Lorraine was one of these people; Elizabeth was one of these people; Hayden was one; Thaddeus, no doubt, had started the trend just by way of being created.
Vivien puzzled over this often while she watched Lorraine close her burnt eyes and sip tea. She wasn't a person with the sort of chemical imbalances that would lead her to desire the harm of another human, and she was thankful, because that was Tate's territory, and she didn't want another one of those. Lorraine just had this tendency to want people to suffer as she did, to experience what she had gone through as fully as she did – fear, betrayal, and a desperate jump to control the circumstances in her life.
Perhaps this brought her a peace of mind or perhaps this made her feel less alone, perhaps it gave her satisfaction to know that her experience could be recreated and controlled, but it was still sadistic and there was nothing that the house loved more than sadism.
She didn't brag about it or speak about it. She was an odd-looking woman, but carried herself with an honest elegance that belied her willingness to care for her children and those around her, except for the breathing bodies who walked into the house.
Vivien never brought it up, it was a personal impulse and she accepted the fracture that trauma had opened in this kind woman's mind. She didn't want to irritate the mouth of that wound, but she always stepped in when Lorraine turned cruel towards guests.
For one, she wasn't allowed into rooms with guests in them because of the burns (which she refused to hide). She accepted this and stayed invisible, recognizing her pride as a sacrifice of socialization, skin smoking quietly in a corner where no one would bump into her. They'd see her smiling, watching the Harmons serve lunch to these unsuspecting visitors. They'd ask about the history, the exquisite woodwork and architecture, how much it had been. Vivien answers these happily, blonde curls falling around her face, hiding her vibrant smile between strands of flawless hair as she leans over to set the table.
Moira watched, sitting, and thought that Vivien made a perfect host. Beautiful, motherly, and with unbelievable conversational ability, especially with strangers – and she was so, so happy to have someone from outside visiting. Steady, sturdy, smart. Violet benefited so much from her care and rarely thanked her. A lot like Tate and Constance, she realized, noticing how Vivien put her whole body into laughter; almost a bit too much, as she slapped the visitor gently on the shoulder in jest.
The family always sat down with the guest. It was partially being involved, but the unspoken fine print was that it also signified a ring of protection. They were in range to lunge and defend all those pumping arteries, the flexing lungs, the memories and changing personality. You weren't invited. Don't you dare.