A/N:
We/I own nothing.
Heyyyyy! It's been super long since the last time I posted a chapter. Sorry about that. *looks sheepishly at the floor and shuffles about* It's been super busy, and random-ass shit has been happening. I'm not going to be able to get chapters up as often as I was hoping to. Sorrrrry.
Twelve Dancing Princesses should be next. Thanks for the suggestion! You are awesome! :)
Hopefully this chapter isn't too shabby. (It's not even funny how many times I rewrote this own. Like really not funny.)
Please review! I LOVE reviews!
Enjoy! :D
~Dante Pierre
It was Christmas. The worst time of the year in Sherlock's opinion. Not only was it absolutely pathetic how every person flocked to the stores like sheep, ready to spend absurd amounts of money on gifts that were either going to be forgotten after a few days, left on some shelf to collect dust, or returned, but during Christmas time John always made him spend time with people. For hours. It was Hell.
This year was no different. He was expected to play host alongside John for Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and even his barely tolerable brother Mycroft. Honestly, what was John thinking when he invited Mycroft?
As the evening went on, Sherlock became more and more bored. The conversations were dull. The food and alcohol was even duller. Everyone but his brother and himself were drunk out of their minds, and although it was slightly amusing at first, by this point it was just getting tedious. Sherlock thought he would pass out from boredom, that is until John came up with the dreadful idea that Sherlock would tell the group a story. Sherlock sat up immediately and looked at John with horror.
"I'm not telling a story!" He snapped at John. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother's over-the-top reaction, but John didn't even notice, he just kept telling everyone how wonderful Sherlock's stories were. It wasn't long before almost everyone was begging Sherlock to tell them one of his legendary stories. Except of course Mycroft, who just sat there silently, gauging his brother's responses. No matter how hard Sherlock tried to shoot them down and refuse, they just kept pestering him. Finally Sherlock gave in. It seemed it would just be less painful to tell a short story than have four people constantly bothering him for the next God-only-knew how many hours.
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful young girl named Ella. She and her father lived together alone, as her mother had died during childbirth many years back. Ella's father was not a rich man, nor was he poor, but he and his daughter lived comfortably. Ella was everything her father had wanted in a daughter. She was smart, cheerful, well-mannered, and always a joy to be around. Unfortunately, there was one problem. You see, Ella had an unquenchable thirst for blood.
Every Tuesday and Friday at around noon, just after lunch, Ella's father would take her out hunting. She'd kill anything and everything she laid eyes on, be it a bird, deer or bear. She'd always find a bloody way of condemning the animal to death. Her father knew something wasn't quite right with her, but he figured killing animals was much better than her hurting other people. That didn't stop him from keeping his thoughts secret.
When Ella turned sixteen, her father came into money. Close relatives of his had passed away, leaving their entire fortune to him. That didn't really change the way Ella and her father lived. They were comfortable with their current lifestyle and didn't want anything to do with the excess money, so Ella's father put it to the side, and vowed only to use it for things they actually needed.
Recently a widow, Victoria, a mother of two daughters heard about Ella's father's newfound wealth. Never being one to pass on opportunity, the woman decided to court Ella's father. She was very pretty for her age, and Ella's father immediately fell for her. Ella knew Victoria just wanted her father's money, but whenever she tried to bring it up, her father shot her down. The death of his wife had created a hole in his life that Ella simply could not fill. Although he loved his daughter dearly, he craved something more. He craved a companion, a lover.
A few months later, Ella's father and Victoria decided to marry. Ella was distraught, she hated the other woman, but she said nothing to her father. He was happy with Victoria, and she wasn't going to be the one to ruin that.
The wedding came and went, there was a grand celebration, and for the first few weeks, Ella decided that this new life wasn't actually that bad. She didn't like her new step-sisters, but they kept their distance, and she still got to hunt with her father just as often. Victoria believed it was wrong for a young woman of Ella's status to go hunting, but she didn't know anything about her step-daughter's problem. Yet no matter what Victoria said, Ella's father would not give in. He knew how important hunting was for Ella.
It wasn't long before Victoria had convinced Ella's father to use some of his vast wealth, and buy a new house. The house was ridiculously big and Ella was constantly getting lost wandering in the halls. Still, Ella's father and Victoria seemed happy together, Victoria always eager to please her husband and accompany him everywhere. Victoria began to replace Ella, and soon the only time Ella ever got to spend with her father was hunting.
One fine noon, Ella was headed to her father's room to remind him that they were supposed to be heading out into the woods. She had waited outside the estate for about an hour, and finally she decided her father had just forgotten about her. She hadn't seen him all day. When Ella got to her father's room, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She called his name, but still no answer. Quietly, she opened the door and looked around the room. There lay her father, on the ground, pale as snow. She threw the door open the rest of the way and ran to her father's side. She screamed for help, for anyone to come, and one of their servants came rushing in. He tried to pry Ella off of her father, to give him space, as he wasn't aware that his master was dead. Ella screamed at him, and he immediately ran out of the room to get more help. Ella wept over her father's body until a doctor came and she was dragged out of the room. She ran to her bedroom and refused to come out for three days.
