervously, tightly grabbing one of the gray fabrics. “I don't want you to call me that way again. Is that clear?”

You, almost out of breath from those words, nodded slowly, forcing your legs to stop shaking.

“As you wished my... Donna,” you whispered softly, trying to distract yourself from that conversation.

“Your Donna?” she asked with a different tone, an amused one? “I think you're confused, (Y/N). You’re my (Y/N).”

“Oh, of course, I... I didn’t mean to say that you… I...” You stammered, digging the needle into your finger due to your agitated hands.

“I was just joking,” she murmured, sighing and returning to the fabrics. “You are still afraid of me…”

“No, no. I…” You said hurriedly. You began to think that silence was your ally in that house, not your enemy. You wish you were dusting and talking only to yourself at that moment.

“Look at that doll over there,” Donna said, pointing to it. “I want a dress just like that one.”

“I... Okay,” you said, relieved to return to your increasingly appreciated silence.

Time passed slowly, with the only sound of an old clock breaking the calm of that sinister workshop. The two of you sewed in silence. You were surprised by the skill and delicacy with which she treated each of her works. A feared, dangerous woman did everything possible to ensure that the dolls she created were perfect.

From time to time, you looked at the side of her face; a pale face, partially covered by that horrible black veil. A normal ear, black hair apparently tied up... There was nothing that made you think that this woman was a monster, as the villagers liked to say. For some reason, you felt some discomfort being around her. Not because of her subtle lavender scent or because of the fear she might give you. You felt that somehow, you needed to set the record straight, that you had to let her know that you weren't as scared as she thought.

“Donna,” you said, in a tone so low. You doubted she had heard it.

The lady in black turned her head slowly, but without stopping sewing that small dress.

“I'm sorry,” you said, playing with the black thread in your hand.

“What are you sorry about?” She asked, looking back at the dress.

“I'm sorry I said... Well, I'm sorry you think that...” You stammered, feeling horribly ridiculous.

“I don't like when you stutter, (Y/N). Speak clearly, please,” she asked you kindly.

“I'm not afraid of you,” you said, closing your eyes and praying that Donna wouldn't look at you right at that moment.

“Sei una bugiarda,” she whispered, shaking her head.

You frowned, since you didn't understand her words.

“What? Sorry, I don't understand.”

“I said...” The doll maker said, with anger showing in her voice. “…You are a liar.”

“No, I'm not lying,” you said, stopping sewing and crossing your arms. “Maybe, maybe at first I was afraid. I'm not going to deny it but... This time I've been here... Well, the truth is that I can't complain. What I want to say is that... I’m, I’m comfortable with you,” you said, feeling a knot in your stomach, as if you weren't really just telling the truth, as if those words were hiding something else, something that you couldn't, or didn't want to see.

“Are you?” She asked, also leaving the small dress next to her.

You nodded.

“This is the first time someone has said something like that to me. Excuse me if it's hard for me to believe it,” Donna said crestfallen, playing with her hands in her lap. That was like she was feeling shame too. Curious

There were no more words. After that declaration of sincerity, you returned to your work, to your needle and thread. Donna didn't seem to think about it. You, on the other hand, began to notice a different nervousness when you were next to her.

 Time, days, weeks, months continued to pass. You couldn't say that you had a good relationship with Donna, but it improved a lot. Now, she allowed you to read next to her. Little by little you began to have more developed conversations. Always about banal and absurd topics, but conversations, conversations that didn’t include the words: I'm sorry.

That kind of a beginning of a friendship made your attitude change, looking for the lady in black yourself, wanting to spend more time with her. Maybe it was your imagination, but you had the feeling she was doing exactly the same.

Many times, when you were cleaning the dust in the living room, she would appear by surprise, approaching you, pretending to look for a book on one of the shelves. You knew she was pretending, since she always picked up the same essay about mountain plants.

What was happening? You were dying to find out.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N),” you sighed as you opened your eyes. It was your first birthday in that house. You weren't expecting calls from your friends or your family. Surely they thought you were dead a long time ago. It was not something strange in that village.

You went down the stairs yawning, passing by the portrait that, for a while, began to give you chills. It was no longer fear, or uncertainty, it was something else, something you were ashamed to say.

On top of the dining room table, there was something different. It seemed as if… As if someone had given you a gift. A beautiful rose decorated what looked like a carefully wrapped package. Next to it there was a card.

You picked it up suspiciously, wondering who had been thoughtful enough to send you something like that. There was no way you believed Donna had anything to do with it.

I hope you can enjoy your birthday the same way I enjoy your company.

Donna

“What? You're kidding me?” You whispered with wide eyes and trembling hands. Had it been her? It seemed incredible. Would it be a trap? There was only one way to find out.

You unwrapped the small package carefully. You didn't know what to expect and you didn't know why your heart was beating so fast.

“Oh, wow...” You whispered when you took a small bracelet with gold and silver tones out of the box. It seemed like something very expensive and unexpected. “My God… It’s amazing…”

“Do you like it?” a familiar soft and hoarse voice spoke behind you. There was Donna, with a formal but nervous posture, studying your gestures. Frightened, you put your hand on your chest.

“Donna, I... You didn't have to,” you said, smiling, running your fingers through the small golden flowers that adorned the bracelet.

“I wanted to do it,” she said, abruptly.

You nodded gratefully, awkwardly trying to place the gift on your wrist.

“Wait, let me help you.”

Donna approached slowly, taking the bracelet in her hand and wrapping it around your wrist. The touch of her skin against yours made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Maybe it was because she had never been so close to you, or maybe it was because you wanted her to be that close.

“I... Thank you very, very much,” you said, looking at your now decorated wrist.

Her hand stayed in yours, you assumed due to inertia. Her fingers played with yours naturally, but with the feeling that they had no intention of letting yours go.

“You deserve it. I... I, I like you're here with me,” she said shyly, pushing her hand away from you when she realized where it was.

“It's quite a compliment my... Donna,” you said nervously, not knowing whether to go back or advance a few inches, confused by the feeling of wanting to do it.

“Your Donna,” she repeated with an amused tone. You smiled back and for a moment, a kind of out-of-nowhere tension came between you.

“I... I better go to prepare breakfast,” you said, making the decision to move away. She sighed and shook her head.

