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intheheartAuthor: Kat
Title: Fog
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: The house takes care of her.
AU: The House
Warnings: child abuse, neglect, kidnapping, enforced amneisa, misogynistic language, depiction of depression.
Notes: Been meaning to play with this AU some more.
11. pounding hurricane
When she first came to the house, she was falling apart.
She didn't know if the house knew it, but it wouldn't surprise her. The signs were everywhere; her dragging footsteps, her slowing, feeble mind, the way she flinched from every noise. She had been taken from everything she loved, her whole life torn apart, and finally she fled the last of what she knew, running into open country, barefoot and bleeding because she could not stay one moment longer.
Whether or not the house knew her mind, it understood her heart.
It opened its doors and let her in.
2. rolling thunder
It began with her father.
He had loved her once, she was sure of it. When she was little. When she was a baby, and smelled sweet like babies did, or when she was a toddler who clung to his hands. As she grew older the world grew complicated, and she never stopped loving him, but she could understand all too easily how he could stop loving her.
Worthless, the voices whispered. Nothing. Clumsy stupid fat lazy ugly bitch. No one loves you. No one ever will.
It was so easy to believe them. So easy to let them in.
5. furious rain
It ended with her mother.
Had she been a normal girl, one of the pretty confident creatures she met at school, she might not have believed it. She might have said no, no and run away, might have brushed her mother off, but she did not, for she was not a normal girl. She was a girl with a demon in her head, clumsy stupid fat lazy ugly, and how could her father possibly love her, if she wasn't even his?
She went with her mother, because she had no choice.
Her mother only told her what she already believed.
7. withering drought
Over and over she heard what she believed.
Clumsy, every time she tripped, or dropped a plate. Stupid, whenever she asked a question. Lazy, when she didn't get out of bed. Fat and ugly, all the time. She grew used to hearing the names in someone else's voice.
She drew away from others, turned within herself. She let the voices wash over her; no matter how much she believed them, there was only so much poison she could take. She let the cracks begin, because how could she stop them?
She let her soul dry up.
She let it happen.
12. fast as a tornado
The cracks tore her apart in the end, and she fled the shattering of herself.
She had done something-- she wasn't sure what. Her mother dragged her from her bed, shook her until her head snapped back, then slapped her hard across the face. She couldn't remember the words her mother had screamed, only the blazing pain and the animal need to get away.
When she woke she was on her knees in the forest behind her house, her nightdress shredded, her knees and bare feet torn and bleeding.
She couldn't go back. All she could do was keep running.
8. wave of heat
She didn't remember how long she ran before she came upon the house.
She saw the light first, flickering between the trees, stretching shadows across the underbrush. Then the house, tall and well-built, a snug little two-story cottage, something out of a fairy tale. At first she hung back, uncertain, but the lawn looked so soft, so kind to her bleeding feet, and then the front door swung open, invitingly, the scent of roast turkey drifting out.
She went in. She couldn't help herself. She went in, and the house enveloped her in a rush of warmth, a tactile welcome.
6. raging winds
The nightmares took her, that first night.
First her mother, again, screaming-- bitch cunt whore slut, fat crazy ugly stupid, stay the fuck away from my man-- shaking her, slapping her again and again until her cheeks burned with pain. Then her father, standing over her where she fell, his eyes cold and his expression distant. She reached up to him, and he turned away without a word and her mother was back, shrieking, clawing at her, nails digging furrows down her face.
She woke to find her own nails pressed into her face, and her tears soaking the pillow.
14. cool mist
The house knew.
It shook the floorboards to get her attention, as she lay curled up, and then let the door to the room's closet fall open with a clunk. She sat up, with a dim feeling that she should be surprised, and got out of bed, the floorboards warm beneath her abused feet.
The closet was full of beautiful clothes-- no shoes, she noted, but then she could hardly wear them until her feet healed-- and, atop a small trunk, a worn teddy bear.
It knew.
She fell asleep with the bear in her arms, and dreamt no more.
4. clear blue sky
Day by day, the house took care of her.
She was not surprised. She should be, she knew-- this sort of thing was only supposed to happen in stories. But it was happening, here and now, and she was too weary, in too much pain to wonder at how or why. She accepted the bear, the clothes, the food the house laid for her every day in the dining room, the piano that appeared in an upstairs room after a day or two.
The only thing she did wonder at was why the house would want to care for her.
3. flash of lightning
She woke one night from a different dream entirely-- a green field and a blue sky, rolling up and down as she swung back and forth on a swing. A Ferris wheel rose above the horizon in the middle distance, and every swing back, someone put their hands on her back and pushed her forward, calling out to her. Higher, Daddy, higher. You're going so high already, Sunny. Higher!
She did not know his name.
