A/N: I. AM. ALIVE AHAHAHAHAHAHA-
Ahem. Yes.
Anyway, I am back at last, to give you what you Snow Angel fans have all been waiting for: the new, improved, certified better edition! Meet "A Pocketful Of Posies", also known as the second edition of "Will You, Won't You, Will You, Won't You, Won't You Join The Dance"! Complete with better writing, more horror, and a shorter and better title! Applause! *throws arms up to the the sky*
...
*crickets chirping*
*gently lowers arms* Huh. Good to see you're all so enthusiastic. -_-
I kid, I kid. But really, I'm actually quite proud of this prologue. As good ol' Mary Poppins would say, "a job well begun is half done." Hopefully, the rest will be just as good, if not better!
Disclaimer: I don't own RotG. Which is probably a good thing, as the script would have been crap. As well as gory. But mostly crap.
"Jackson!"
"Jackson?"
"Jackson, where are you?"
The woman's brown eyes scanned the interior of the room, her lips pursed in a frown as she searched for her son. Huffing, she brushed a strand of dark auburn hair out of her face as she called the boy's name again.
Silence.
...Emily Nordwind Overland had always known that her son was a strange, strange child.
Oh, she may try to deny it, and hide it, and avoid it, but the fact remained that her dear Jackson was very, very far from normal.
She sighed. If Jackson wasn't responding, there were only two things that could be wrong. Either he was deliberately hiding somewhere, or he was having one of his special 'episodes' again.
...Most likely the latter.
Briskly, the mother of one (soon to be of two, if her figure was anything to go by) began to search the cottage, her brown skirt swishing around her ankles as she looked for her child. The search did not take long, as the house was small, with only four rooms. Thus, she soon found Jack in his room.
It took only one glance to figure out what was the matter.
She had realized this when he was but a little child, when his chocolate-brown eyes would glaze over slightly, gazing at something far away that no one else could see.
The woman darted hastily to the dazed-looking child sitting on the bed, gently placing her hands on his shoulders as she attempted to coax him back to reality. She shook him lightly, calling his name persistently in an effort to grasp his attention. It took a few minutes, but soon her son's brown eyes lost their vacant expression and drifted back into focus.
He would stay utterly frozen for a few seconds, before abruptly coming back to his senses...
"M-mom?"
...with a jolt, trembling as he fought to shake his little 'fit' off.
She said nothing, choosing instead to sit on the bed beside him and envelop her eight-year old son in her arms. She rocked him gently back and forth as she attempted to bring some comfort. Goodness knows he needed it.
At first, Emily had thought nothing of it. As long as he did not hurt anyone, she was content.
She raked her fingers slowly through his messy mop of brown hair, humming an old song under her breath in order to calm the now-shaking child.
Then, it started getting worse.
"Mom?"
His 'fits' grew longer, and he would sometimes freeze for hours at a time, barely moving and barely breathing…
"Yes, Jack? What is it, little one?"
...as he gazed intently at something only he could see. Sometimes, his mouth would open…
"H-how bad was it this time?"
...and he would murmur half-intelligible phrases and words that meant nothing at all.
"Not bad at all, Jackson. Don't worry, my dear."
It only grew worse and worse. Doctors could do nothing for him, not even when his 'fits' grew more violent. She still remembered the time when he had smashed a plate during a particularly bad one.
"A-are you sure?"
"Absolutely, my love."
She neglected to mention the broken cup lying outside his door, knowing it would only upset him further.
It didn't mean that she didn't love him, however. A mother's love is constant and unchanging…
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"C-can you stay here a little while?"
...and just because her child wasn't quite right in the head...
Emily Nordwind Overland didn't say a word, simply cradling her son against her chest.
... didn't mean that she didn't love him fervently with every cell in her body.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"...I love you."
"I love you too, Jack."
They stayed that way, curled up on the bed, until late in the evening when her husband returned from his hunting.
"Mom?"