“Let me do it myself. Today is your birthday. Also, it's a great day. Would you like to have breakfast outside? You know, together,” she asked, looking away from you.

“Of course, I would love to...” You sighed, staring into her black veil.

From that moment on, something you couldn't see had begun. You no longer ate separately, you had stopped distancing yourself. You began to eat together, to watch movies together, in short, to be together.

You already knew what things you could say without make her mad, the things you could talk about without fear of punishment. In an instant everything became different, almost as if it were a dream, or a creation of your mind to make your life a bit more pleasant.

Of all the people in the village, you never imagined you would have feelings for one of the lords. Yes, feelings. You could no longer deny your nervousness when being with her, your heartbeat every time she touched you. Maybe you were losing your mind, or maybe it was already lost.

One night, like every other night for a while, you looked at the bracelet on your wrist in the moonlight. Sleeping was a luxury that your thoughts no longer allowed you to do. You thought about her, about Donna. You wondered why people said those things about her, why they thought she was a monster when she never was such a thing for you. You were also looking for an excuse to stop feeling the things you felt, to refuse to admit that you were falling in love with her.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” A squeaky voice brought you out of your self-pity. The Angie doll suddenly came into your room, jumping onto the bed and shaking you.

“Angie, what's wrong? What do you want?” You asked, moving the wooden arms away from your body.

“It's Donna, Donna has problems,” the doll said, visibly nervous. You stood up immediately, frowning.

“What problems? What's wrong?”  You asked following the puppet out of the room.

“She has lost her mind again! Help her, help her, please!” Angie shouted, dragging to the old elevator.

“Okay, okay, calm down...” you said nervously, trying not to trip over anything in the dark.

You knew that Donna sometimes suffered from anxiety attacks, that her mental problems were always lurking. You had always left her alone. You were never allowed to help her.

“Donna?” You asked entering the bedroom, where the lady in black was, sitting in the corner, balancing with her knees on her chest. “Donna, what's wrong?”

“No! Stay away!” The lady in black screeched, putting a hand in front of her. “They, they will catch you!”

“They? What are you talking about?” You asked carefully, approaching slowly and crouching down next to her. “Hey, Donna, calm down.”

“Go away! I don't want them to hurt you!” She screamed again, hitting the wooden floor with her fists. That had to hurt.

You, ignoring her delirious screams, grabbed her wrists to prevent them from going down again.

“Come on, calm down, Donna...” You whispered, trying hard to keep her hands from moving. “Everything is fine, I'm here.”

“They, they whisper things to me... they want, they want to hurt us...” She murmured, with her gaze lost, shaking her head.

You were so nervous that you hadn't even noticed a small detail. The black veil that covered her face had disappeared. The mysterious Donna Beneviento revealed herself to you without wanting it.

It was a beauty incomparable to any other, a scared and hurt face, a scar that took up part of the right side of her face. That was the reason. That's why she wore the veil. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, harmoniously framing her features. You could have been staring at her face, at her newfound beauty. But it wasn't the time.

“They want to leave me alone!” The lady screamed, fighting against the force you exerted on her arms. “Get out!”

“Donna, come on, relax. There's no one here…” You said, pushing your way through her spasms, kneeling in front of her. “No one wants to hurt you.”

“No... You will abandon me... They have told me... You are a bitch!”

You shook your head, feeling deeply sad at being unable to bring poor Donna back to her senses.

“No, stop, honey... You're going to hurt yourself, come on, stop, Donna, come to your senses. I'm here with you, I will never abandon you. Do you hear me?”

When her attempt to hurt her hands stopped, you took the opportunity to bring yours to her face, cupping it firmly so she could look at you. Her eye was red from crying.

Her breathing relaxed a bit, letting her arms fall to the floor and looking at you in panic.

“That's it... Relax. Nobody is going to hurt you. I would never allow it... Come on, breathe, breathe with me...”

She followed your orders, despite still being nervous. Your hands caressed her face lovingly as you brought her forehead against yours.

“Okay, Donna... Breathe... You're safe...” You whispered affectionately as her hands returned to your wrists, gripping them tightly but with no intention of causing harm.

“(Y/N)...” The lady in black sighed, moving away from you and bringing one of her hands to her uncovered face. Unfortunately, she realized that you had seen her.

“Shhh, no, it's okay,” you said when she thrashed around in your arms again, trying to escape your grip.

“Let me go! Don't look at me!” Donna screamed, pushing you angrily, causing you to fall to the floor backwards.

“Hey, hey, come on. It's okay,” you said, standing up, grabbing her wrist when she was about to run away. “Donna, stop.”

“No, no... Why did you have to do it?!” She wailed with a heartbreaking cry, stamping her feet hard on the floor, making even Angie hide behind a piece of furniture.

“I just want to help you,” you said, with tears in your eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. “Come on, come here…” you whispered, extending your hand towards her, who pushed it away with a resounding smack.

“I'm a monster,” the lady in black said sobbing, turning her back on you.

“No, no, Donna, you're not,” you said, approaching cautiously, putting a hand on her shoulder. You didn't know the limit of her patience, especially in that state. “You are a beautiful woman and… And a  kind one. I love spending the day with you, reading with you... You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and I...”

“Do you think you can fool me?  Do you think you can make me believe that you appreciate me? That’s what you want? Do you want me to fall in love even more and then abandon me?”

“What? No...” You said with a sad look, without paying attention to her words. At least at first.

“You’re lying”

“I'm not lying,” you whispered as she turned towards you, head down, embarrassed by her appearance. “You are… You are special to me.”

“Do you know how many maids like you have told me those stupid words?” She asked, abruptly removing your hand from her shoulder.

“No, I don’t know.”

“They were all the same, liars who only wanted to rob me... Insult me, some of them even tried to kill me... You are all the same... You’re just bitches, all of you.”

“Donna, stop saying those things... Your words are hurting me,” you sobbed, shaking your head and trying unsuccessfully to caress her cheek.

“And to think that you were different from them hurts me too. I thought you felt something for me,” she accused with a sigh, with a dangerous look.

“Donna, I...” You said, incredulous at the pain in her words. “I feel something for you. I don't know what horrible things they've done to you but... But...”

