"HOW ABOUT PARIS?" Molly mused, her head hanging off the side of her bed as she lay sideways on the mattress. She was absently staring up at the ceiling, while Michael was rifling through the collection of books she had brought with her to California.

"Paris?" He scoffed, "you planning on marrying someone?" He picked up her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, flipping it around to read the description on the back.

"No," she rolled her eyes, "but it's somewhere Zoe used to talk about a lot. She always wanted to see it."

"Well, what do you want to see?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing while he continues to read the description.

She hums in thought, before a small smile lifts the corners of her lips.

"Rome," she nods, eyes brightening at the prospect.

"Going to visit your good friend the Pope?" He teases, eliciting a chuckle from her. "Is this something you experience?" He asks suddenly, gesturing his head towards the book in hand.

"What? Being on trial for raping a white girl?"

"No," he raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. "Prejudice. Racism."

She was taken aback by his question, eyebrows furrowing as she tried to formulate her answer.

"It's not as obvious as people used to make it, but sometimes it's little things. Like how I would walk down the street with 'Delia when I was little and get stared at," she explained, thinking back to all the occasions where she and Queenie were visually set apart from the rest of the girls at the Academy.

"Our... orphanage was in a white neighbourhood, but there was never usually anything more than staring or occasional comments. Queenie and I are were the only black girls on our street," she continued, one occasion springing to mind. "The first time I realised I was truly different, and not just because of my abilities, was when I was six. My school teacher told me my hair was too 'kinky' to let down, and made me sit at the back of the classroom so the boy behind me could see the board. My hair wasn't big at all."

Michael swallowed harshly as he listened, being entirely unable to relate to her experiences but feeling anger on her behalf.

"What's her name?" He enquiries, taking her by surprise.

"Um... Mrs Dane, why-" she was cut off by Michael suddenly standing up, a determined look in his eye.

"Lets go, wake up," he demanded, disappearing in the blink of an eye before she could say anything further. Molly sighed tiredly, closing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she was snuggled beneath her blankets - the light of day breaking through her curtains.

She knew Michael wouldn't meet her at her house, but he didn't have to. For when she opened the curtains, she saw the blonde boy smiling animatedly on the other side of the front gate, waiting for her while simultaneously staying away from the rest of the Murder House occupants.


"Where are we?" Molly dared to ask, after Michael had taken her hand and transmuted them both to a location she was unfamiliar with.

They were outside of a house, hidden within the bushes facing the window of the house's living room. Michael wore a smirk that was practically devilish, and she supposed it sort of was.

"You'll realise in a moment," he told her cryptically, eyes trained on the window. A flicker of movement caught the corner of her gaze, and she turned to see who the occupant of the house was, her breath inhaling sharply.

"Mrs. Dane..." she whispered, realising now why they were here. Michael chuckled under his breath as he watched her face of realisation, his hand lifting up, fingers directed towards the window.

The woman had just settled down a cup of tea on her coffee table, before sitting down in the armchair facing the television. It was obvious she no longer worked as a teacher, clearly having reached the age of retirement. Fuelled by Molly's words echoing in his mind, Michael used his telekinetic abilities to lift the filled cup into the air.

"What are you doing?!" Molly hissed, eyes widened with horror as the small teacup lifted and began to dangle above the woman's head, ready to drop at any second.

Michael's expression had slipped from amused to downright determined, the urge he felt to hurt this woman was beginning to consume him. He was no longer able to tell if it were his newfound protectiveness over Molly or his dark side emerging.

Whatever he was about to do was thwarted by the girl beside him, who lifted her own hand and used his concentration against him to fling the levitating cup against the wall. The teacup smashed into pieces, prompting the woman to scream in shock and stare at the smithereens scattered across the ground in horror.

Michael's head turned to look at Molly, eyes full of frustration at her interruption. Nevertheless, he lifted his hand again, and so followed the smashed pieces of the teacup. Molly's eyes glanced back and forth between Michael and Mrs Dane, sympathy flooding her as she watched the woman start to sob in fear.

But Molly wouldn't allow him to do anything further, for she shot her arms out and physically tackled him down to the ground, breaking his display of power. Unfortunately, her shove had ended in her landing on top of him - but if she had to utilise physical strength, then so be it.

"Why did you stop me?" He practically bellowed from underneath her, nostrils flared as she grabbed his wrists and forced them down to the ground.

With her face hovering mere inches above his, Molly shook her head in disappointment, eyes scanning his expression.

"Revenge isn't who I am," she told him, her own tone full of annoyance. "I won't let you harm another living person while you're alive."

"But she hurt you, she made you feel different-" he protested, and for a second her stance faltered. That was when she recognised that Michael was doing this to make her feel better.

