In the depths of night, she is lost in dreams. Her eyes are closes, long lashes floating like black butterflies over lightly freckled cheeks.
In the darkness, a cool draft blows. The scarlet blanket winds tightly around a fragile body.
In the depths of dreams, he stirs
Light touches a tainted mind. She knows it is time to rise. But today, she wakes, no longer alone.
Long hair is brushed with care. A ribbon tied in a perfect bow. Buttons done up slowly, mechanically. And she is ready to leave.
No notice goes to the blue marks on her wrists. After all, it was just a dream.
Voices around her. And she answers back. An empty hello, a forced smile. The whisper in the back of her mind is getting louder, more insistent. She knows something is wrong.
Another night. Another dream. But this one is disturbingly familiar. The room, all done in velvet and lace. A room built for her.
And a low voice whispering . . .
I told you I would come back for you.
She awakens with blood on her sheets and a vacant look in her eyes. Her thighs ache with every step she takes and she showers in scalding water, praying herself to wake up.
But the red water at her feet, the bruises on her arms, the tears in her eyes are all too real.
And she knows that he is back.
The schoolbook swims before her eyes. She bites her lip and prays that she is wrong. That he is not coming for her now. But he is, and there is nothing she can do.
The room is the same. Dark and elegant. The same as him. It wasn't really built for her, she realizes, but for his idea of her. His idea that she would be his queen and follow him into death,
And when he pulls out the knife, she realizes she is dangerously close.
He whispers instructions in her ear as tears fall down her cheeks. But even as she sobs, her hands moves, and the blood begins to flow.
Weeks have passed. She is now not much more than he is. A shadow. A ghost. A shell.
This task was especially grisly. To hurt herself was one thing. But what she has done now will haunt her her whole life.
However long that may be.
She steps over a still-bleeding body. Hears its cries of pain. Yet she can summon no tears. Not even as she looks into her brother's vacant eyes.
It is for the best , he says. I am all you need.
She says nothing, but stares down at her wrists. At the dozens of scars, and the one that has begun to bleed again.
Oddly neat letters. Not her writing, but his. Spelling out one word.
M.I.N.E.
fin