“Shut up. Look at me! She screamed madly, grabbing your head tightly, making you look at her face, making you unable to look anywhere else. “No one could feel anything for me, I'm horrible and you know it. I really loved you, (Y/N). I really thought you were different.”

“Well, I'm different,” you protested, lowering her arms abruptly.

“Get out my sight. Take whatever you want from the house and disappear forever. I don't want to think you're telling the truth just for breaking my heart later. Leave before I feel the need to hurt you.”

“What? No, I don't want to leave,” you said with a grimace of displeasure. “I don't want to leave. I want to stay with you!” You screamed, desperate at your inability to reason with her.

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying! I love you!” You shouted, confessing a truth that was already beginning to be too heavy on your head.

“You can't love me!” Donna screamed back, pushing you angrily by your shoulders. “You can’t…”

Before she could react, you approached her, grabbing her chin, taking advantage of that small moment of delirium. Your hands traveled to her waist, gently pulling her towards your body. One of them went up to her cheek, caressing it slowly as your head leaned towards hers, closing the distance between you with a slow, but firm kiss.

She gasped in shock, but she made no effort to move away from you. Her entire body relaxed and her hands rested on your cheeks, keeping your lips glued to hers, not wanting to lose that contact, that sensation that your kisses caused.

“(Y/N)...” She whispered into your lips, separating slowly before launching herself into them again, deepening the kiss, in a messy but affectionate way.

“I love you, Donna...” You said sobbing, cupping her face in your hands, with your lips still very close to hers.

“You, you’ve kissed me,” the doll maker said, confused, but not wanting to move an inch. “No one had ever kissed me…”

“That's because they didn't feel what I feel for you...” You said tenderly, sincerely, grabbing the hand that rested on your cheek. “I don't care if you don't believe me, but every day I thank Mother Miranda for send me with you, Donna. I don't care if you don't believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful, that I hate the veil that covers your face. I don't mean to trick you, to hurt you, I just... I just want to be with you... My Donna...”

“Do you want to be with me?” She asked uncertainly, studying your features very closely, her voice trembling.

“I want”

“Aren't you going to abandon me?”

“Never”

An innocent smile spread across her face before kissing you again in an intense, erratic way, not wanting to let you even take a breath.

“I, I would really like to be with you, (Y/N)... I... No one has ever felt that way about me...”

You laughed softly, kissing her quickly again and hugging her tightly, making her feel safe in your arms.

“Let me love you, Donna...” You whispered into her shoulder, pressing her body tightly against yours. “Let me spend my life with you, enjoy how wonderful you are…”

She withdrew slowly, with a sigh that told you something was wrong. Her hands moved down your hips, meeting your own hands as her gaze focused on yours. Her expression had changed.

“I wish I could believe you, (Y/N), but I can’t, not yet,” Donna whispered, bringing a hand to your chest, regaining the distance she had lost. “I have always been so alone…”

“Not anymore, Donna, you're not alone anymore.  You don't have to trust me right now but... I will do whatever it takes to show you that my feelings are sincere,” you said, not letting desperation force you to kneel and beg for a chance.

Her gaze lowered back to your lips, wanting to kiss them again but, at the last moment, she regretted it.

“If you knew the things you make me feel, how fast my heart beats when you're around...” The lady whispered sadly, distrustfully.

“I believe I know. I feel the same way,” you said, letting your heart speak for you.

“Don't break my heart, please...” Donna whispered again, now gently kissing your lips.

“I would never do it,” you said between kisses, letting yourself be carried away by her sweet caresses, caresses that wandered over your body, exploring it cautiously.

“I want to keep kissing you,” Donna said, getting closer, begging not to lose that new sensation for her.

“As you wish, my Donna...”

[goddamnwebcomics]

Worst villains you've seen in webcomics?

It's surprisingly tough for me despite bad webcomic generally having bad characters.

For me it's not tough. Every villain I've tackled in this blog is either too likable to be a villain, too pathetic to be a villain, or just a generic villain who isn't interesting or cool in any way due to lack of a proper motivation. There really isn't a villain you love to hate or you feel enriches the story in any way, with very few exceptions.

Here is my Top 5 Worst Villains Ever

5. The Hosts (Gene Catlow)

I could've included various one-off villains like Horton or Evil Staggler here, but I feel like Hosts deserve this spot, because they were a clever and unique idea whose execution was completely and utterly botched. These invisible entities who eat the lifeforce of living creatures, especially cats due to their status in Gene Catlow World would've been absolutely terrifying, but they ended up becoming jokes. They ultimately didn't end up affecting the plot in any way, besides Horton killing them and resurrecting them as asskissers. The Hosts really should have been the main threat of the comic due to their nature, because they don't eat creatures for fun, but rather their own survival, and they should've also served as a reason for Gene and Matt to put their differences aside in order to fight them, but, they're all gone now.

4. The Infernomancer (Dominic Deegan)

I feel like The Infernomancer isn't a character. He is more like a plot device. When conflict, gore and death is needed, Infernomancer isn't too far behind. Outside of wanting to hunt down Miranda because Karnak demanded it, he doesn't have motives, any character, any backstory. He just wants to kill for the sake of killing, because this story needs an eldritch horror, when arguably, THE ENTIRE CONCEPT OF MAGIC IN THIS UNIVERSE ALREADY IS ONE. Remember, magic is established to do random shit because it's magic, and just about anybody can learn it, and only few are just completely immune to it. Maybe The Infernomancer is an allegory for the dark side of magic which is why he doesn't have name either, but we have enough bad magicians in this comic already. He's just a generic edgelord in a comic full of edgelords, except this edgelord is powerful and keeps cheating death oooh so spooky! It's like Batman Who Laughs but even worse.