Frightened, she sat upright, and caught up the teddy bear, hugging it to her chest. It made no sense.
Why didn't she know his name?
1. blanket of fog
The house treated her very delicately the next day.
It made all her favorite foods, fetched her favorite songs for the piano, made over all her dresses in her favorite colors. She was grateful for the cosseting-- it meant she didn't have to think.
She was frightened of what she might see, if she thought.
So she did not, and gradually the unreasoning fear that had followed her dream faded. The dream itself went too, after a while, slipping easily into the fog like a child getting lost.
She let it go. She had no need of such silly things.
9. nip of frost
She thought sometimes of leaving the house, going out into the wide world to see what she could see. She had lived out there, once, or she thought she had, and there must be something out there besides her dim memories of screaming and pain.
Every time she did, the front door shut tight and the floorboards chilled a little under her feet, sure signs of the house's displeasure. And why should it not be displeased? It must have been as lonely as she was, once, before she had come to stay with it.
After a time, she let the hopes go.
15. wall of humidity
The years came and went, and she stayed.
She was never sure exactly how much time passed. The days were very much alike, after all. She woke, ate, played piano or violin, perhaps read a book in the library the house had created. In the afternoons she walked outside, or in the spring or summer she gardened. When the heat grew too much, the house made lemonade. When it rained, she went dancing through the puddles and came in to a hot bath.
She had no more dreams, and no more desires.
It was a sweet life, in its way.
10. winter chill
It was a particularly harsh winter, the fourth year after she came to the house. She was perfectly warm inside, of course, but outside the snow piled three feet deep, and any step she took onto the porch froze her feet. She still had no shoes, so she stayed inside, wrapped herself in the house.
What was there for her outside, anyway? Perhaps she'd just stay here forever. Perhaps she'd stop going outside, even when the spring returned. She'd never really liked gardening, anyway.
It was safer inside. How she knew that she could not say, but she knew it.
13. earthquake weather
Someone had come.
The house knew first, as it always did, and it woke her. She thought that it woke her to let the traveler in, to open up her quiet life and give her a companion, but the splinter in the pad of her finger told her otherwise. The house was not pleased, and it let her know; the splinter, the cold floorboards, the chilly sheets.
Who was this boy the house disliked so much? She watched him sleeping on the cold floor. He seemed harmless, and sweet. What about him was so frightening?
Beneath her, the house rumbled.
Title: Fog
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: The house takes care of her.
AU: The House
Warnings: child abuse, neglect, kidnapping, enforced amneisa, misogynistic language, depiction of depression.
Notes: Been meaning to play with this AU some more.
11. pounding hurricane
When she first came to the house, she was falling apart.
She didn't know if the house knew it, but it wouldn't surprise her. The signs were everywhere; her dragging footsteps, her slowing, feeble mind, the way she flinched from every noise. She had been taken from everything she loved, her whole life torn apart, and finally she fled the last of what she knew, running into open country, barefoot and bleeding because she could not stay one moment longer.
Whether or not the house knew her mind, it understood her heart.
It opened its doors and let her in.
2. rolling thunder
It began with her father.
He had loved her once, she was sure of it. When she was little. When she was a baby, and smelled sweet like babies did, or when she was a toddler who clung to his hands. As she grew older the world grew complicated, and she never stopped loving him, but she could understand all too easily how he could stop loving her.
Worthless, the voices whispered. Nothing. Clumsy stupid fat lazy ugly bitch. No one loves you. No one ever will.
It was so easy to believe them. So easy to let them in.
5. furious rain
It ended with her mother.
Had she been a normal girl, one of the pretty confident creatures she met at school, she might not have believed it. She might have said no, no and run away, might have brushed her mother off, but she did not, for she was not a normal girl. She was a girl with a demon in her head, clumsy stupid fat lazy ugly, and how could her father possibly love her, if she wasn't even his?
She went with her mother, because she had no choice.
Her mother only told her what she already believed.
7. withering drought
Over and over she heard what she believed.
Clumsy, every time she tripped, or dropped a plate. Stupid, whenever she asked a question. Lazy, when she didn't get out of bed. Fat and ugly, all the time. She grew used to hearing the names in someone else's voice.
She drew away from others, turned within herself. She let the voices wash over her; no matter how much she believed them, there was only so much poison she could take. She let the cracks begin, because how could she stop them?
She let her soul dry up.
She let it happen.
12. fast as a tornado
The cracks tore her apart in the end, and she fled the shattering of herself.
She had done something-- she wasn't sure what. Her mother dragged her from her bed, shook her until her head snapped back, then slapped her hard across the face. She couldn't remember the words her mother had screamed, only the blazing pain and the animal need to get away.
