i know where you sleep
#1
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She hated being confined. She was more likely to destroy things when she was confined. She’d already popped off her rabbit’s head, taking to carrying around the disembodied face by one floppy, polyester ear. Even so, she fiercely protected the shredded parts, recently unable to sleep unless they were nestled against her pudgy form—for who else wanted to cuddle with the rancid girl other than a broken toy with mismatched button eyes? She’d bury one part beneath the blankets or otherwise hide it away, carrying the other with her close.

One ear clutched tightly between milk-white teeth, she clawed angrily at the bedroom door, leaving growing trenches in the wood of the frame with her blunt nails. A growl had risen in her throat, slowly becoming a snarl, and then something akin to a yowl. She wanted out! Someone would have to hear her eventually and give her attention—whether just to investigate, thus providing distraction from monotony, or to open the door and enable escape.



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#2
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Word Count → 3+ :: table © sie


The old room was a sanctuary for the Winters woman. It had been a kitchen once, but the old furnishings had long since become nondescript and similar in drab nature to all the other chambers of the Chien Hotel. Only the stove remained, a mammoth fireplace in which a cauldron-like pot, chipped and worn, continued to sit on its chalice. It was not the structure of the room that made it so spectacular, but instead the wealth of eclectic items that decorated the bowers and the shelves, every inch of horizontal surface worthy of bearing weight. There were bottles of every size, shape and color, and a menagerie of medical equipment. It truly was Alaine's room - Her previous room had long since become the property of her daughter.


The thought of the girl brought a darkened expression to emerald eyes, as carefully ivory fingers perused the runes that labelled various bottles, ordering them more strictly to her illegible code. She lingered unnecessarily, slowly pacing about the room, dragging her fingertips over brilliant aqua and olive green the a deep, poisonous burgundy of the various glass bottles. She paused before an empty bottle - It was a venomous yellow, cold and hard, and it swallowed the light and split it into shards. The woman's mouth became a grim line.


She heard the commotion when she reached the stairs, and longed to go back to her hoard of bottles. But motherhood demanded her daughter's cried be answered, and with dragging feet Alaine returned to her chamber on the second story. As she neared the door, the Apothecary's sense of dread grew, mingling with the guilt she had become increasingly steeped in during the past weeks. "Stop that noise! I am coming!" Came the sharp bark, and with a sharp wrench the colliewoman pulled open the door.


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#3
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There was the voice of her mother, muffled behind the door. She paused in her scratching and whining just long enough to detect the sound of approaching feet. Her paws met the floor, her muscles bunching, and the moment the door was opened—a draft of cool air, smelling of the rest of the hotel rushing past her—she slipped out through the gap as though afraid she’d be taunted and have the door slammed shut right back on her button nose.

The hallway gained, she paused only momentarily a few feet away, glaring up with yellow eyes at her mother—the rabbit head yet clutched between the teeth nestled in her short little muzzle. Instantly though, she took off toward the stairwell.


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#4
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There was a moment where her hand rested on the doorknob, not open, just holding, holding the little girl at bay. And then it opened, and the minuscule monster was released - A blur of sweet gold and cream and reptilian yellow eyes. In her mouth was the decapitated rabbit, its lovingly-stitched buttons eyes staring blindly.


There was a wave of horror in her, and old pang, easily ignored by a mentality tired of reasoning with itself. Then the familiar surge of maternal anger. "Elvira, don't you dare-" But it was too late, the little girl had turned on heel. Alaine was quick to follow, and her Optime legs were much longer than the little ones attached to fat puppy body. If Elvira ever slimmed down, though, she would truly be a fast thing - a tiny little razorblade.


One hand moved to scoop the girl up by the ruff of her neck, or if unsuccessful, at least knock her off her ivory-dipped feet, before she reached the stairwell.


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#5
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She yelped aloud, nearly shrieking, as the hand closed down on her. She squirmed and writhed, crying out and carrying on the entire time, just managing to slip out of her mother’s grasp, pulling free of the fingertips. She sounded as though she was being beaten, with the agonized sounds tearing from her tiny lungs at their height, when Alaine had done nothing more than attempt to snatch her up.

Yellow eyes wide and rolling, she rolled ungracefully on the floor, doing anything possible to maintain her freedom—including running back along the wall in the opposite direction from the stairs the second that she regained her footing.