3. Trasik (Alien Dice)

As bland as Infernomancer is, Trasik is probably even worse. I guess I am only ranking her so low because she could've had potential to be a good antagonist but somehow Tiffany fucked up EVERYTHING about her. She is a mysterious woman who also happens to be the sister of Riley, and for whatever reason she wants to hunt Lexx down. We later learn her intense hatred of Lexx is because her father, Kade, was close friends with Lexx's mother, and this led to Trasik just deciding to become racist against rishans. However over the years she has somehow gained a child soldier ring that she actively runs, and also Lexx's mother and grandmother live in secrecy RIGHT NEXT DOOR from her and she somehow has never known this. And if that wasn't enough, she was replaced with a mimic by ADC at some point after they kidnapped Chel, because she didn't attend a wedding. Trasik's entire existence is a gigantic mess, and we don't know why she does the things she does, and if she is even real, and worse than that Riley and other siblings have no issue with her doing these corrupted things. More than anything Trasik should've served as Riley's puppet who took the blame for his shady acts, but this is not about "characters who should have been villains".

2. Dr. Demikhov (Spinnerette)

Spinnerette is horrible at creating political strawmen, not because they're strawmen but because they're not even good strawmen. General Generic is actually a surprisingly reasonable authority figure and thus loops back to being likable. However one character I feel is a waste of time is Dr. Demikhov. Demikhov is the Anti-Universe, he is a proud communist who is somehow in high position at the Russian Federation. However he doesn't really do anything communistic, he just speaks in technobabble with occassional communist word, and this triggers the shit out of Universe. He is also a moron who merged his two assistants together because he wanted to prove something. Spinny has had a lot of bad villains, but even ones like WereQuakko Sisters were entertaining enough because of their fucking ridiculous concepts, Demikhov is a blank slate. He really should've been an oligarch-funded scientist who only uses communist jargon to draw the interest of young people like Manya Sisters, when in actuality all of his science is loyal to the world view of Putin. Having a scientist paid by the state to control their narrative would make him a proper opposite to anti-authoritarian Universe and also would make this arc less of a waste of time. At least he's implied to have straight up died, so we'll likely never see him again.

1. Matt (Gene Catlow)

Yes, Matt is the worst villain in the history of Goddamnwebcomics. But that's not his fault, it's the fault of his surroundings. Due to how every character seems to always read his mind and always seems to judge him as an asshole despite the fact he has more realistic view of the world and he respects his peers, Matt comes across like an underdog. He also has been stripped off his powers and constantly backstabbed, whether it's his former lovers, the puppet he created, his tech support and even his bosses and mentor. Not even his girlfriend is loyal to him as she's more interested in creating the Dog Holocaust than actually make his vision of a cat-ruled world come true, which is implied to be inevitable. Anyone trying to step into Matt's shoes usually fucks up, like how Tane destroyed the family power, and rather than spend all his days hating Gene, he is willing to work with his enemies in exchange of a better life for them, because he knows World of Friends is dangerous. Matt is perfect in every single way as a character, so in order to make him a better villain, everything AROUND him needs to be improved first!

[fearsmagazine]

TALK TO ME - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: A24

SYNOPSIS: On the anniversary of her mother’s death, Mia and her friend Jade, along with Jade’s younger brother Riley, head to a gathering of classmates to see if what they watched on their phones is real. Mia volunteers to be the first to take the plunge to clasp a white ceramic hand and become possessed by a spirit. Light the candle. Grab the hand, say “talk to me,” invite the spirit in, but don’t let it go past 90 seconds, or whoever you welcome in is going to want to stay. It’s a rush and they become hooked on the new thrill, that is until one of them goes too far and unleashes the terrifying supernatural forces lurking on the other side.

REVIEW: First-time filmmakers, twin brothers, Danny and Michael Phillipou blend together a variety of cinematic styles, genre themes, and a cast of Australian teen characters that feels like an emotional John Hughes’ film, serving up an insane scarefest with broad audience appeal.

The filmmakers have a great screenplay. They present a simple premise, simple set of rules, and with enough of a background story, leaving room for a bit of mystery, to formulate a catalyst to hook the viewer. While the story often shows multiple points of view as they present the possessed and the spirits, they steadily narrow their focus. The central characters clearly have some underlying psychology that may make them susceptible to the possession or what they are experiencing could be a result of their fragile mental state. It’s a nice contemporary take on Shirley Jackson’s “The Haunting of Hill House.” The narrative narrows on Mia, adding more to her story and the mental trauma surrounding her mother’s death. Like Kevin Williamson’s original “Scream,” the brothers have a keen ear for the dialogue of these characters, both teens and adults. There are some laughs, but they are organic and natural, never at the characters’ expense. Overall, high marks on the writing as it feels like a tale that could have been written by a contemporary author like Clay McCloud Chapman or Grady Hendrix.

The brothers have a keen eye for the visual style. At times it had a look reminiscent of the New Line Cinema genre films of the 1980’s, enhanced by the slick look and feel of contemporary special and visual effects. The initial party where Mia experiences the possession and what follows are nicely framed and edited. They juxtaposed two different energies that convey a sense of youth and their poking a sleeping evil. Focusing on the individual possessions the style takes on a more physical look and feel that doesn’t go as far, but has a haunting and chilling feel of “The Exorcist.” There is no bile spewing, but there is a brutal physicality that is shocking and horrifying, and a later scene involving blood that is wicked. The spirit effects are terrifying but the effects on Riley are insane and the sound design for his trauma is jaw dropping. Cornel Wilczek’s score is reminiscent of the work of Charles Bernstein. It subtly underscores the film’s scary moments as it augments adolescent psychology. A great work, definitely a score to add to my collection.

TALK TO ME has a great ensemble cast, many whom you’re sure to recognize, whose performances are believable and genuine. Actress Sophie Wilde, who I recently watched in “The Portable Door” (and also featured Miranda Otto), crosses a vast emotional and psychological chasm, hooks the viewer, and acts the hell out of the role. Equally as impressive is Joe Bird’s performance, who is also credited with coming up with the concept for the film. He delivers a solid and convincing performance, but when things go crazy he serves up this unbelievable physical performance that hurts, and he delivers another later in the film. I loved the adults, especially the wonderful performance by veteran actress Miranda Otto, who appeared in such films as “The Lord of the Rings,” and series like “Locke & Key” and “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.”

Danny and Michael Phillipou deliver an impressive film that works on multiple levels like many of the classic genre films such as “The Haunting,” “Rosemary’s Baby,” and “The Exorcist.” It’s fresh, intense and one hell of a ride that will leave you emotionally wiped. I will say that early on the Australian accents were a bit thick and when the banter was brisk I could have used subtitles. I can’t wait to see what these talented filmmakers serve up next and TALK TO ME is on my short list for the best of 2023.

