"Lydia…"

The gentle whisper jolted her awake as effectively as an air horn to the ear. Lydia immediately turned to search for Betelgeuse only to find the reading chair in the corner of her room empty. He was gone. He lied. He waited for her to fall asleep and then took off like a rat in the night. Hurt struck deep in her chest at the realization, deeper than she would ever admit once they crossed paths again. Which they would. As soon as she could confirm that he was actually gone from the house and not just goofing off somewhere he was going right back into that mirror.

Sniffling and groggy, Lydia went about unburying herself from the layers of heavy sheets and blankets, forgetting all about the voice that dragged her from slumber‒ until it called again.

"Lydia… come, darling…"

The familiar voice crooned through the walls, muted and suppressed, but still entrancingly beautiful.

"Mama misses you…"

"Mom?" She called out unevenly to the empty room, only to be met with an unsettling silence. Suddenly, the locked door shuffled violently within the frame, as though someone in the hall was trying to force their way in. Bewildered and unsure, Lydia remained frozen upright in bed with the thick comforter tucked up under her chin until the rattling ceased. Whoever was on the other side couldn't get through.

"Betelgeuse…?" She tried a different name to see if that would yield any results. Again, her whimper went unanswered. On weak, trembling legs, Lydia very slowly and hesitantly made her way across the room and took a deep breath before braving opening the door.

Nothing.

The hall was empty. Just as she was about to brush off the entire incident as a bout of feverish insanity and go back to sleep, a flash of movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye. It was a spider! The spider. Lydia would never forget that strange polka dot pattern. Just as casually as before, it drifted down from the ceiling until it found a home at the top of the staircase, then beckoned to her in a very human gesture with one long, spindly arm. Then, it took off down the stairs.

There was no hesitation this time around. Lydia knew where to go, what to do, and she already had the key around her neck. Impatient and rushed, heart pounding, she scrambled after the eight-legged guide, unable to keep up with how quickly it flew down, down, down, all the way to the basement turned darkroom. Again, her mysterious escort was already gone from sight when she pulled back the bench hiding the little door in the wall, already unlocked and ready to be opened from her emotional outburst earlier that day.

Thinking herself quite mad but unable to look back now, Lydia embarked through the tunnel, scarcely giving her other darkroom more than a glance before she was bounding up the steps, sweating from the exertion on her sick, depleted body. The reward of what met her at the top was worth it.

There. Mother was here. She wasn't crazy.

"Mom," she cried, already wrapped up in her embrace. "I'm so sorry! I thought‒ I didn't think it was real. I thought it was a dream. The door‒ the door wouldn't let me‒"

"Shhh sh sh, oh no, darling," she cooed, wiping tears from the girl's dewy flushed cheeks. "None of that. There's nothing to fuss over. I'm right here, my love. Come, sit down. You have to eat something."

The pale sniffling girl was ushered toward the kitchen table and sat before a plate stacked high with flapjacks. The bowl of fresh fruit and saucer of premium maple syrup flanking the plate didn't make the prospect of eating any more attractive to the ailing Lydia. Uncomfortable with the idea of insulting her beloved mother, Lydia faltered. Before she could open her mouth to attempt to politely decline what she was sure was a delicious bounty, mother once more came to the rescue.

"First," she busied herself at the counter, stirring a generous spoonful of honey into a pretty china teacup, "drink this. It's made of a special blend of herbs that I collected and brewed just for you, my dearest darling! Witch hazel… and thistle… and sage…"

A contrarily cooling sensation swept across Lydia's entire body as she took that first sip. It was a miracle elixir, instantly dissolving any signs of fever or illness. She could smell again. She had energy. She could feel color returning to her cheeks. Suddenly, the food in front of her wasn't just pretty, it was appetizing. Enough to make her salivate, abandon the tea, and dig in.

"Thank you," she expressed her gratitude after swallowing down a second mouthful, immediate pressing hunger satisfied. Her mother had taken up mantle across from her; chin resting on her bony knuckles, watching Lydia eat with a soft smile, perfectly content. Her expression was so very gentle, so fond that Lydia hadn't any doubt that if her eyes were intact, they would be alight with pure, perfect love.

"Of course," mother returned, then recited, "mothers are supposed to feed daughters."

The tea had healed her illness, and food had given her energy and sustenance to look less dead, but the split on her lip was still damning and bright. Once it appeared Lydia was finished eating, Mother's smile broadened, baring teeth.

"Follow me. I want to… try something."

Lydia blinked, but followed, intrigued by the cryptic wording. Mother led her upstairs, past the photos of vacations that never happened featuring both her button-eyed biological parents that Lydia still found eerie and wrong, but wouldn't dare voice aloud and risk offending Mother. How could she blame her for missing Dad? And hating Delia.

