(no subject)
Who? Maisie
What? Reckoning.
When? Morning after the full moon in
grownhp6words
Where? That house of fun and mirth -- The Shrieking Shack
Why? Even the darkest night has a dawn.
Author's Note: For mun knowledge only.
Maisie wakes to something tickling her face. It's a little whisper of sensation when her entire body is highly attuned. It's driving her mad. She lifts a hand to swat whatever it is away but instead of being swatted it smears across her fingertips leaving a trail on her cheek.
Opening her eyes she looks down at her hand. Her mind doesn't register what the red stain is until the fresh copper scent hits her nose. Blood.
She pushes herself to sit up with shaky arms. Arms that sting and when she can focus on them she can get a clearer picture of herself. She's covered in blood.
The majority of the blood isn't hers.
No. No. No. The panicked matra starts on a loop in her head.
Looking around she knows immediately she's in the basement of the shrieking shack. Same as every month. Maisie always makes it a point to wake up in the shack, spend the morning asleep there before making her way back to the school. Just like every month.
Except this isn't like any other month. This time she's covered in blood. As she sits up, Maisie's tongue touches a tooth that wriggles a bit and then slips from her mouth without any force at all. She spits it out in a pool of blood and can see that it's one of the wolf's teeth. Sharp and overlong for her human mouth. Normally they recede back into her head...
Something knocked it loose.
She starts to run her hands over her face but they are covered in blood. She's covered in blood and as good as it must have smelled to her the night before -- now in the clear morning light it makes her stomach churn. She gets to her feet and stumbles into the bathroom on the first floor. Her feet slip on the tile and she just barely manages to catch sight of herself in the mirror before she starts vomiting.
By the time Maisie leaves the bathroom the walls and mirror are steamed over and every droplet of blood and fur and bone is washed from her body leaving it a maze of claw marks, bite marks, scrapes and bruises.
What did you do? What have you done?
She can't face the questions in the mirror. Can't face the mirror at all. The bathroom and the basement are scourgified a dozen times before she's satisfied nothing else remains.
A few minutes later she's bandaged enough to cover the worst of it and curled on the bed on the top floor of the shack. Her arms wrap around her legs and her cheek rests against her knees.
Think Maisie. Think. What happened?
It's cloudy. It's cloudy and wrong but she can't put her finger on where it went wrong or how. It reminds her of the picture games she played as a little girl. Look at a picture and remember as much as you can. Then look at the next picture and see what's missing. But she can't. She can't because she doesn't know what was there in the first place.
You have to remember...remember...where'd you go?
She'd left. Left the rest of them. She'd been running. Maisie could remember letting her legs move fast over the earth and feeling the moon in her heartbeat.
Then?
A sound. A calling. Something....so close the memory sits at the edge of her mind but won't be coaxed any closer.
They'd been running. Together. Then they weren't.
Her arms wrap more tightly around her legs as she curls tighter into a ball.
In her life, she'd never felt that way before.
Oh, the moon pulled at her. Even through the Wolfsbane it pulled and tugged at her. If the moon had a voice it would be Fenrir's a dirty gruff purr that sinks into her like a set of teeth...
Teeth. Flesh. Bone. Blood. Teeth. Flesh. Bone. Blood. Whose blood? Whose teeth? Whose flesh? Whose bones?
Maisie presses her hands over her ears but knows it won't stop. She can't stay in the shack anymore. Somehow it feels as if she's --- tainted it somehow. Like it doesn't belong to her now. She has to force herself to leave.
Outside, Maisie forces her heartbeat to slow. Her spine straight. Eyes focused. She can't be sick. She can't be frail. Most of all she can never talk about what happened.
Even if she knew.
What? Reckoning.
When? Morning after the full moon in
grownhp6words
Where? That house of fun and mirth -- The Shrieking Shack
Why? Even the darkest night has a dawn.
Author's Note: For mun knowledge only.
Maisie wakes to something tickling her face. It's a little whisper of sensation when her entire body is highly attuned. It's driving her mad. She lifts a hand to swat whatever it is away but instead of being swatted it smears across her fingertips leaving a trail on her cheek.
Opening her eyes she looks down at her hand. Her mind doesn't register what the red stain is until the fresh copper scent hits her nose. Blood.
She pushes herself to sit up with shaky arms. Arms that sting and when she can focus on them she can get a clearer picture of herself. She's covered in blood.
The majority of the blood isn't hers.
No. No. No. The panicked matra starts on a loop in her head.
Looking around she knows immediately she's in the basement of the shrieking shack. Same as every month. Maisie always makes it a point to wake up in the shack, spend the morning asleep there before making her way back to the school. Just like every month.
Except this isn't like any other month. This time she's covered in blood. As she sits up, Maisie's tongue touches a tooth that wriggles a bit and then slips from her mouth without any force at all. She spits it out in a pool of blood and can see that it's one of the wolf's teeth. Sharp and overlong for her human mouth. Normally they recede back into her head...
Something knocked it loose.
She starts to run her hands over her face but they are covered in blood. She's covered in blood and as good as it must have smelled to her the night before -- now in the clear morning light it makes her stomach churn. She gets to her feet and stumbles into the bathroom on the first floor. Her feet slip on the tile and she just barely manages to catch sight of herself in the mirror before she starts vomiting.
By the time Maisie leaves the bathroom the walls and mirror are steamed over and every droplet of blood and fur and bone is washed from her body leaving it a maze of claw marks, bite marks, scrapes and bruises.
What did you do? What have you done?
She can't face the questions in the mirror. Can't face the mirror at all. The bathroom and the basement are scourgified a dozen times before she's satisfied nothing else remains.
A few minutes later she's bandaged enough to cover the worst of it and curled on the bed on the top floor of the shack. Her arms wrap around her legs and her cheek rests against her knees.
Think Maisie. Think. What happened?
It's cloudy. It's cloudy and wrong but she can't put her finger on where it went wrong or how. It reminds her of the picture games she played as a little girl. Look at a picture and remember as much as you can. Then look at the next picture and see what's missing. But she can't. She can't because she doesn't know what was there in the first place.
You have to remember...remember...where'd you go?
She'd left. Left the rest of them. She'd been running. Maisie could remember letting her legs move fast over the earth and feeling the moon in her heartbeat.
Then?
A sound. A calling. Something....so close the memory sits at the edge of her mind but won't be coaxed any closer.
They'd been running. Together. Then they weren't.
Her arms wrap more tightly around her legs as she curls tighter into a ball.
In her life, she'd never felt that way before.
Oh, the moon pulled at her. Even through the Wolfsbane it pulled and tugged at her. If the moon had a voice it would be Fenrir's a dirty gruff purr that sinks into her like a set of teeth...
Teeth. Flesh. Bone. Blood. Teeth. Flesh. Bone. Blood. Whose blood? Whose teeth? Whose flesh? Whose bones?
Maisie presses her hands over her ears but knows it won't stop. She can't stay in the shack anymore. Somehow it feels as if she's --- tainted it somehow. Like it doesn't belong to her now. She has to force herself to leave.
Outside, Maisie forces her heartbeat to slow. Her spine straight. Eyes focused. She can't be sick. She can't be frail. Most of all she can never talk about what happened.
Even if she knew.