CAST: Sophie Wilde, Alexandra Jensen, Joe Bird, Marcus Johnson, Otis Dhanji, Jayden Davison, Miranda Otto, Zoe Terakes, Chris Alosio, & Alexandria Steffensen. CREW: Directors - Danny Philippou & Michael Philippou; Screenplay - Danny Philippou & Bill Hinzman; Producers - Samantha Jennings & Kristina Ceyton; Cinematographer - Aaron Mclisky; Score - Cornel Wilczek; Editor - Geoff Lamb; Production Designer - Bethany Ryan; Costume Designer - Anna Cahill; Special Makeup Effects - Paul Katte & Nick Nicolaou; VFX Supervisor - Marty Pepper. OFFICIAL: a24films.com/films/talk-to-me FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: twitter.com/talktomemovie TRAILER: https://youtu.be/ctvPMI-lIog RELEASE DATE: In Theaters July 28th, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Twenty Nine

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Ethan’s blatantly shocked, almost offended gaze between the other two made things awkwardly quiet; it was clear that they were serious.  But it was also clear that this was not what he’d expected.  Then again, what had he expected?  Moreau’s mutated form had been so inhuman that it was hard to imagine him with any body at all.  

Still, Ethan had expected…well, a monster.  

The blond’s gaze softened from shock to studying; Salvatore drew back timidly as Ethan’s piercing stare moved over his features.  Something about the way the other flinched, deeply uncomfortable at being looked at, seemed to fit.  So too did the rather greasy hair, Ethan decided; he’d remembered Moreau’s sparse, long strands.  Now he had a full head of hair that probably needed washing.  Ethan’s gaze traced over almost yellow skin–unhealthy.  That fit too.  There were dark ink across his wrist; the ends of a forearm tattoo.  Ethan remembered that as well.  

His posture was right; it was shrunken, small, with his hands full of flowers nervously twitching against each other.  The eyes were wide, brimming with tears.  His face was round, his lips strangely shaped.  There was an unhealthiness about him, a desperation on his expression, an unsettling ‘othered’ brokenness in his tremble. 

Yeah, given the right blend of whatever fucked up DNA Miranda had put in him…Ethan could see how this man might morph into the disgusting aquatic creature known as Moreau.  He also, surprisingly, felt a pang of sympathy for the other man’s foul luck.  He’d looked this normal, and mutated to that level of grotesque?  

Really, really shit luck.  Worse than Ethan’s, even.  

Ethan only had hints of how Karl had looked as a human; his childhood photo, and perhaps, the catalogued version of him in the Mold consciousness–but mutant Karl was handsome, even with the fashion sense of a demented vagabond.  Donna’s beauty had struck Ethan when he first laid eyes on her painting, and then her crystallized face of death.  Now that she was restored to her human form, she was angelic, unbelievably gorgeous.  And though Ethan had never seen Dimitrescu’s human form, she had also been elegant, beautiful.  

So, Moreau’s ugliness seemed like a very cruel joke, Ethan decided.  He straightened, done with his invasive staring.  He gripped the shotgun strap so tightly he thought he might break his own hands before exhaling, and nodded.  

“Moreau, then,” his voice was halting, cautious.  If the other did remember Ethan, they might have some awkward conversing ahead.  But as usual, Eva served as the lone socially-competent human, stepping in front of the other blond and extending a hand politely.  

“I’m Eva,” she said simply, as if testing his knowledge. 

Moreau’s wild, trapped stare softened, and then widened.  He took the pale hand in his own, bringing the flowers with it.  “E-Eva?” The timid head turned, and he blinked several times, staring from Ethan, and back to her.  “Mother’s…real child, then.” 

It wasn’t what Ethan had expected.  Moreau’s obsession with Miranda was their main concern, after all.  And yet these words were said with almost an objective despondence.  Not the pining desperation with which he’d pleaded while fighting Ethan in the swamp.  

“Yes,” Eva said, her eyes lighting up.  She grasped the fisherman’s hands.  “Well, I once was, yes.  How do you know that?”

“Good question,” Ethan echoed, ready to hear whatever explanation the other had to offer.  Salvatore glanced back at him, and Ethan could swear the hint of a smile passed over his face.  But he was so twitchy, so uncertain, that it was hard to tell.  He really did resemble a frog, Ethan mused, but kept that thought to himself.  

Salvatore turned and gestured toward a winding path that led past the dock, warehouse, and down to a small garden near the lake’s edge where a single gravestone lay.  

“Follow me, I can explain.  I-I think.” 

Eva, far more kind hearted than her sourpuss companion, threaded her arm through Moreau’s as he led the way.  This made a look of relief wash over the man.  He’d likely not experienced such a simple gesture of kindness since Miranda got ahold of him.  

Ethan rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, not quite ready to be placating.  But he followed them while he took in the sight of the lake.  How beautiful it looked, without all of the rot and ruin.  Was this how it would actually look in the summer, with upkeep?  It was beautiful.  He would love to bring a boat out on the water.  The Carpathians, reflected on the mirror lake, would make for some breathtaking photos.  He could imagine Rosemary playing here, teaching her to fish too.  Late night summer parties on the lake.  Probably bonfires, knowing the Roma as he did.  

Ethan’s thoughts turned to the lake in winter.  He’d only seen it at its worst.  With the sluice rebuilt, they could turn it into an ice rink. A winter party.  Hot chocolate.  Teaching Rose to ice fish!  His thoughts began to spiral, full of ideas.  The father reigned in his imagination to focus on the black-haired-man’s slow, but steadily spoken words. 

“I came here….so many happy days.  Peace.  But then I began to hear, I think, the voices.  It seemed like everything was a dream.  I don’t know if I’ve been here a year or thirty years.  It just…everything blurred.  A lovely dream, again and again.  The life I wanted.”  He laughed, a fearful titter, and Eva patted his hand encouragingly.  

“The voices told me I needed to remember.  So I listened.  And…things started to come back to me.  Horrible things.  I….was disgusted.”

“Yeah?”  Ethan’s heavy sarcasm got him a very clear, very Miranda-like, glare from Eva.  