"I know," she dropped her voice lower, full of emotion, "and I hated her for that. I used to come home from school and cry my heart out. I thought my skin colour was why I was so different, but it wasn't. I will not allow my life to be consumed with rage over those who have mistreated me, because it would be a long life if I did."

Michael was silenced by her speech, eyes wide with compassion at her words. He allowed his head to fall back against the floor, as he processed her words he came to the conclusion that Molly and himself were opposites. While he has spent his life enraged by those who were unfair to him - his grandmother, his mother, the children in his neighbourhood, Molly seemed to let it empower her. In a good way, at that.

A few seconds had passed while Molly analysed him, searching for any sign he would retaliate if she let him go. But, being honest with herself, Michael could have broken her hold any day. He just didn't.

With an awkward cough, she crawled backwards off of him, allowing him to slowly sit up with a somewhat dazed expression.

"Besides," Molly voiced, trying to break the awkward silence as she held her hand out for them to transmute together back to California, "she's going to die soon enough, anyway. Save yourself the sin."


Two days had passed, and she had yet to see Michael again. When they arrived back in the city, he immediately disappeared - likely to his own home. He had emitted himself from her dreams once again. This time, she was determined to not seek him out.

Deciding to continue using their truce to her advantage, Molly chose upon a mundane activity she had never quite done before, though always wanted to - which was to see a movie in the theatre.

When she spent her childhood with the nuns, they never saw it acceptable to bring her to movies they deemed were unfit for young eyes. Then, when she went to live with Cordelia and the girls, she had grown up so fast the opportunity merely evaded everyone's mind.

The local theatre was a rather small one, only holding two rooms as they were grand and vintage. Molly longed to be able to bring Violet along with her, but that was impossible.

The theatre was empty except for her and a couple towards the back of the room. To get right into the mood of things, she had also bought herself some popcorn and a drink, curling her feet underneath her as her eyes excitedly roamed the blackened screen above her.

She could sense someone coming into the aisle she was sat in, which wouldn't have been something attention-grabbing if their presence wasn't so familiar and powerful. Resisting an eye roll, Molly turned her head to confirm what she already knew.

The blonde antichrist sat quietly next to her, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and never straying to her. She scoffed under her breath, redirecting her gaze. Both were too stubborn to speak first.

The opening moments of the movie were dull in theory, but Molly was hooked - loving the vastness of the screen and the way the sound vibrated the seats.

A hand shot out from next to her and rifled into her popcorn box, taking a handful of the salty goodness with it. Molly reached out and lightly smacked Michael's hand, causing him to drop the kernels down onto the ground.

This time, he looked at her, returning her glare with one of his own.

"Nice job," he commented sarcastically, reaching for another handful.

"Stop eating my popcorn," she demanded, dragging the box to her other side and out of his reach.

"What happened to feeding the world, Christ?" Michael raised his brows, and very reluctantly, she returned the box to her other side, allowing him to share.

"So, you've finally crawled out of your cave, have you?"

"Well, I had to get something," he admitted coyly. Shoving the handful of popcorn into his mouth messily, he wiped his hand on his jeans and then slipped his fingers into his pocket, dragging out an envelope with it.

"What's that?" She dared to ask, trying to come off as uncaring.

"I'm, uh-" he broke off, appearing shy all of a sudden. "I'm not good with apologies. So I got this..." Abruptly, he handed the white envelope over to her, eliciting an eyebrow raise.

"What is it?"

"Open it," he huffed, eyes darting everywhere except her gaze as she slipped her hand into the slip and dragged out two square pieces of paper. She squinted to read them in the dark, an occasional flicker of light from the screen assisting her.

"Are these... plane tickets?" She questioned, eyes widened in surprise. This was the last thing she expected. If anything, she'd be less shocked if it were two severed fingers instead.

"Yeah, to Rome," he nodded, his voice quiet all of a sudden. "I know we could just... I don't know, teleport or whatever but I thought maybe you'd like the whole human experience."

He neglected to tell her that he bought the tickets with money he stole after 'teleporting' himself into a bank vault. But he figured the less she knew, the better.

"Michael," she murmured, her lips lifting into a breathtaking smile. "This is amazing, thank you so much!"

Ignoring their previous encounters and the animosity between them, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug. Michael gasped in surprise, his body completely freezing and shrinking in a little. He had never been hugged by anyone other than Constance and Mead.

The sensation of her body hugging his was a warm one, and he was embarrassed to feel his heart begin to race. Silently, he hoped she couldn't feel it against her own chest.

By the time the embrace ended, he had been too busy processing it that he had never got the chance to return the hug, but she didn't look like she minded.

They continued to sit there for the rest of the movie, hands occasionally digging into the popcorn and comments shared about the movie's plot. All the while, Molly's grin never broke.