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#6
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The second her fingertips crazed soft gold fur, the small girl began to shriek. Her cries split the quiet air, and in shock, Alaine allowed the small form to slip out of her grasp. Emerald eyes were full of horror and a twisted rage for the insolence of her daughter.


A foreign curse spilled from her maw, but instead of the woman's normally lyrical accent, it was a poisonous, ugly sound. "-ELVIRA-" The name was growled out loudly now, and having reached her daughter's rotund form once more, she moved faster and crueler.


One hand moved to grab the scruff of her neck, away from those sharp little teeth, while the other (with perhaps a little too much glee) aimed for a sharp smack to her rear. It would be the first time that Alaine had ever struck any of her children, but her mind had yet to torment itself with the realisation.


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#7
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She ignored the curse and cry, set solely on her own freedom. Cream paws slid across the floor, propelling her round body toward the end of the hallway. But Alaine’s longer legs and larger form easily caught up with her. Fingers entangled in the ruff of her neck, impending further movement, and a hand struck her backside, causing her to yelp out in real pain now.

She twisted and snapped, snarling and yelping and continuing to make a ruckus that was sure to carry far and wide within the hotel. She’d never been struck before. Even her siblings failed to defend themselves when she came along, as they’d long ago learned her nature. The shock overwhelmed, sending her into momentary overdrive as a real tantrum settled in.


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#8
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The girl was infuriating. Her body writhed like a serpent, while from such an angelic-appearing maw came the short screams of a soul being tortured in the most heinous of ways. Such a small tap, resulting in such a monstrous reaction! The wriggling and shrieking was almost enough to have her drop her spawn like a scorpion.


A strange cloud hovered over her mind, allowing dank curtains to conceal from the Apothecary the festering guilt she would allow to take root later on. Terrible cried rang in her ears, and all she wanted was silence! Silence! "SILENCE!"


Those cold avian eyes mocked her, far to intelligent and hollow for their age. The righteous parental anger, somewhat inappropriately hysteric now, bubbled thickly again. Her free hand swooped in a sharp motion, this time aiming for a whack that would leave a deeper mark and a satisfying sting to her own palm. Perhaps that would shock the little bitch into silence! Emerald eyes glinted with a strange light.


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#9
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A shout broke dimly into her thoughts, drown out by her own shrill squalls at being held against her will. Another strike came—this one harder—and a final yelp followed, utterly genuine, followed by quiet as her tiny jaws snapped shut. Shocked and horrified, all movement ceased as she peered up with wide, yellow eyes—pain radiating outward from where contact had been made.

There was a moment of utter, outward nothingness before a broken sob tore from her muzzle. Soft, pained whimpering followed as she began to cry piteously in a purely canine manner. Heart-wrenching sounds carried on as she fell limp as a rag doll in her mother’s grasp.



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#10
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A satisfying sting resonated on her palm, and the hysterical shireking stopped with one sharp yelp. The sound echoed in her ears, and it was wrong - That was not the sound she had wanted. That was a sound of genuine pain coming from a young maw. That was a sound that evolution had programmed her to despise and fear greatly, and such urges clashed horribly with the surge of triumph at receiving the following silence.


The strange haze retreated from her mind as, slung limply from her grasp, Elvira began to cry. The sounds that came from her were natural puppy sounds, not the monstrous tantrum of before, and with each pitiful bleat something crumbled within Alaine. "Oh, no, Dea," She whispered, still holding the girl-child at an arms length. Emerald green eyes filled with the festering guilt she so readily drowned in, "Elvira, I'm so sorry, mo croi..." She began to babble in the old language, and moved to pull her daughter close, wanting to envelope the small golden body with her own horrible, rancid flesh. How could she had done this? "I will give you everything. Anything you want. I'm so sorry... Oh, my darling..."


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#11
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The ensuing response was far different than what she’d been shown previously. Inflicted pain, and an open show of hurt from her, garnered affection. Apologies and gentle words on their second tongue rained down on her, and she was pulled close—as she did truly wish on occasion, even if she didn’t have the capability of requesting it. As soft sounds bubbled from her throat, whimpering as the wounded child she was, sharp raptor eyes drank everything in with ravenous ardor.

She observed her mother’s reaction, even after the sting of the blow had faded away and dim comfort had replaced it. Desire for the embrace reigned, and Elvira didn’t let up her pained crying just yet. She wanted to see how far she could use it to her advantage. Dramatically, she sniffed, burying her face in her mother’s fur.