When she woke she was on her knees in the forest behind her house, her nightdress shredded, her knees and bare feet torn and bleeding.
She couldn't go back. All she could do was keep running.
8. wave of heat
She didn't remember how long she ran before she came upon the house.
She saw the light first, flickering between the trees, stretching shadows across the underbrush. Then the house, tall and well-built, a snug little two-story cottage, something out of a fairy tale. At first she hung back, uncertain, but the lawn looked so soft, so kind to her bleeding feet, and then the front door swung open, invitingly, the scent of roast turkey drifting out.
She went in. She couldn't help herself. She went in, and the house enveloped her in a rush of warmth, a tactile welcome.
6. raging winds
The nightmares took her, that first night.
First her mother, again, screaming-- bitch cunt whore slut, fat crazy ugly stupid, stay the fuck away from my man-- shaking her, slapping her again and again until her cheeks burned with pain. Then her father, standing over her where she fell, his eyes cold and his expression distant. She reached up to him, and he turned away without a word and her mother was back, shrieking, clawing at her, nails digging furrows down her face.
She woke to find her own nails pressed into her face, and her tears soaking the pillow.
14. cool mist
The house knew.
It shook the floorboards to get her attention, as she lay curled up, and then let the door to the room's closet fall open with a clunk. She sat up, with a dim feeling that she should be surprised, and got out of bed, the floorboards warm beneath her abused feet.
The closet was full of beautiful clothes-- no shoes, she noted, but then she could hardly wear them until her feet healed-- and, atop a small trunk, a worn teddy bear.
It knew.
She fell asleep with the bear in her arms, and dreamt no more.
4. clear blue sky
Day by day, the house took care of her.
She was not surprised. She should be, she knew-- this sort of thing was only supposed to happen in stories. But it was happening, here and now, and she was too weary, in too much pain to wonder at how or why. She accepted the bear, the clothes, the food the house laid for her every day in the dining room, the piano that appeared in an upstairs room after a day or two.
The only thing she did wonder at was why the house would want to care for her.
3. flash of lightning
She woke one night from a different dream entirely-- a green field and a blue sky, rolling up and down as she swung back and forth on a swing. A Ferris wheel rose above the horizon in the middle distance, and every swing back, someone put their hands on her back and pushed her forward, calling out to her. Higher, Daddy, higher. You're going so high already, Sunny. Higher!
She did not know his name.
Frightened, she sat upright, and caught up the teddy bear, hugging it to her chest. It made no sense.
Why didn't she know his name?
1. blanket of fog
The house treated her very delicately the next day.
It made all her favorite foods, fetched her favorite songs for the piano, made over all her dresses in her favorite colors. She was grateful for the cosseting-- it meant she didn't have to think.
She was frightened of what she might see, if she thought.
So she did not, and gradually the unreasoning fear that had followed her dream faded. The dream itself went too, after a while, slipping easily into the fog like a child getting lost.
She let it go. She had no need of such silly things.
9. nip of frost
She thought sometimes of leaving the house, going out into the wide world to see what she could see. She had lived out there, once, or she thought she had, and there must be something out there besides her dim memories of screaming and pain.
Every time she did, the front door shut tight and the floorboards chilled a little under her feet, sure signs of the house's displeasure. And why should it not be displeased? It must have been as lonely as she was, once, before she had come to stay with it.
After a time, she let the hopes go.
15. wall of humidity
The years came and went, and she stayed.
She was never sure exactly how much time passed. The days were very much alike, after all. She woke, ate, played piano or violin, perhaps read a book in the library the house had created. In the afternoons she walked outside, or in the spring or summer she gardened. When the heat grew too much, the house made lemonade. When it rained, she went dancing through the puddles and came in to a hot bath.
She had no more dreams, and no more desires.
It was a sweet life, in its way.
10. winter chill
It was a particularly harsh winter, the fourth year after she came to the house. She was perfectly warm inside, of course, but outside the snow piled three feet deep, and any step she took onto the porch froze her feet. She still had no shoes, so she stayed inside, wrapped herself in the house.
What was there for her outside, anyway? Perhaps she'd just stay here forever. Perhaps she'd stop going outside, even when the spring returned. She'd never really liked gardening, anyway.
It was safer inside. How she knew that she could not say, but she knew it.
13. earthquake weather
Someone had come.
The house knew first, as it always did, and it woke her. She thought that it woke her to let the traveler in, to open up her quiet life and give her a companion, but the splinter in the pad of her finger told her otherwise. The house was not pleased, and it let her know; the splinter, the cold floorboards, the chilly sheets.
Who was this boy the house disliked so much? She watched him sleeping on the cold floor. He seemed harmless, and sweet. What about him was so frightening?
Beneath her, the house rumbled.
