Title: Oh, it seemed like a holy place
Rating: pg13
Fandom: Silent Hill movie 'verse
Disclaimer: AAll characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Roger Avery, Christophe Gans, Konami, and others. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.
Char/Pair: Cybil/Rose, Sharon & Anna
Prompt: Quiet 10lilies on livejournal
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Femmslash
W/C: 562
A/N: Didn't like this at first, but now I think I do. Title from the Eagles' Sad Cafe.

It's hot, sure as anything, and the sun's already done and set; heat seeped into the ground, into the wood of the old buildings and coming off in waves. Cybil lays still, eyes closed, naked and sweaty. The crisp white sheet is thrown carelessly over her hips but her chest is still exposed and her breasts swell with every inhale of breath, every beat of her heart.

She has no shame, not here in this room and she makes no move to cover herself even when the floorboards outside the door squeak. The door's ajar and through the opening she can see mousy Anna peering back through her bangs. The girl blushes furiously when she sees she's been caught, but she doesn't flee or come into the room proper.

"The sheriff is aimin' to see you, Miss Cybil."

Rose has come from the en-suite, fastening up the last of the ribbons of her dress and Cybil follows her fingers, remembers just what they can do and they're still phantom on her skin, prints pressed purple into the flesh of her hips. When she finally meets Rose's eyes the other woman is smiling, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Don't go thinkin' them thoughts now, Cybil. Neither one of us has the time."

Cybil remembers the girl then and turns back to the door. Anna's got her eyes fastened somewhere around Cyril's left breast and Cybil smirks before running her hand down her chest, flicking her nipple between her fingers and moaning. Anna flushes a deeper red before turning and fleeing, the click of her boots echoes back at a hurried pace.

"Don't be so crass, Cybil, she's just a girl."

"She's the one starin', Rosie."

Cybil swings her legs out of bed and starts gathering up her clothes, boots and breeches, sun faded cotton shirt. She avoids the glare from Rose, knows what it says anyway, Don't call me Rosie. Cybil smiles up at her after she cinches up her shirt. She finds herself wantin' to stare at Rose all the time, beautiful as she is. Hair short, to her chin almost, soft and golden. Everything about her is soft and golden. Not like Cybil who has been mistook for a man so many times she stopped correcting people.

She has enough time to pull her trousers up her thighs, to settle them on narrow hip before the bedroom door swings open once again to the rustle of satin and lace. The little girl bounds in, eyes wide and dark curls bouncing as she runs to her mother. She's frightened, and something clenches in Cybil's stomach with the need to keep her safe.

"Mommy." She whimpers and buries her face in her mothers skirts and Cybil crouches behind her, tries to soothe her as best as she can while her mother swipes a placating hand through her hair.

It's not the first time she's woken up during the night crying, but it's only lately that she's started talking about the monsters. The women with their stilted walk, the dogs with their rolling tongue. The fire.

She peers up with one eye through her hair, dirt tracks on her cheeks where the salt of her tears led a path along the skin, terrified.

Cybil will wish, later, when the world is ending, that the evil was still only part of a child's nightmare.