"I love you very, very much, Tommy..."

Cold, glazed eyes met hers. This man whom she had claimed her own... his expression showed a smile and love, but his eyes were confused and frozen.

Then even the expression froze.

It had all started when Merope was very, very little on a warm August day. This certain day was a sort of day that was perfect for spawning ideas... Irrational ideas, good ideas, horrible ideas. Usually, Merope's ideas were the latter, or at least that's what she'd been told, and when her father or her brother told her something, she had no reason not to listen. She was typically a dismal and docile girl, beaten into submissiveness. Beaten into believing that she was worthless.

Perhaps this was why Merope was so bent on fulfilling her ideas and her dreams, no matter how small they were. After all, she didn't necessarily want to be worthless, at least not all the time, so if she could make someone happier with the ideas that she had... If she could do that, maybe things would end up being better?

It was all the musings of a sad girl, perhaps. Musings that were only made sadder and more ridiculous the more someone told her that they were. It was just like when Father told her that she was a horrible cook. The more he told her, the more that she believed it. When he told her that she was a worthless squib, she began to believe it.

The human brain is a wonder for allowing us to warp everything. Our moral compass, our beliefs, what we view as truth... Merope had thought she was doing good many times, but in reality she just didn't realize how weak-minded she truly was. She was a girl - a meddler - who obsessed and obsessed over what she wanted, and when there was no one to drag her down with force, she ran rampant.

But who could blame her?

Two people could. One was an old man and the other was her own brother, who really couldn't be blamed either, as he was trained like a dog trained to fight and bite and tear flesh and tear scabs off of bloody wounds. The old man was merely a person who couldn't find a way to ignore his own sorrow, and thus preoccupied himself with making sure that others couldn't, either. He was a man who deserved to rot in fiendfyre, but got off no less easy when his victim was taken away. When his victim was taken away, that made him the new victim.

Nevertheless, this story isn't about Marvolo and Merope. It isn't about Marvolo and Morfin. This story - this long lost story - is about Morfin and Merope, and it is a hint of the only semblance of a relationship that they had.

...And it had all started when Merope was very, very little.

That day wasn't a less dismal one, by any means. There wasn't any less or more physical and mental battery for the poor girl. She woke before everyone else once more and cooked a meal that she was sure would be sub-par. It ended up being just that, inevitably, but since this is the point before Merope had fully - or almost fully - given up, she didn't bow her head in defeat, but wondered why and wanted to fix it.

Merope wanted to fix many things. She wanted to fix the whole world. Most of all, though, she wanted to fix herself. Merope figured that, as long as she fixed herself, everything else would be fixed, too.

Again, she offered breakfast to her father with only love in her intentions. Again, she was denied by a snide, cruel remark that nearly brought her to tears. What only hurt more was the way that Morfin cackled in agreement.

Horrible girl. Stupid girl. Horrible, stupid, worthless girl.

Sometimes Merope would quietly whisper, "How can I redeem myself?"

Again, they would cackle. Then, one day, this particular August day, Marvolo said, "Bake something, and make it delicious for once."

Her father cackled again. It was the kind of cackle that meant that such a thing would never happen. Yes, it was that confusing and hurtful thing called sarcasm. Merope still didn't exactly know what sarcasm was, so she decided to try not to trust anything. But despite what she told herself, this time she decided that she did want to believe this little lie. She gave her father a weird look for a moment, then nodded quickly and rummaged through the cupboards.

"Don't use all the flour, girl." There was a tone of cold disgust in Marvolo's voice, probably at her ignorance.

"It... it's okay, Father. It'll only take one time. I'll redeem myself." She paused and then began to bake, stirring and scooping and working hard to make it taste right. She held no hope that it would turn out, but she did try, as she often did. Then, she cooked the pastry and pulled it out.

Merope was suddenly pushed out of the way. She stepped back and looked and saw Morfin. He frowned at her, took a piece, and ate it greedily - then his chewing slowed, and Morfin gave her a strange look.

"...Do you like it?"

Morfin frowned deeper. "Make more."

"Do you like me, brother?" Merope asked quietly.

He gave her that strange look, then hastily said, "Yes. Make more."

Merope didn't know why, but it made her feel like the happiest girl alive.

Tom ran away from her, no matter how much she tried to make him come back.

That was the day that Merope realized that she wasn't loved.