Emily looked up from her plate, only to find herself gazing right into a pair of shining brown eyes.
"Yes, Emmaline?"
"Why do we live so far away from other people?"
They had used to live in a village, before Emmaline was born. It was a cozy little town, filled with friendly faces….Their stay hadn't lasted long, though…
"W-what do you mean?"
...After all, Jack's violent 'fits' weren't exactly easy to hide. Especially when he had suddenly attacked an older boy without warning.
"Jack said you used to live in a...vi—lla—ge." The unfamiliar word fell hesitantly from the little brunette's lips as she frowned in thought, "That's a place filled with people, right? People like us?"
As much as she had wanted to stay in the village, after that little 'incident', she had been forced to leave. These were troubled times, after all, when superstition and fear abounded, and being 'strange' could have disastrous and bloody consequences. People were only too willing to rip others apart, if only because of an inkling of a suspicion that a person may be possessed, or a witch, or a demon.
Personally, Emily didn't believe in such superstitious nonsense, but it wasn't her opinion that mattered.
Three weeks after the 'incident' , they had moved.
Emily frowned at her son, who ducked his head in shame as he avoided her glare. She sighed, wondering how she was going to explain this to her four year old daughter.
Moved away from the village, to a small abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods. It was a cozy place, with game to hunt and a lake nearby for fishing…
She chose her words carefully. "Some people live in these villages, yes...But others don't. We are one of those who don't."
The brunette nodded, accepting this explanation.
...and it was here that she and her husband had a second child, a girl they had named Emmaline. A beautiful, kind, charming, blissfully normal girl.
"Now eat your supper."
The rest of the meal continued in silence.
Needless to say, Emily and her husband had doted on the child, raising her in a world where everything was perfect and the words "No, Emmaline" did not exist. She had been practically spoiled, while Jackson (inept, crazy, sick, broken Jackson) had been left on the sidelines, forced to watch as his parents and younger sibling lived in a small idyllic world of their own where he had no place. No one had noticed when his 'fits' grew more frequent and longer. No one had noticed the times when he felt he had no control over his body or mind. No one noticed when he slowly began to spiral into the dark, terrifying depths of depraved insanity. No one had noticed, because no one had cared.
It was only when her husband died that Emily realized how utterly stupid she had been. How callous she had been to abandon her son when he needed her the most. How horrible she had been to her only son.
The problem was, by that time, it was too late. Far, far too late.
The mother of two pressed her back against the wall, the tiny hand of her five year old daughter held tightly between her fingers. She knew what was going to happen. It was inevitable.
Surprisingly enough, Emily felt remarkably calm. She was going to die, it was true, but such was her fate, she mused. She had sinned when she had turned her back on her son, and now it was time for her to face the consequences. She could only hope that her daughter wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.
She gazed steadily into the eyes of the boy in front of her (not her son, that fiend was not her son). She ignored the knife that the fiend was holding, she ignored his strangely blank and emotionless face, she ignored the dark red substance currently staining the tips of his fingers. She had eyes only for his own brown ones.
"Jack, please don't do this. Think of your sister."
The fiend stared at her, his face still blank, his eyes uncharacteristically cold.
Suddenly, he spoke. It was a harsh, disused sound, as if he had been swallowing pebbles. "I am not Jack."
He moved closer to her, the pungent smell of coppery pain clinging closely to his lithe frame. Emily's breathing faltered as his mouth abruptly stretched into a wide, unnatural grin, so like yet so unlike the smile she knew so well, and she swore she could see his teeth turning sharper and more cruel-looking.
Then the knife was at her throat, and her heart stopped.
The gravelly voice rasped once more.
"My name is Angel."
A/N: Some of you older arrivals will notice it contains bits of the old prologue. Fear not, this is the last you will ever see of any material from the older version.
Also, I must warn you: UPDATES WILL BE RARE. This story is NOT prewritten, and I am a busy person as well as someone who wants to write this story well, so yeah. Updates will be rare.
...Review?