Author's note: Okay... so... I am a bit obsessed with this season of AHS. Unfortunately, I own nothing. All the credit goes to Ryan Murphy, the amazing human being that was able to think up all of this stuff. I've been toying around with Fiona and Delia's relationship for a few days, and this is what happened.
Should I continue with it? Toss it out? Let me know! :)
Intellectually, I was exhausted, like I had been drained of all rational thoughts. In this life, melancholy hung above my head, the agonizing remnants of my past-one that I would have much rather forgotten.
My father, a handsome and lively soul, had passed away shortly after my birth, from what my mother had told me. Though there wasn't a thing that I could have possibly done to prevent it from happening, the transgression of the loss was a sensation that never lingered too far. My mother, on the other hand, wasn't considered to be much of anything at all. The descendants of Salem spit on her name, scoffing over the fact that the title of Supreme had been given to the supreme bitch-and that was about as far as her talents extended, whether she had mastered the seven wonders or not. According to the witches that had descended from Salem, my mother was nothing more than a misuse of scarce expanse, too immersed in her own intoxicated stupor to pay any mind to her own daughter. I was never privileged with the opportunity to form a bond with that woman, but then again, did someone as careless as my mother deserve my affection in the first place?
Fortunately, Myrtle Snow, my mother's childhood enemy, had stepped up to the plate and raised a child that didn't even belong to her. She had a lick of sense about her, so strong, so wise. If given the chance, I would have been honored to turn out to be half of the witch that she was.
Was.
Desolation was suspended in the ambiance of the girl that I once was, a continuous souvenir of a life that was long-lost, provided that it was a life in the first place... My recollection of the duration of my life as a young girl was obscure, a sheet pendulous between two universes, a thin barricade that separated the two, but was so impenetrable. Through that haze, I was able to recognize a small portion of who I was, but otherwise, I was an assailant to my own senses. An outsider. Brusquely, I reminisced of a reclusive life, unable to comprehend what had gone wrong... what I had done to deserve such torment.
I was blind.
Blinded by love.
Blinded by my mother.
Blinded by the sulfuric acid that had been tossed in my face.
The consolation provided by my mother-an act of guilt, I assumed-did little to quell the turbulence that boiled just beneath the surface of my disfigured flesh.
The environment that encompassed me had blurred around the edges, rendering me oblivious to matters of a greater significance-like the wellbeing of the only guardian I had. A woman, so affectionate and willing to raise a child that didn't she didn't even conceive, had been failed by that very child-grown now, but nonetheless, a child.
A juvenile adolescent, preoccupied with a man who hadn't given a damn about her-Hank. My lying, cheating husband. The one person I believed I could trust.
That's how I felt. As if I were an adolescent again.
I was so blinded by ignorance, that I had missed the cautionary tale that was literally shrieking in my face, pleading with me, begging to be acknowledged. Whether I didn't care or I was just too foolish to realize, I hadn't a clue. Obviously, it had taken the death of one of my own girls to widen my eyes.
My mother's very presence had been that cautionary tale. I knew Fiona didn't belong in the Academy as well as the next girl, and still, I didn't turn my back on her. For some reason that was unknown to me, I couldn't.
And that infuriated me.
As if life had decided I hadn't comprehended the declaration the first time around, I soon understood the genuine interpretation of a calamity. A feeling of utter desertion. Try as I may, there was no escaping the hindrance of my blindness that haunted me at each corner I turned. It pierced the most abysmal obscurities of my secluded heart, an oppressive anguish that perforated my very soul.
I knew that I was taking pity on myself. I knew that, plain and simple. But I was pissed, and I had a damn good reason to feel sorry for myself-even if just for a day.
Outside, the thunder rolled, an enigmatic hue of somber tinging the clouds overhead. Lightning, so fierce and uncultivated, cracked across the skies, portending nothing but doom. The droplets of rain sheeted down in capacious quantities.
The storm was approaching quickly, but it had nothing to do with nature. No, this storm was fierce. This storm was willing to take casualties. This storm craved blood.
This storm... was my mother.
And I believed I was next on her list.