Pain was an easy exchange for love.


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#12
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The guilt obscured her vision, and she could not see the sharp raptor eyes that evaluated, and remembered. This would not be the first time Elvira was rewarded for her churlishness, in a round-about way, and surely nor would it be the first time that Alaine caved to her basic instincts and abused with pain or love. The discipline was not discipline, it was a steep learning curve for a girl that had shown her ability to manipulate and adapt.


The little tubby body still whimpered where it was clutched to her, and the mother momentarily suffocated in her personal torment. Perhaps the shadow was claiming her at last, as Gabriel had feared it might. Was she evil to have done such a thing? Elvira was so beautiful, such an image of innocence even in her youth. "I will give you pretty things," She whispered into the silky cream head, "Would you like a bow? A bow for a well-behaved princess?"


For her daughter was a princess, bastard royalty. One day, she feared, Inferni would know of it.


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#13
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Despite her wickedness she remained just a child, with wants and needs as any other. She still craved close embrace as a social beast, enveloping her in warm, familiar arms. This was the reason she carried around her stuffed rabbit, casting love on the inanimate object where she couldn’t otherwise inflict it on anyone or anything else. She cherished the toy, even if she tore it to pieces until her mother would sew it back together again for her. She destroyed what she loved—it was her only method. No one else would dare touch what was her’s—her damaged, broken things, held so close to her heart.

She was the pretend princess, commanding a tea party amongst cobwebbed corpses with cracked, broken china. She’d smile a crooked, yellow-toothed smile, pouring another cup of viscous, jet-black muck. Her face was angelic, carved from perfection, but within her small body bad, tainted blood pumped steadily through blackened veins. She pulled her head away, peering up with yellow eyes, nodding her small head even as she gave one last regretful sniff.



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#14
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Alaine could still forgive her, at such a young age, for the wrongness that bloomed within the girl's empty chest. She was a child yet. But with each passing day the struggle to cope with her daughter's vicious, dangerous nature became harder. There was a breaking point, and it loomed somewhere on the horizon for them both.


For now, though, she was content to cradle her guilt close, so close that it would fester against her skin. Mother and child were a beautiful pair, but Alaine's beauty had been shattered long ago, and Elvira's was shallow, only skin deep.


The child stirred again in her embrace, vocalizing her want for the gift Alaine offered. The raptor yellow eyes focused on her again, but when glossed with tears they were much easier to consider mortal, fallible. Normal. Alaine crooned again, and carried the girl still clutched to her down the creaking stairwell, and into the kitchen. The room was the pagan witch's true home - Walls lined with bottles of mysterious brew, strange medical items littering benches. On the central bench, however, was a strange lump of wilted ebony spider webs, that revealed itself after a moment's glance to be a bow.


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#15
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i want to mix our blood and put it in the ground so you can never leave

Her throne would be carved from broken, bleeding hearts. Her crown would be jet-black, crafted from spindly, inky spider webs. She admired the bow, smiling, draining away the remnants of her crocodile tears. Such a prize was fitting for the wicked princess. Baubles and pretty things were enough to—at least, momentarily—elicit her good graces.

The bow was lovely against her pale complexion, one day to rest atop a head of flaxen curls once she was able. Certain things she cherished, and the gift was only one to add to a collection she hoarded like a wretched mockingbird.



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#16
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finish soon? i need new purple prose threads from you.


It was so lovely, so lovely on her head. Like a crown of cobwebs the black lace sat, seeping up sunlight like the slit pupils in the little girl's eyes. And what eyes they were - Flat like polished Citrine, glittering hungrily in the half-light. They were cold and cunning eyes, like Alaine imagined a vulture or an eagle to have. She would allow herself to be fooled again by the sickly sweet smile, like syrup as it melted in falseness from the girl's dainty maw.


Longing, inexplicably, to be alone once more, Alaine placed the girl on the cold stone ground. In spite of their best interests, it was clear that she could no longer restrict the freedom of the little decaying angel. The woman doubted her spawn would have the drive to leave the Hotel's grounds - That meant venturing away from a foodsource, and it meant vigorous use of as-yet stubby little legs.


Pleased that the girl had been sated, and feelingly somewhat sickly of the passed situation, Alaine made a gentle sound of dismissal.


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.al-txtsun b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;}
</style>
[/html]


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