Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time.
Chapter 1:
The punch to her stomach made her double over. A kick to the backs of her knees knocked her to the ground. There, on top of the dirt, she curled up into a tight little ball, arms wrapped around her head, chin tucked in, knees drawn up to her chest, while the village boys kicked and punched every square inch they could reach. They wanted to hear her scream, but she never did. They hit and taunted her for a long time, but finally grew bored by her lack of response.
"She's no fun," the leader of the gang complained as he stalked away.
"She doesn't even cry. It'd be funnier if she cried."
His friends followed, sneering over their shoulders at her as they left, leaving her alone in the field.
She bore the pain, the cuts and bruises—she bore it all, because she knew that even if she cried, if she screamed, nothing would happen. She saw it in the women's averted eyes, and felt it in the hostility that rolled off the men. The adults in her village didn't care—unless she fought back. When she retaliated, someone usually intervened and threw a few kicks as well, but those blows were always aimed at her, not the bullies. The adults would only be too happy if their brats accidentally kicked her too hard or forgot to pull her head out of the river for air, and she died as a result. Most days, she just let them hit her until they grew tired of it. She wasn't sure why everyone hated her so much, but it had always been this way—for as long as she could remember.
After the bullies had left, she stayed on the ground for a long time, with the packed earth cool against her skin—but it wasn't long enough. She had to get up eventually, had to go back to the village, had to face her tormentors again. And if they decided to renew their fun from before, no one would do a thing to help her. Just like every other day. But she couldn't stay here. The sun was setting and it would be dark soon.
The village elders always warned the children about dangerous creatures that roamed the forest at night. She knew that if she stayed, the creatures would kill and eat her, or eat and kill her, and although she didn't really understand death, she knew that being killed and eaten was worse than being beat up by the bullies in the village. She was beat up every day, and she never died; but if she was eaten or killed, she would die.
A sense of self-preservation forced the girl on her hands and knees. After much wincing and gritting of teeth, she pulled herself to her feet, and slowly made her way back home. The shadows in the forest became deeper with every second, elongating into talons that tried to hook into her skin so they could drag her into the dark depths where monsters lurked. She avoided them the best she could, sliding between the claws that lined either side of the forest's path, jumping over them when they joined forces to block her path, running as quickly as her throbbing stomach would allow when the sun sank beneath the horizon.
She slipped out of the forest just in time. After catching her breath, she headed toward the village.
"Cassandra!"
She winced at the name, before looking for the source of the voice, although she knew who it was even before her eyes settled on the old woman standing at the forest's edge.
"Don't call me that," she said.
"It's your name."
"It's my ma's name."
"Don't be difficult, child." When she didn't reply, the woman continued to admonish her. "You know you shouldn't be playing in the forest after dark."
"Yes, ma'am," she replied, hanging her head in the appropriate display of shame, hoping it would be enough.
"Gideon and the other boys came back hours ago, like they were supposed to. Why weren't you with them?"
You know full well why. But instead of saying anything, she merely kept her head down, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep her tongue in check, as she forced back the hot tears that threatened to fall.
When the lecture had finally ended, she turned on her heel and ran into the village before the old woman could change her mind. Walking between neighbors' houses, she kept her head low, careful not to attract too much attention. She didn't want to get beat up again today. Thankfully, many of the villagers had retired to their homes for the day, taking their children along with them, allowing her to go unnoticed. Soon, she had reached the side of the village that faced the river, and stood before her own small house at the end of a row of buildings. Beneath a patch of luminescence, she began patting down her dress to try and get some of the dirt out of it, grimacing as her hand brushed across her bruised ribs. Forcing herself to ignore the pain, she tried for a bit longer before finally giving up on the dress—nothing short of a thorough scrubbing in the river would get it clean now.
Stepping forward, she pushed open the door and walked into her home. The room beyond was dark, save for the light of a fire in the hearth.
"Cassie? Is that you?" a voice called.
"It's me, Ma," she answered.
She avoided objects in the room as she walked toward the outline of her mother, who was sitting before the crackling flame. The path within the cabin was as familiar to her as the back of her hand, and she discerned the furniture by the varying depths of darkness before her eyes. When she reached her mother on the other side of the room, she clucked her tongue in disapproval.