Mother led her to the master bedroom, the one Delia shared with her father in the outer world. It was drastically different here. The walls were oil-slicked emerald and purple, like a jeweled beetle, and the coverings that dressed the bed were dark, luxurious silk, black and sleek. The furniture was similarly black, and Lydia's jaw dropped in wonder, eyes glittering.

"It's so gorgeous in here!"

Breaking away from Mother's affectionate, constant hold, Lydia ran straight for the bed and flopped back onto it childishly, eyes closed while she sucked in the scent. It smelled like cinnamon and chocolate and just a hint of fresh tobacco. Exotic and heady, not at all like the sharp clinical citrus or fresh linen Delia seemed to prefer.

"Delia would die if she saw it like this. I love it so much…"

Mother was fussing with an intricate box on the dresser, coming back moments later with a golden tube; lipstick. Ruby red.

"Come, come," Mother gestured for her to sit up and face her, uncapped the tube, and carefully began applying a silky, luxurious layer of crimson to her lips. Once she was done, she led Lydia to a wall-mirror, standing behind her and grinning proudly at their joint reflections. The split in her lip was disguised now. When she rubbed them together, she couldn't feel the roughness of a scab.

"Look at you. Gorgeous. Just like your mother."

Lydia hardly recognized herself with the splash of color across her mouth, yet had no choice but to agree. She was kind of… pretty. Wasn't she? She did look like Mother, and Mother was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Still, Mother was taller and curvier, more womanly. Maybe that's what she would look like one day.

If she wasn't so enthralled by Mother's enigmatic charisma, it might have occurred to her that she wasn't supposed to have a reflection.

"Enough of this, now," Mother tutted, leading her out of the master bedroom and back to Lydia's other-bedroom. Her better bedroom. "It's time for school. I've already got your new uniform and socks and shoes laid out for you."

Lydia couldn't hide her perplexion. "But… it's dark outside. And I hate school."

"This is your better school, darling," Mother returned easily as she was likened to, breezing past the girl to hold her uniform up to her, still on its hanger, as if imagining how her little dolly would look dressed up in it. "You'll have fun. I promise. If you don't, you never have to go again. But this time, I'm afraid I must insist…"

That seemed awfully fair, and the uniform was much cuter, with a slightly less modest skirt and a metallic bat emblem on the blazer. How could Lydia resist?

In the outerworld, Betelgeuse was immediately aware that something was amiss. He stayed in that arm chair for hours; chain-smoking, watching, waiting for something‒ anything‒ to happen. To the naked eye, nothing did. However, right around the witching hour, there was no mistaking the lack of warmth in his ring. She was gone.

But she wasn't! She was right there in front of him, breathing and living and sleeping just like all the other meatbags! He was incensed by the mystery and had to stop himself from shaking her awake, instead pacing mad circles around her bed, a hawkish gaze trained on her all the while. Her sleep didn't appear restless. She breathed deep and slow, eyes flickering beneath her lids to denote she was well into her dreams.

Astral projection maybe? Lydia seemed like the type that could pull that off without even realizing she was doing it. But why would that sever their connection? None of this shit made any sense! How was he supposed to protect her if he didn't know what was happening?

Eventually, he couldn't help himself. He had to wake her.

"Lyds…?" He let out in a gruff whisper, kneeling beside her prone form on the bed, snuggled up with her creepy little doll. A gritty claw drew down her cheek. Her unconscious form gave no indication that she heard or felt him. "Baby, c'mon… wake up, honey…"

Nothing. He would have to try harder then. Grimacing, he pat her face, escalating to single light slap when nothing worked. Still no response, and his cold heart froze further. Using his thumb, he peeled back one of her eyelids as if forcing her to see him would jolt her back to him. Nothing. She didn't give him a damn single reaction. Just kept breathing and sleeping and driving him mad. She may as well have been comatose.

"Damnit!" He growled, baring teeth and tearing himself away from her to suck down yet another cigarette. Either she was one hell of a heavy sleeper, or her soul just wasn't there anymore. As much as he would have liked to believe the former, the latter was what he knew to be true. The same fear that struck him in the waiting room held him in a chokehold now. It was all he could do to stop from crawling into the blankets next to her and clinging to her warm body as if that would bring her back to him.

Instead, he just sat beside her, stroking her hair gently and imagining all the horrible things he was going to do to whoever and whatever was causing this. It was a cold comfort.

"Where are you, Lyds…? Come back to me, baby…"

Lydia rode her bike to Miss Shannon's, same as she did every day with a decidedly eerie twist of a full moon and frigid night air to keep her company. Father and Delia never would have allowed her to gallavant around town this late at night. Winter River was strangely empty. The windows were dark on all the houses she passed, only streetlamps available to light the way. Everything outside of her usual route was murky and threatening, like dirty lake water disguising a sinkhole.