The doctor proclaimed that Ella's father and been poisoned. Naturally, it had been Victoria, and Ella knew it, but there was no evidence. The police declared the case closed, saying it had to have been suicide since there was absolutely no physical evidence that said otherwise. Everyone had their suspicions, but they were just theories. Nothing could be proved. Victoria became the head of the house, and after a month or so of funerals and wakes Victoria sent Ella to her room and forbade her to leave. She couldn't stand the sight of Ella. Ella was smarter and prettier than her own daughters, and Victoria hated Ella for that.
Victoria also revoked Ella's hunting privileges. Without an outlet, Ella's thirst for blood became more and more potent. Soon she couldn't do anything but lay in bed thinking about blood and screaming people. It became too much for her to bear. Ella had to do something.
The next time a servant entered the room with Ella's food, Ella slammed the door shut and slit the woman's throat. She died without making a sound, but Ella barely felt any better. She started to carve the woman's flesh and by the time she was done and satisfied, she was splattered with blood. The woman was completely cut up, bits of her flesh were hanging by thread like bits of skin. Later that night, using the woman's set of keys, Ella dumped her barely recognizable body in front of her step-mother's bedroom door. She was sure that the next morning's shriek would be quite lovely.
Victoria had the body hidden. The last thing she needed was the police investigating her house again. Her reputation was already fragile enough. No, the body would have to stay hidden from the world.
If anyone had bothered to actually think about what happened, which they didn't, it would've been quite a simple matter to figure out that the maid had been delivering dinner to Ella the same night she perished. Fortunately for Ella, everyone was too preoccupied worrying if someone else might be brutally murdered. A few maids even quit, but really, who would blame them?
Ella was fine for another few days, but it wasn't long before she was itching for her next kill. She really couldn't help it. It was something about the smell of fresh blood, the way it flowed so gracefully out of her victim's wounds. It made her feel alive, it gave her a sense of satisfaction.
This time Ella was determined to kill someone close to Victoria, not some poor maid who just had the bad fortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ella was going to make her step-mother miserable, and then she was going to find a creative and cruel way to avenge her father. Ella was going to kill her two stepsisters.
In the middle of the night Ella used the keys she had taken off the maid's body and snuck into her sisters' room. She brought with her the same knife from the last kill. Quiet as a mouse, she crept over to the elder sister, Drizella. The girl was murmuring in her sleep, probably having some sort of nightmare. Ella brought the knife up and with one smooth, strong flick of her wrist, she sliced open her step-sister's throat. Drizella's eyes flew open and she look around frantically. Blood was pouring out of her throat and pooling on the bed next to her neck. Ella watched, completely enthralled as Drizella's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, but no sound came out. Ella had cut her vocal cords. Her step-sister tried grabbing Ella's wrist, but Ella swatted her away. She smiled coldly down at Drizella before plunging the knife into heart. Drizella stopped moving. Ella got to work.
Anastasia usually woke up around the middle of the night to relieve herself, this night being no exception. Except this time when she woke up, Anastasia noticed her sister was lying in an unusual position. Her arm was hanging off the end of the bed, and something seemed to be dripping off her fingers. She pushed off her covers and padded over to Drizella's bed, not noticing Ella pressed against one of the walls, and grabbed her sister's hand. Immediately she pulled her own hand back and held it up to her face. Anastasia's hand was now coated in a thick, warm layer of her sister's blood. She would've let out an award-winning scream had Ella not come up behind her, clapped a hand over her step-sister's mouth and slit her throat. Ella had a thing for slitting people's throats. Everything started going black for Anastasia, she bled out and died a few seconds later.
Carefully, as if she was laying a sleeping child down, Ella set her step-sister down on her own bed. She had just begun carving up her plump face when Ella heard footsteps outside of the door.
Victoria had also woken up in the middle of the night, and was overcome with an overwhelming urge to check up on her two daughters. Ever since the maid had been murdered, all she could think about was the safety of her precious children. That and the state of her own reputation.
Ella threw herself against the wall next to the door and waited with baited breath for her next victim to enter the room. Her blood was pumping. She was so excited. The footsteps stopped and the door opened. Victoria came into the room, and upon seeing her daughters both bloodied and splayed on their beds, dead, screamed. She didn't scream for long though. Ella came up behind her and smashed the hilt of her knife against the back of Victoria's head, knocking her out instantly. Ella stood over the limp form of Victoria and wondered what to do with her evil step-mother.
When Victoria came to, she was locked away in a cell-like room, four walls of stone and one thick steel door. The estate Ella's late father had bought had happened to have an eery dungeon-like basement. Victoria tried the door, but it was locked. She called out for help, but there was no reply. No one could hear her. That was when Victoria finally looked around her surroundings, her anxious, borderline panicked gaze swept over the room. What she found made her scream, and then promptly faint. She was locked in a room with the mutilated bodies of her two daughters.
"The end." Sherlock finished.
Mycroft was the first one to react.
"Dear me. If only Mother could hear you now." He said as if he was revolted, but Sherlock could detect the faintest bit of pride in his brother's voice.
"Oh do shut up." Sherlock shot back.
At this point Molly had begun to clap her hands, and within seconds Mrs. Hudson joined in.
"That was lovely, Sherlock!" The old landlady cooed. She and Molly both had obviously had way too much to drink.
John was smiling proudly, very pleased with the story Sherlock had managed to conjure up this time.
Lestrade on the other hand was not as nearly as impressed.
"Sherlock, my friend," he said as he pointed a slightly shaky finger in the consulting detective's general direction, "You have issues."
