Disclaimer: Yes, I don't own Koudelka. It belongs to Sacnoth.
Author's Notes: Ah, one of the few Koudelka fics on the net. I've been replaying Koudelka recently, and I started to think about Charlotte. What happened during her last moments alive? I had to make a few assumptions since they never go into how Charlotte was treated, but I think they're reasonable ones. And yes, Charlotte is one of my favorite characters. Creepy ghost girl, yay!
This is currently rated PG-13, but I'm kind of worried about that. If the majority of the people that review say the content is too disturbing for that rating and needs an R one, then I'll change it.
Happy Birthday
By Spinny Roses
She would need a new doll soon. This one had been around for two years. It was old and yucky.
Wasn't her birthday in a bit? Whenever her birthing day came to be, the men always dressed her nicely and gave her an extra special feast. It was always extra yummy. And the other people didn't scream as much on her birthday. It always hurt her ears when they screamed.
Mama should be here, she realized suddenly, clutching her doll. The men always said Mama left her there at birth until she could care for such a child. Wasn't years enough time? Or did Mama not love her enough to come back?
Oh, the others were playing again. She listened avidly, amused. They always started with begging. Some moved to outright threats, vowing to hurt the men when they got out. But they always screamed in the end. Most men had heavy screams, unbearable during the night. The women always pierced the air with pure notes, quivering in terror. One woman had a rather musical scream, and she loved it when the men played with her.
Her doll was bloody. But that's how they always were. The outside must be bathing in blood. She always wanted to go see, but they wouldn't let her. It wasn't safe they said.
Would Mama have brought her such bloody dolls? She tried to imagine her birthday with her mother. Mama would stroke her long silver hair, telling her how much she loved her. She would take her outside, letting her smell the fresh air. Her presents would be many instead of one.
"Little one." The men never called her by her name. That was just silly. She had a name; they used it when talking about her. They thought she couldn't hear, but she could.
"Yes?" She stood, holding her doll protectively. "Is today special? Is today my birthday?"
He smiled at her. This one had such a nice and kind smile. "Yes, it is. You're nine today." He stepped up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And what do you want for your birthday?"
She opened her mouth, about to express her wish for a new doll. "I want my mother," she found herself saying instead. "Mama should be here by now. Why isn't she here?"
"Now, little one... your mother loves you. She will send for you any day now."
She hated how the men talked down to her. "If Mama loved me, she would be here by now."
He smiled at her again. "Why don't you pick out a dress? You're old enough to go outside today."
"Really?" Delighted, she forgot about her mother. She turned to her dressers, smiling wildly.
She never felt the axe sever her head from her body.
***
It was sad to see Nemeton Monastery be used in this fashion. The guard finished covering the grave, and stood over it, breathing heavily. The former monastery loomed behind him, shrieks from the tortured prisoners filling the air.
The new grave was the little girl that had been at Nemeton Prison since shortly after her birth. No guard was allowed to become too attached to her, out of fear that attachment would make him soft to the cries of the other prisoners.
He turned slightly, ready to leave the dead in peace. Out of the corner of his eye, a silver mane caught his attention. He turned quickly, almost certain of what he'd find.
As he thought, nothing was there. The guard breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do to claim to have seen the ghost of the little girl. He looked briefly at the gravestone, feeling pity for the girl.
"Happy birthday, Charlotte D'Lota. Rest in peace."
The End
Author's Notes: Ah, one of the few Koudelka fics on the net. I've been replaying Koudelka recently, and I started to think about Charlotte. What happened during her last moments alive? I had to make a few assumptions since they never go into how Charlotte was treated, but I think they're reasonable ones. And yes, Charlotte is one of my favorite characters. Creepy ghost girl, yay!
This is currently rated PG-13, but I'm kind of worried about that. If the majority of the people that review say the content is too disturbing for that rating and needs an R one, then I'll change it.
Happy Birthday
By Spinny Roses
She would need a new doll soon. This one had been around for two years. It was old and yucky.
Wasn't her birthday in a bit? Whenever her birthing day came to be, the men always dressed her nicely and gave her an extra special feast. It was always extra yummy. And the other people didn't scream as much on her birthday. It always hurt her ears when they screamed.
Mama should be here, she realized suddenly, clutching her doll. The men always said Mama left her there at birth until she could care for such a child. Wasn't years enough time? Or did Mama not love her enough to come back?
Oh, the others were playing again. She listened avidly, amused. They always started with begging. Some moved to outright threats, vowing to hurt the men when they got out. But they always screamed in the end. Most men had heavy screams, unbearable during the night. The women always pierced the air with pure notes, quivering in terror. One woman had a rather musical scream, and she loved it when the men played with her.
Her doll was bloody. But that's how they always were. The outside must be bathing in blood. She always wanted to go see, but they wouldn't let her. It wasn't safe they said.
Would Mama have brought her such bloody dolls? She tried to imagine her birthday with her mother. Mama would stroke her long silver hair, telling her how much she loved her. She would take her outside, letting her smell the fresh air. Her presents would be many instead of one.
"Little one." The men never called her by her name. That was just silly. She had a name; they used it when talking about her. They thought she couldn't hear, but she could.
"Yes?" She stood, holding her doll protectively. "Is today special? Is today my birthday?"
He smiled at her. This one had such a nice and kind smile. "Yes, it is. You're nine today." He stepped up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And what do you want for your birthday?"
She opened her mouth, about to express her wish for a new doll. "I want my mother," she found herself saying instead. "Mama should be here by now. Why isn't she here?"
"Now, little one... your mother loves you. She will send for you any day now."
She hated how the men talked down to her. "If Mama loved me, she would be here by now."
He smiled at her again. "Why don't you pick out a dress? You're old enough to go outside today."
"Really?" Delighted, she forgot about her mother. She turned to her dressers, smiling wildly.
She never felt the axe sever her head from her body.
***
It was sad to see Nemeton Monastery be used in this fashion. The guard finished covering the grave, and stood over it, breathing heavily. The former monastery loomed behind him, shrieks from the tortured prisoners filling the air.
The new grave was the little girl that had been at Nemeton Prison since shortly after her birth. No guard was allowed to become too attached to her, out of fear that attachment would make him soft to the cries of the other prisoners.
He turned slightly, ready to leave the dead in peace. Out of the corner of his eye, a silver mane caught his attention. He turned quickly, almost certain of what he'd find.
As he thought, nothing was there. The guard breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do to claim to have seen the ghost of the little girl. He looked briefly at the gravestone, feeling pity for the girl.
"Happy birthday, Charlotte D'Lota. Rest in peace."
The End