"Ma, how many times have I told you not to sit so close to the fire? You'll get hurt and you won't even know it."
She pulled on her mother's arm until the woman got off of her seat. Moving the chair back several feet, she guided her mother back into the chair. She went into the bedroom, where she knew a thick quilt sat folded on the bench inside. Picking it up, she brought it over and placed the fabric over her mother's lap, tucking in the bottom so the embers couldn't catch it alight.
Going to the table in the room's center, she climbed a chair, then leaned over and pulled out a loaf of bread that sat in the basket there. With a knife, she sliced two thick pieces from the loaf, then paired each with one slice of cheese. Hopping off the chair, she handed the larger portion to her mother before sitting down on the earthen floor.
"Where have you been all day, Cassie?"
"I was… out in the forest," she replied between mouthfuls of bread and cheese.
In a matter of moments, she had devoured her dinner, and set about preparing the next day's meal. Picking up the small iron pot that sat beside the fireplace by its handle, she lugged the heavy pot the three steps needed to stand before the hearth, her shoulders and spine bent back to compensate for its weight. Setting it down before the fireplace, she went to retrieve water from a bucket they kept by the back door. Once the pot had been filled with liquid and pushed toward the fire, she began cutting up the roots and vegetables on the table. The slices were awkward and misshapen, the work of a child who had never been taught the craft, but no one would mind.
She realized her mother had been silent for a while now, and chanced a glance. The bottom half of her mother's face was lit in a soft orange, showing the slight frown that marred the woman's features; the upper half was hidden in shadow. When her mother leaned forward suddenly and grasped her wrist, she left the shadows entirely, revealing empty hollows where eyes should have been.
Startled, Cassie tried to draw back, but her mother's grip was too strong. "Ma, what's wrong?" she asked worriedly.
There was no reply. Instead, the void of her mother's sockets faced straight ahead, causing Cassie to fidget where she stood, plucking at the frayed ends of her dress with her free hand. She knew her mother couldn't see, but she felt as if every smudge of dirt on her face and every muddy print on her dress was under careful scrutiny.
Finally, a sigh escaped the woman's lips. "I'm sorry, honey," her mother said, releasing her wrist. "Things will be better when your pa returns."
Cassie patted her mother's hand comfortingly, but didn't give a verbal response. It was something her mother said often, like a bedtime story that left her dreaming of a happier life, with a father who would chase away her tormentors with a hoe and dark curses; and then hold her in his strong arms afterward, uttering assurances about keeping the little monsters at bay. But like bedtime stories, their magic diminished with age; and the images they painted in her mind faded to stark reality, leaving only the ugliness that surrounded her day after day.
Solemnly, she gathered the vegetables she had chopped from the table as she thought about the fish she would catch the next day to add to the concoction. She carefully dropped her burden into the pot so the hot water wouldn't splash back on her, added whatever herbs she could find, and then began stirring the pot in slow circular motions with a long wooden spoon, causing the contents to move to the rhythm she had set. She watched as the liquid swirled, catching up the chunks of vegetables in its wake. Round and round, the assortment bobbing merrily, the fire's glow lighting up the surface, her face reflected in the contents, then her mother's image replacing her in the center.
The longer she stared into the whirling vortex, the faster they came. They flew across her vision in a flurry of color and images. An old woman falling before a sword; another woman jiggling a blue-eyed babe on her hip; the inside of a cage; a dark-haired man being torn in half by a ferocious creature.
A strangled groan escaped her lips as her knees gave out. The spoon dropped beside her as she fell to a heap on the floor. Each image had only lasted for one or two seconds before being snatched away in the artificial current. She hadn't been able to see them all, and could discern little between one and the next. But for every glimpse she'd caught, there were a hundred—a thousand—more that flashed past too quickly for the eye to catch. There had been so many—all of them concurrently invading her mind and demanding her attention—that she had been overwhelmed.
"Cassie?" The quilt fell to the floor as her mother lurched forward to hold her. "Are you okay?"
Her vision swam, and the room seemed to coalesce into one jumbled mass of shapes and shades; her head pounded, as if the things she had witnessed were beating on it from within, trying to force their way back out. It was all too much, and she could feel bile rising in her throat. She hid behind closed lids and pressed herself pitifully into her mother's arms.