Moreau’s startled glance back at Ethan almost made the blond feel like a schoolyard bully.  But he answered, with surprising tenacity.  

“Y..yeah.  I know why you did what you did, Ethan.  I understand.  What you did was a mercy.  What I was, should never have came to be.  I was robbed of all human dignity.  Not that, I supposed, I had much…”

“Oh stop, be kinder to yourself,” Eva said lightheartedly, while throwing a final deathly warning glare to Ethan before asking another question.  

“So, you remember everything?”

“I do.  It took awhile.  But all I have here is time.  The voices said, people would come.  Mother–Miranda.  She did not speak of you, to me, very much.”   

They were close to the headstone; Ethan hung back, and Eva let go of the man’s arm as he gently, lovingly placed the bouquet on the mound of dirt.  There were other flowers, trinkets, sculptures around this grave.  Ethan wondered how long it had been here–it looked fresh, and yet there were so many flowers around it.  

Moreau must come here daily, at least.  

“I lived through the same plague as Miranda,” he began again, kneeling at the headstone.  Ethan could only see the back of Moreau’s head, but he heard the crippling pain in the man’s trembling voice.  

“She was older than me.  Lived here, she already had….well…” His dark head turned to glance at Eva.  “You, I suppose.  I survived because I was at sea when the outbreak happened.  My first schooner.  I was young–it was our family rite of passage.  Oh….how I loved the Black Sea.  But my mother died from that outbreak.  I am so sad I was not here.  My father, he survived.  He was the village doctor, you see…but horrible, horrible.  I was never any kind of scientist.”  

Moreau laughed bitterly, and Ethan heard the hint of the taunting Lord within his voice.  He tried to keep his lip from curling, which left him with a very perturbed expression that Moreau did not see. 

“When I returned, I was not treated kindly.  Miranda was studying in his clinic, and…well,” he turned back to them, his eyes glistening.  “I suppose you know what she did next.” 

“All too well, I’m afraid,” Eva said.  She lowered herself gingerly to the grass. Moreau sat back on his haunches, clearly willing and ready to talk–to her, at least. 

“My mutation was very slow.  It took my intelligence as the years went by.  I can’t even remember much after I lost my vocabulary.  I tried so hard to hold on.  My father disowned me, of course…Miranda then became my mother.”  

Another bitter laugh.  “I was good at fishing.  She didn’t want good at fishing.”  

His eyebrows raised daintily.  “I became good at being her lab assistant, until…my mind and body changed.  I couldn’t do that either.  By then I was too much of a failure to keep close. By then, she had others.  Alcina.”  He nodded as if to himself, and paused to cry.  If he seemed ashamed of the tears, he didn’t convey it, and neither of his guests cared to comment either.  

Ethan tried to picture the short, trembling man next to Miranda, assisting her with lab work, and found the idea truly pathetic, if not comical.  Pity yet?  No, not yet.  Pathetic though.  Comical, yeah.  

“These voices, they are…the Mold, then?”  Eva pressed.  “So curious that it has taken to speaking to you!”

“The Mold,” his eyes lit up.  “The Mold is simply…a large room full of…”

“Full of people talking,” Ethan said, his own eyes sparking with interest. For the first time the two men exchanged an understanding look.  Ethan nodded.  Salvatore tilted his head.  

“They know what you are trying to do,” he said mysteriously.  “These places we Lords have been put-our cadou separates us from the collective.  We are alone, isolated.  We cannot blend.  Miranda wanted to stop the blending.  To isolate.  The voices of so many though, they add to this room.  They are the true network.  We are alone, once the cadou is within.  But we have what she wants, within our little prisons.  So her failed children are like the grains of sand turned pearls.” 

“You know about the crystal?” Eva could not contain her childlike enthusiasm.  

Ethan flared his nostrils, hoping that Salvatore would reveal his own side sooner rather than later.  He didn’t like this open, breezy conversation-what if Salvatore was already working with beloved Mother?  

“Know about it!  I have a piece of it.”  Even his true laugh contained no real humor.  It was as though his entire existence was spent being a joke, and he could not muster up an honest laugh.  “The first piece, actually.  I was her first…attempt.” 

Ethan shook his head.  “You know, I’m so glad you know all of this.  Donna got her memories back in a few days, so why in the hell was I clueless for so long?”

“Miranda took your memories, for one thing,” Eva reminded him with a frown.  

Moreau’s eyes widened as he stared at the tall blond man, who stood nearby uncomfortably, arms crossed, while Moreau and Eva sat on the grass. 

After a pause in which Moreau continued to stare wide-eyed at Ethan, the former Lord said, “The plan you made is what made the voices talk to me.  It learns from you. It listens to you.  So, planning to extract the crystal fragments, the voices…answer to that.  Trying to find me, teach me, as I have a piece.” 

“So, it–they–are working against her?” 

Moreau almost-smiled.  “Miranda betrayed the sanctity of the consciousness long ago.  It is trying to preserve itself, not help her.” 

“And what about you?”  Ethan couldn’t help but sound confrontational.  He would be happy to give Godric an earful if Salvatore said LITERALLY anything other than ‘I’m on board to kill the bitch’....and as he thought this, angrily, he swore he could sense the large King’s laughter from somewhere far away, over the horizon, or under the ground.  As if he were listening.  Like a feather on Ethan’s neck, or a breath by his ear.  

Ethan pressed, “Whose side are you on?”

Moreau turned to survey the gravestone.  His gaze traveled above it, to the sparkling, clear lake.  “I never got to marry her,” he said quietly.  “She was poor, and the village cemetery was full, from the outbreak.  She was cremated.  The person I was with here, this dream person, was not real, simply a fragment of my mind.  When I learned that truth, she vanished again.  A cruel side effect of not having a consciousness stored in this realm, I suppose.”  

“I’m so sorry,” Eva exhaled.  

Even Ethan had nothing smartass to say.  He stared solemnly at the gravestone.  Moreau had also lost someone who wasn’t coming back, Mold or no Mold.  Death was still permanent, sometimes.  Donna’s entire family had disappeared from her dreams as well. 

Pity?

Maybe. 

