Damara and the green dress.
You have been here since you were a grub, raised by this mysterious man who would constantly tell you what you must do, who you must be, why it was important. No matter what you did, he would also expect it, know you are doing it and would have your punishment ready before the action was even dealt or completed. You didn't understand some of the things he did to you when you were younger, he was your guardian and protector and you loved him dearly.
Now you hate him with every fiber of your desperate being.
You don't really know how old you are; he never taught you the significance of the passage of time. The only thing that gives away that you are even living is the growing swell in your chest and the gentle slopes that have begun to form in your sides. Time feels like it should be yours, and yet it controls you and dictates everything in your existence.
When the grand clock in the foyer reads four, you put on the silver kennel with hot water and take the mugs down from the top part of the shelves. You aren't really sure when you started making tea before meeting him, but it calms you before the storm. It is expected of you now and you cannot disappoint. The flame burns brightly in the dim room; you find no purpose in turning the lights on when everything glows so palely. You know you won't be in this room for long; the steam is already causing the shrill whistle to echo throughout the room. You make the tea weak, more a dull taste concealing the water then anything worth drinking. Something told you that he hated having his tea so weak but it was stupid since you knew better than anyone else he never actually drank it.
When you pick up the mugs and make your way across the manor, you turn off any lights that remained on from the previous actions of your caretaker. You turn off the televisions and other electronics that lined the walls. The voices on the screens echo out and die in distorted warbles as the power ceases to surge through them.
You placed the tea on the table besides your bed, the tiny mugs matched perfectly with the pseudo pink wood and you feel they were meant to sit there. He enters just when you expect him to, right when you are shouldering the lime fabric from your gray shoulders. You feel as if he would be smiling if he was capable of it. The sheets look marvelous against your skin as you lay down obediently as always. You have tried to rebel against this... you have tried...
His weight is light in comparison to yourself, his body as hollow as his very soul. He was petty and shallow, even as he beings to speak to you. You bite back the feeling of nausea as he begins to inform you of the routine, things you already know what is going to happen. Nothing changes when he commits these crimes, and part of you is happy for the repetition and predictability. If there are no surprises, there is no need for you to fight back. As long as you can expect the events that are going to transpire, you know it will hurt less and less each time it happens.
He tells you of what you are meant to do, why it is important. He reminds you every day of the role you are supposed to lead in your life. He knows you cannot go against him, even if you fight. He is all powerful and you are just a child beneath him as he rubs your sides and maneuvers your arms as he pleases. He still tells you stories during these times like he used to when you were younger. Informs you about girls just like you that you would never meet, tells you of yourself in the future and how much she hates him. He tells you he loves you as much as he is able to, says you are different from them. You understand him as your eyes will flutter shut and he squeezes your hips and that innocent mound forming under the pink fabric he forces you to wear there.
He trails his hands through your hair, comments how soft it must be. He traces his gloved fingers over your lips, tells you how he wonders about kissing you. He wouldn't try, he has said so before. You aren't meant to be kissed, it is against your conditioning. As he rubs your underwear, you hold back tears and he tells you that you are doing great, it will be over soon... When it gets too much to bear, he will tell you about a life somewhere else for you that you will be able to enjoy, tells you to fight the empress of the troll kingdom and you will be free forever. You dream about his words, always and always...
As you grow older, he sends you all over the world. You antagonize the unhappy trolls you meet, you encourage chaos like he tells you to. You do it mindlessly, dazed in the daydream of freedom if you complete your goal. You don't pay attention to the people that try to befriend you, you become feared by all who see you because they know what you do.
Under the veil of darkness, the mutant blood says he knows your name, calls out to you and you run away. The brown blood is born later then what was expected, he doesn't understand who you are but he speaks in a language you shouldn't understand. You cried the night you returned from him and you were just as confused as he was. The gold blood frowns at you and he seems familiar too, you tell him where to find the mutant just like you were told to do. The olive blood also holds the sense as if she recognizes you, but you demand she do as you say and not ask questions. It is natural they all listen to you, even the jade blood who you know could die if she is caught. You spur the teal blood on with promises of fame and justice, that she can change the world with her rule. You tell the cerulean of treasure that will cause her great happiness, you tell her how she is meant to sail the world. The blue and purple blooded fools are easy to persuade with tales of betrayal and of people who will kill them.
Part of you thinks they are all connected to you in a way, as if you knew them all before. It was a foolish notion and you couldn't imagine why your dreams are plagued with their faces. The final battle is minutes away, he reminds you every moment he can. He gives you a new dress, tells you that you are beautiful. He brushes your hair and makes it even prettier than before, or so he says. He doesn't touch you before you leave, he doesn't seem sad or even faintly remorseful.
He says he is proud of you. He says you have done well.
You know you will die in this final confrontation, you know you are condemning someone else to live out your imprisonment. You stand to leave, ready for him to send you off to wear you have to be. When he does, you feel nothing but a chill in your bones and as you fight, you have nothing else you want to do then die. By the end, your dress is ruined and your hair is in shambles. You lay in your final resting place, the victor is long gone.
You can feel him on you, though he isn't there. You feel his hands and the warmth of your sheets under your form. He says he loves, says that he misses you, he says he knows you are cold. You open your mouth for a final breath, the tingle of him tracing your lips and the softness of his gloves lingers as a phantom sensation. You close your eyes and lay still, he says he will always love you... and it echoes until you can't hear anything more than the rushing of your blood as it stops flowing.
Author's note: This is also on archive of our own and tumblr! Look up Minji's fanfiction archive ( .com) to submit any sort of fan work to this story.