When she arrived at school, her jaw dropped. It was the light of the town. All the multitude of windows were lit up with red and black lights, some rooms strobing, and loud heavy metal music could be heard pounding through the walls. She didn't even bother locking up her bike, instead letting it drop to the ground, wheels still spinning as she approached the building mouth agape. Before she could get through the doors, three feminine cackles stopped her in her tracks, drawing her gaze to the sky where several girls she recognized from school were circling above her‒ on broomsticks.

"Like, Lydia Deetz, as I live and breathe!" Claire Fucking Brewster. Immediately on the defensive, Lydia held her bookbag to her chest as the girls descended, all wearing uniforms that matched her own. Flanking Claire were Prudence and Bertha, more polished and fashionable than their outerworld counterparts. They looked like they belonged in Claire's clique.

"Well?" The blonde giggled, before moving forward boldly and lacing her arm through Lydia's to lead her to class. "You don't want to be late, do you?"

"We're not friends," Lydia said, somewhat numb and disoriented, but not resisting. "None of us are friends. I don't have any friends."

"That's, like, the silliest thing I've ever heard," Claire laughed her off, hot pink button eyes gleaming under the blacklights of the hallways. "We're best friends! You must be talking about other Claire. She's a fucking bitch. Your Mom thought you would like me better this way!"

In a sort of daze, Lydia allowed herself to be escorted to class by her apparent friends. When they got to the classroom, she was amazed to see it decked out in neon lights and bean bags and band posters; not a desk or pencil in sight. Miss Shannon, however, was the biggest shock of all.

She was a glam metal goddess. Tight leather pants hugged her ankle to waist, a ripped crop top revealed her‒ gasp‒ bra straps, and her bright red hair had been teased and hairsprayed almost to the ceiling. Wicked, pointed red-flame glasses had replaced her signature coke-bottle lenses‒ no doubt hiding another pair of button eyes‒ and black lipstick framed her normally pinched but currently grinning mouth. Best of all, however, was the sleek black and white electric guitar strung over her shoulder.

Instead of smacking her ruler on the desk to get their attention, as all the other girls in class were chatting and giggling away‒ Claire, Bertha, and Prudence were going their best to engage her in idle chatter but Lydia was simply too overwhelmed by it all to be much of a conversationalist‒ Miss Shannon let loose a sweet guitar riff that deafened the room.

"Can anyone tell me what song that's from? Lydia?"

Unlike the other Miss Shannon, Lydia didn't feel put on the spot at all. She felt valued and appreciated for her knowledge. Besides, she knew that song anywhere.

"Rebel Rebel," she breathed with a wide grin. "David Bowie. One of my favorites."

"Is that right," the rock goddess smirked, nodding toward the microphone that stood where her desk should have. "In that case, I'll have you on vocals, Claire on drums, aaaaand Bertha‒ why don't you take bass."

In the outerworld, Lydia might have blanched at such a suggestion but things were different here. Without any hesitation, she was up front and center, pulse sounding in her ears at the sudden turn of events. Lydia loved to sing. She thought her voice was nice, but it was something she kept hidden because everyone else in her life was… not so nice. There would be no judgment here. Only fun, laughs, and good ol' fashioned rock n' roll.

They played for hours, switching it up every once in awhile so that other girls were singing and getting turns on the instruments. Those who weren't currently performing danced and partied along. It was like what Lydia imagined a real teenage wasteland party might be like‒ if she were ever invited to one. All that was missing was alcohol, drugs, and boys‒ but who needed any of that stuff?

Only once her voice started to strain and fingers started to chaffe from strumming did Miss Shannon ring in the end of the day and send them all home. Once more, Claire, Bertha, and Prudence escorted her to the parking lot, encouraging her to leave her bike behind so that they could give her a "ride" home.

Here, Lydia did hesitate.

"But… how? I don't… I've never…"

"It's like, so easy Lydia," Claire laughed, directing Lydia to sit behind her on her broom. There was plenty of space. "Just hold on tight! And don't look down!"

They were already floating up and away from the parking lot. Too late to change her mind now. Uneasy, but still excited, her grip tightened on the wooden handle until her knuckles turned white‒ and then they were off.

"Bubble bubble," Claire sing-songed, Bertha chiming "toil" then Prudence "trouble" with a devil-may-care smirk, before Claire lead them into a loop-de-loop in the cotton candy midnight clouds. Lydia shrieked joyously, and once they settled on the current again and she felt stable, she tightened her thighs around the broom, straightened her spine, and flung her arms out to feel the rush of the wind over her whole body. It was exhilarating.

All too soon, they landed before the porch of the house on the hill, the only house in town with lit windows.