“To answer your question,” Moreau continued, “I am not on a side.  I know I caused so much destruction, death.  But I was in hell too.  This place has been, a respite, a break.  But it is not redemption, or peace.  It’s simply…lonely.”  

He turned, squinted up at Ethan.  “I would love to help in any way I can.  I would love to feel the wind on my face, to feel the earth as it truly was.  To simply be in a body that won’t make children scream and women turn away in horror.  Perhaps I’d work again, fishing or else.  But I don’t deserve any of those things, and–” he glanced skeptically at Ethan’s shoulder, “If you wanted to kill me with that gun, and remove the fragment, I understand.” 

Ethan scoffed indignantly, despite the last mention of Moreau’s being the very plan Ethan had in mind all morning.  But, Ethan knew nothing about “extracting” this crystal before Miranda, and he could no longer argue against Godric’s logic; having Salvatore in their world, where he could teach them exactly what “removing” the crystal entailed, was actually a fantastic strategy.  

He’d never considered that Moreau had spent intimate years with Miranda in her lab before he became a sniveling idiot.  That changed a lot of things, especially since he no longer seemed to be an idiot.  Sniveling, well, he was doing that right now.  

He could almost hear the singsong Told You So, in broken English, and Ethan actually had to twist his lips away from a smile.  Yeah yeah.  Smart King.  

Eva stood, brushing out her skirt, her mischievous, playful smile already returning.  

“Well, Salvatore Moreau….I think it is time we invite you back to the mortal world, if you will join us.”  

Moreau rose, looking even more startled than previously, as Ethan approached, shrugging out of the backpack.  

“Are you….You mean you really..? You want me…?”

“We want you to help, and to do something good.  You get a chance to redeem yourself,” Ethan said sternly, but he extended a hand anyway.  When Moreau shook it, his eager, childlike enthusiasm was actually almost heartwarming.  He was sputtering, something about doing his best.  Then he began to cry again.  

—------------

The ritual was easy–Eva and Ethan were a formidable team, apparently a team that the Mold listened to.  They also had the essence of Moreau (whatever that meant) in the crystal, and in a matter of minutes, a flesh and blood Moreau stood with the duo on the remains of his fishing village.  

Ethan had wondered if seeing the exploded remains of a once-picturesque lake might have given the fisherman despair, but Moreau was so happy to be back on “earth” in a human-looking body, that he lay on the ground, crying and kissing the muddy soil, hugging at the rocks and plants that littered the ground here.  

“Well,” Ethan said lamely, as Eva clapped her hands.  “Heeeere we are. It uh….”

Salvatore sat in the mud, looking around wide-eyed.  He was still mumbling, crying.  He touched his own body in disbelief, and then peered into a nearby mudhole to see his very human reflection.  

Ethan cleared his throat.   “It uh, needs some work….but uh…”

“I have hands! I have…my face!  Oh, I’m so…look at meeeee!”  Salvatore’s sobs were loud, wailing racketing sobs, and he drowned out Ethan completely.  “Look at meeeee!”  The thin, wiry man crawled to a standing position and continued to touch his face with hands that were covered in mud. Eva returned his expression of enthusiasm, hopping on the balls of her feet, which caused him to burst into a louder wail.  

Ethan’s eyes widened impossibly, and he pressed his lips shut, giving up on any kind of conversation.  

The roar of an approaching engine sounded from a nearby hill, and the group turned to see the motorcycle crest the path soon after.  Heisenberg was either grinning or gripping the cigar with his teeth, hard to say.  Donna sat behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.  Just as Ethan felt a surge of jealousy, he also realized how cute Donna looked perched back there.  She was riding sidesaddle, which was utterly ridiculous, and just like her.  

Karl cut the engine and propped up the bike on its kickstand; he barked with laughter, removing the cigar from his lips as Donna dismounted behind him.  

“Damn, Sal!  You come all this way, an’ forget my old coat?” 

The strangled cry from Salvatore made one thing abundantly clear; he held no ill will toward Heisenberg.  He tottered toward the engineer like an enthralled child.  Karl dismounted, pushing Donna in front of him, but Moreau nearly tackled the engineer.  Heisenberg slapped Moreau’s back, then hugged the muddy fisherman with a bewildered laugh.  

Donna was more invasive, stroking her 'sibling's long hair and lifting it as if looking for frog eyeballs or something else.  She peered at his face in much the same way as Ethan, but she also pressed her pale hands onto the muddy cheeks in wonder.  They all began speaking at once, Karl with a palm planted on each sibling’s shoulders, Donna and Moreau still inspecting each other’s faces with excitement and shyness.  

Despite the trepidation earlier, it seemed that the arrival of a very human Moreau brought out something good, something wholesome, in all of the Lords.  

Ethan hung back, allowing Eva to lean on him as she watched the reunion.  

“How touching,” she sighed.  

“Yeah, look at us, trading one fucked up family for another, like Pokemon cards.”  

“Ethan.”  She paused, then gestured to the happy group.  “We are righting her wrongs.  At least the ones we can control.” 

Ethan begrudgingly put his arm around the shorter woman and rubbed her shoulder.  

“You’re amazing, you know that.”  He put his other hand in his back pocket, trying to will away all of the grisly imagery in his head.  That Moreau was gone.  He didn’t even need to pity this one, he realized.  Just show some basic empathy.  Somehow he felt that Moreau wouldn’t mind his wariness; the man was probably used to not being trusted.  And Ethan had no surplus of trust to give.  

“I don’t know how you’re so patient, and kind, how you see the best in…the worst.” 

“I am just old,” she said cheerfully.  

[gacmediadaily]

 Miranda Cosgrove (Mother of the Bride) and Pierson Fode (The Man from Toronto) have signed on to star in The Wrong Paris, a new romantic comedy that Janeen Damian (Irish Wish) will direct for Netflix.

Written by Nicole Henrich, the film centers on Dawn (Cosgrove), who is desperate to get to France for a once-in-a-lifetime art opportunity. Thus, she talks her way onto a Bachelor-type dating show set in Paris — only to discover the show is actually set in Paris, Texas as part of a ratings stunt by the producers. Now in jeopardy of losing out on her dreams, Dawn must find a way to get kicked off the show, until a real romance begins to blossom with Trey (Fode), the show’s handsome and charming bachelor.

