Redemption (3/3)interrobamAugust 13 2012, 00:56:34 UTC
She watches: paralyzed, bleeding, afraid, as the dog bows its head to the baby in the basket. As the blood and screaming fills the air. Cruella struggles to her feet and her life pumps hot out of her arm, cradled unconsciously to her stomach. Her knees feel tight, unresponsive like a doll's, as her sister cries and cries, as the dog feasts and feasts. She wants to be brave, she thought she could be brave. Her stockings feel warm and wet over her wooden joints: she's wet herself. Cruella yells for her papa, her mama, but she is too far into the woods, too far into her sanctuary, to be saved. What feels like an eternity later, once the crying has stopped and given way to crunching and gurgling, Cruella unsticks her bloody bones and tackles the animal nearly her size, beats it away with her fists and her mourning cries. Appetite sated, the dog glances briefly at the wailing thing at its side and slowly makes its way back into the shrubbery. Cruella gathers the pieces of her sister into the basket: she carries them carefully, all the way home, without giving the scraps that once formed Pamela a single glance, her body low with terror.
When they catch the dog they cut open its stomach. There is the meat of many animals, some bones and rocks, a tiny ragged ear. An ear from the head Pamela used to have. An ear that sums up everything she could have, should have saved. Her mother sobs all night and all day, her papa beats her with a sapling until she blisters. Beats her until the wild Cruella, Cruella of the garden, is dead. Cruella spends long nights awake: afraid of her nightmares, guilt ridden as a murderer in a cathedral. She knows now what she is: a coward and a worm, a useless guardian unfit for love, a rat far removed from redemption. She is not worthy of the pirate boys, the liontamer girls: she scribbles charcoal over their painted eyes, she puts their books away where they cannot pass judgment upon her.
At the end of the month a box comes to their doorstep: inside it is the dog with the spotted coat, fashioned into a rug. The body they can readily display, the open casket they never got, the only remaining memento of the second De Ville child. It was her father's idea: her mother calls it gruesome, demands it be put into the attic, away from her. The eldest and only daughter, the shame ridden survivor, waits until they retire to the parlor to argue before daring to approach it. She turns up her nose like she has studied her aunts doing, wipes her velvet shoes on the hide.
Oh my goodness... I don't even know what to say. I'm not sure what I had in mind when I wrote that prompt, but never could I have seen such a gruesome and tragic yet engaging story in Cruella's childhood. Thank you so much for this peek into a possible explanation for Cruella's obsession with furs and rather lose grip on sanity. Your writing is so rich and full, peppered with details that really drew me into the world of this lonely child. I especially liked the "tight and suffocating hug" simile in the opening as it really set the tone, and the way she scribbles over the eyes of the children of her books was such a sad and broken childlike image. Poor thing doesn't know how strong and brave she is, tackling a huge dog to try to save her sister, even if she was afraid... Once again, I thank you! I'll have this story in mind whenever I see Cruella from now on.
I'm so glad you like it! Your appreciation of the little details I put into this fic makes me feel warm and fuzzy. And I will admit, writing this changed the way I saw Cruella too.
When they catch the dog they cut open its stomach. There is the meat of many animals, some bones and rocks, a tiny ragged ear. An ear from the head Pamela used to have. An ear that sums up everything she could have, should have saved. Her mother sobs all night and all day, her papa beats her with a sapling until she blisters. Beats her until the wild Cruella, Cruella of the garden, is dead. Cruella spends long nights awake: afraid of her nightmares, guilt ridden as a murderer in a cathedral. She knows now what she is: a coward and a worm, a useless guardian unfit for love, a rat far removed from redemption. She is not worthy of the pirate boys, the liontamer girls: she scribbles charcoal over their painted eyes, she puts their books away where they cannot pass judgment upon her.
At the end of the month a box comes to their doorstep: inside it is the dog with the spotted coat, fashioned into a rug. The body they can readily display, the open casket they never got, the only remaining memento of the second De Ville child. It was her father's idea: her mother calls it gruesome, demands it be put into the attic, away from her. The eldest and only daughter, the shame ridden survivor, waits until they retire to the parlor to argue before daring to approach it. She turns up her nose like she has studied her aunts doing, wipes her velvet shoes on the hide.
Cruella's redemption will come in blood.
She is certain of it.
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Once again, I thank you! I'll have this story in mind whenever I see Cruella from now on.
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I've read several of your fills now, and I must say, I really love your writing.
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I'm glad you're enjoying my fills. :D
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