"That was amazing!" Lydia extolled, skipping off the broom and into the yard before turning back to her witchy friends. "Everything here is amazing! Why can't real school be like that?"

Claire's perfect little nose twitched in amusement.

"Real school is like that, Lydia. Every day can be like this… if you want."

"Yeah, Lydia," Bertha joined.

"If you want," Prudence finished, all three of them astride their brooms once more.

"Buh-bye," Claire trilled, flying off into the moon with the echoes of Bertha and Prudence's laughter trailing behind.

"Did you have a good day at school, sweetheart?" Mother greeted an ecstatic Lydia at the door, the knowing smirk on her crimson mouth marking that she already knew the answer.

"The best," Lydia grinned, letting Mother guide her to the dinner table while she dove into the details of her day at Miss Shannon's School of Rock and enjoyed a plate of the fresh hot gourmet lasagna Mother had prepared for her and Other-Delia dished up, still garbed in her hilariously humiliating maid outfit. Lydia didn't think she would eve target tired of that. Other-Father was curiously absent from dinner, but Lydia couldn't bring herself to care or question it. She was used to his absences.

"‒ and then we flew home! On actual broomsticks like real witches!"

Humming with satisfaction, Mother drummed her long red nails on the table next to her empty plate.

"I'm so glad you see this as home, Lydia. I want this to be your home… but…" Lydia paused. Something in Mother's tone wasn't right. "I have to ask. Who is this… Betelgeuse?"

The hair at the back of her neck stood up and Lydia started, "No! Don't say his name!"

Mother simply arched a perfectly sculpted brow.

"He's… he's… it's complicated."

"And this isn't?" Mother waved her hand to indicate the world around them, all the magic and wonders she had shown her. "Try."

"He's… my husband." Mother's pleasant smile twitched but otherwise her expression was coolly maintained. "He's dead. Like you. But… not like you. He can do a lot, but I don't think he can do the things you can do." Or that you could do the things he can.

With that, Lydia delved into their history, how they were wed and why, how she hadn't seen him for years only for him to show up in her mirror out of the blue with little to no explanation what he was doing there. Throughout her explanation, Mother's smile slowly faded into a pinched sort of frown.

"I don't like this, Lydia."

"I mean," she used her fork to toy with leftover marinara on her plate, unable to meet Mother's shrewd button gaze, "... there's not a whole lot I can do about it. We can't get divorced, and I can't make him leave."

"Don't mistake me, darling. I know that. I just wouldn't want him to hurt you."

"He would never!" Why was she so sure of that? Because he was nice to her for one night? Still, in her gut she knew it was true. If Betelgeuse wanted to hurt her, he had more than enough opportunity. "He took care of me when I was sick. And he got mad that I was hurt. He doesn't want to hurt me."

"He forced you to marry him. You were a child. You're still a child." Mother made her way to the other side of the table to cup her face in a cold, soft palm. "He's a predator… why are you defending him?"

"I don't know." Lydia swallowed, mouth dry. "I just‒ I don't think he'll do anything bad like that… He promised me."

"And you trusted him?" Lydia didn't have an answer for that. Why did she trust him so easily? "Nevermind all that," Mother changed the subject, urging Lydia up and toward the stairs. "We'll talk about it later. You've had a long day so let's get you to bed."

Once more, Drac wished her sweet dreams while construction paper bats flew intricate patterns over her head to dance her from one dreamland into another.

Lydia awoke to wild green eyes hovering over her, clawed hands gripping her biceps, and the stench of smoke pilfering her room.

"Where were you?!"

He was inconsolable, shaking her just a bit with each word.

"Where were you?!" She returned just as adamantly, if groggy from sleep. Here, he frowned severely and backed off, brows furrowed.

"Th'fuck're you talkin' about? I was right here! I didn't go anywhere!"

"My ass," Lydia bit back, shrugging up and out of the sheets to rub the sand out of my eyes. "I woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone… and then…"

"And then what?"

"Then… forget about it. It's none of your business." With that, she attempted to move past him to her adjoining bathroom only to be stopped by a striped arm in her path. Scowling, she tried to duck under it only for him to catch her around the middle and bully her back into her bedroom.

"Lydia." That stopped her. He never used her real name before. Just cutesy nicknames and pet names he had no right to utter. "I did not leave this room. I dunno about you but I keep my promises. You made me promise not t'do nothin', so I didn't. I stayed right here. But you…"

He drew closer, frown deepening, and pet his thumb across her bottom lip.

"It's gone."

Her little catfight might as well have never happened. Her fever was gone too. That was explainable but her sudden superhuman healing capabilities absolutely were not. Growling, he took her by the shoulders and forced her back down to sitting at the edge of the bed. His uncharacteristically serious demeanor kept her from fighting him anymore.

"You've got some splainin' to do, little girl. Get to talkin'."