Producers on the project include Brad Krevoy for MPCA and Michael Damian. Janeen Damian, Amanda Phillips, Jimmy Townsend, Kelly Fraizer and Galen Fletcher are serving as executive producers.

Breaking out early in life as one of the stars of Nickelodeon’s Drake & Josh, and the lead of its subsequent series iCarly, Cosgrove has most recently been seen starring opposite Brooke Shields in Mark Waters’ Netflix rom-com Mother of the Bride, which spent five weeks in the streamer’s Global Top 10 Films (English) and reached the Top 10 Films in 92 countries. This year, she also reprised her voice role as Margo in Despicable Me 4, which grossed over $580 million worldwide.

Fode is perhaps best known for his work in television, having thus far been seen on series like Based on a True Story, Leverage: Redemption, Animal Kingdom and The Real Bros of Simi Valley, among others. Among his film credits is Netflix’s The Man from Toronto starring Kevin Hart and Woody Harrelson.

Most recently directing and exec producing Netflix’s hit rom-com Irish Wish, starring Lindsay Lohan, which hit #1 in 69 countries in its first weekend, Damian prior to that directed the Lohan-led holiday rom-com Falling for Christmas for the streamer.

Cosgrove is represented by Gersh, Untitled Entertainment, and Johnson Shapiro Slewett & Kole; Fode by Innovative Artists, Zero Gravity Management, and Gang, Tyre, Ramer; Janeen Damian by Independent Artist Group and attorney Alan Abrams; and Henrich by Slanted Wheel Entertainment.

[rom-e-o]

YEEEEP. I love this series, but it is a CHRONIC offender at silly stuff like this. To each their own, but Ada and Leon's relationship has this vibe and I don't get it.

I do think their redemption coming from witnessing the real-world consequences of their actions makes more sense here. Plus, if Jen was caught under Umbrella's boot, it would only serve as further inspo. Let's face it, I wouldn't put it past Scrooge's father to owe a debt ... and instead of money, they take her instead. She had her son, now she's spent.

What if pregnancy was never what killed Jen? What if it was Umbrella's pharmaceuticals, or worse? What if her body is also writhing in their labs? Now that would cause them to spiral.

The real-world consequences also force a little bit of tension between the couples that doesn't exist in the other versions, at least not to this extent. Bess is QUITE justified in being angry at him for a while. While recognizing he's not directly at fault (not in the way people like Wesker or Mother Miranda are, at least) she is more than allowed to scorn him. He welcomes it, in fact. He hopes it will dull the growing tenderness he feels for her.

The real pang comes when she leaves with Bryant. It hurts him far more than he ever thought.

... Until Bryant leverages his power and thinks that Bess might be the perfect little opportunity to make some progress in Umbrella. She'd be a great scapegoat for some research and experimentation.

Wolf rushes to her aid, and like always across these universes, he's the one waiting for her to awaken. ;;

They finally have the chance to share a heated kiss and just recognize their emotions. He curses his involvement in Umbrella at all, but the silver lining is that it at least brought them together.

And together, perhaps, they can help stop all this better than they ever could apart.

Meanwhile, for Connie and Adonis, Connie is less outwardly angry and more ... stoic. Extremely quiet. She can speak and live normally, but living in a horrible marriage for 20 years, realizing your husband was sinking money into a bioweapons company, becoming infected undead and cured just in the nick of time (which would have also happened to TeTe, by the way). All her reactions, even with the girls, seem awkwardly forced at first. Like she's always acting.

Through forced proximity, she gets more and more comfortable around Adonis. He's awkward and shy and ... doesn't seem like the type to invest in bioterrorism. She soon learns that is because he is not.

"I'm not making excuses," he'd say. "Whatever the punishment is for my oversight, I shall accept it."

He's different from her husband, who knew where his money was going and just continued to invest.

"You're not the only one," she'd say. "My husband invested too. By proxy ... I'm guilty of the exact same crime."

"Yet he left you and your mother to die while he fled. For him to sink money into all this knowingly is horrifying, but for him to leave everyone behind ... to leave you?"

"It is a handy way to handle witnesses, I suppose," she says.

"You and your husband are not the same, Ms. Constance."

" ... Thank you. And you are not the same as him either, Mr. Scrooge."

Okay, since it was brought up again, my morbid curiosity is getting to me. Tell me more of what you see in an RE Scroogeverse. 🤣

(CACKLES) YEEEES.

Many Resident Evil games/installments (with exceptions, like 4 and 8) take place mostly in the U.S., so I mostly think of our ladies coping.

Geographically, Bess would by fleeing the T-virus. (Tyrant Virus). It's the zombie-cannibal one. The virus the series is known for, haha. I'm sorry Bess. She's be escaping her city, because the solution to the virus is just nuking everything. Which is why she get's paired up with people like Jill and Carlos in the Raccoon City area, which is mid-America. (There are lots of theories on where it is, but generally Ohio-Indiana-Illinois-Missouri is the vibe.) T-virus zombies are cannibalistic and scary in hoards. Plus, the virus is fatal, and spreads WAAAY faster than A-Virus.

Connie would be fleeing the A-virus (Animality Virus). It started in Manhattan and as spread through drinking water, with a whole lot of backstory, haha. Basically, it was a cult bioterrorist attack. The city is infected but cured (in RE: Vendetta). With her money, she's probably flown out of the city, so she'd likely be coping with the crazed cult people spreading viruses more so than the zombies. We all know Orin was probably dumb enough to invest in industries that would put targets on their head. A-Virus zombies are T-virus zombies, but ... slightly smarter? They can talk and taunt before they eat you, lmao. It doesn't spread as bad as T-Virus, but the zombies are cognizant and more human. It can be cured too.

There's also the Mold, but that's Eastern European-originating (sorry Magda) that makes it to Louisiana. The Las Plagas in Spain, Uroboros in Kijuju, West Africa, etc. Fun all over the globe, just with different variants.

[yngai]

as much as i adore plague doctor/monster hunter ada wong & her unused design (& have tried to fit her within the game’s narrative & general timeline), the role of a mysterious helping hand guiding ethan through the events of RE8 would be much better served by mia, hell, the game would be benefit greatly with her in the leading role,