Excluding the shit-show she had attended weeks earlier, for however long it had been since Molly had attended mass - it was even longer since she made a confession.

It was an act she found difficult while living with the nuns, for it was so very rare that Molly did commit something worth telling a priest about. And even then, it was mainly confessing to minuscule things like rolling her eyes or not doing her homework on time.

Now, she had something to say.

Mary Immaculate was a chapel she had discovered the week before, and had already visited once to ensure the place was welcoming. What had drawn her in originally was the sign outside the door, which said 'All Are Welcome But Hate Is Not'.

From what she had seen on her visit, the chapel received a variety of attendants from every corner in the city, all there to seek solace with God away from the hate preached by others.

Molly had patiently waited her turn in the pews, and when it was her time to go into the confessional box - her hands had become rather sweaty. She was nervous to go into the booth, wondering what she should say and how much she should reveal. But this time in her life was the most confusing by far, and of all the knowledge God had given her, he hadn't given her the answers to life's questions.

She sat down timidly, repeating the responses the nuns had her well versed in to the priest. But when it came time to confess her sins, she faltered.

"I... um-" she cut off, her conjoined hands tightly squeezing each other.

"It's okay, my child," the priest kindly offered, "you are not in a place of judgement. This will be kept confidential."

"I just..." she stammered, deciding to squeeze her eyes shut even though they couldn't see each other any way. "I'm not fulfilling my duty correctly."

"And what duty would that be?"

"What I was born to do- I-... I was born to complete a task, and I'm finding it impossible," she sighed, biting her lower lip. Molly knew she was probably confusing the man, but she simply couldn't help it. What use would it be revealing herself to a priest? She would likely be shunned out of ridiculousness.

"If you were born for it, I doubt that it's impossible for you," he replied calmly.

"I'm making it impossible. It's not- it's not something I necessarily want to do."

"We all have a choice in this world, my child," the priest continued assuredly. "God gave us free will."

"God?" She whispered, her voice breaking. "I don't have a choice in this situation. And I fear for what will happen if I refuse to do it."

"You were given this task for a reason, Molly Cromwell," he replied, causing her to jump in horror as she heard that somehow, the priest knew exactly who she was.

"H-how do you know my name?" She dared to ask, shuffling back and staring at the netted plastic between them. She was sure he couldn't see her well enough to identify her. Molly hadn't failed to notice how firm his voice had suddenly become either, more hardened than before.

"People will burn if you don't, you know what you have to do," he added.

"What?" She asked in horror, and mild fear, throwing herself forward to escape the confessional box. Accidentally, she tripped over the small step and fell onto the ground, grasping the attention of all the other sinners waiting in the pews.

The other door began to slowly open, as the priest filed out. His face was serenely calm, scarily so, as he began to advance towards Molly.

"The beast is about to rise from the bottomless pit and go to destruction," he told her, absolutely terrifying her as she recognised the phrase from a passage in the book of Revelations.

"She gave birth to a male child," an elderly woman, who was in the pew next to where Molly was splayed out, continued, "one who is to rule all nations with a wrought of iron."

With a quick turn of her head, Molly realised that all the attendants who were seated began to slowly move toward her, holding the same expression as the priest. With perfect postures and calculating eyes, soon, all of their voices started to sound out.

"Their flesh will rot while they are standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets."

"Who is like the beast? And who can fight against it?"

The attendants appeared to be possessed, and it was that recognition that brought Molly to the terrifying realisation that this was a possession of sorts. Even worse, it was a warning.

"Father?" She timidly called out, not at all meaning to call the priest, but the one who was responsible for her birth.

It was then that the voices stopped, but the crowd did not move any further either. Their chests rose and fell with their breaths, but all they did other than that was simply stare - a somewhat scarier image than before.

Biting down a scream of fear, Molly shoved past the woman and all but sprinted through the pew and down the centre aisle, not daring to look back until she was safely outside.


I feel like this book is shiiiiiite but oh well.

If Michael seems a little OOC here, remember this is Michael and Molly's innocent stage. There will come a time where they're not naive and they're not like two teenagers.

I've also introduced a bit of a horror aspect at the end, lest we forget this is American horror story ; )

Thanks so much for reading! I hope everyone is enjoying!

sheshe073 - Ahhhh thank you so much! It's a massive burden and it's only turning them towards each other x

ViviH88 - Thank you! I hope you had a nice Christmas!

Sacrecrow - I'm glad to hear it! It's definitely going to build up between them for a while ; ) I hope you liked this chapter! x

Grim - You're absolutely right I was wondering if anyone spotted that ahah, the two of them will show up soon not to worry! I loooove writing Molly and Violet, I'm hoping to write some parts with Violet and Michael too because we never saw them interact x