Her innocence is faux, it’s a play, acting, a performance, there is nothing truly innocent about her at all. She’s just very good at showing the world what they think they should see.
And, truly, none of the women they gave me were innocent either, but Maya, she was. It’s why I hated her even more than the ones that came before her. Why when I killed her it was more brutal than it needed to be, more mocking. Because that’s what it was when she was offered to me, a mockery of what Nellie and I had.
It was only after her that The Obsidian decided against trying out any more, and left Gore to deal with me, another one of his tasks, this time not for his Pair, but for his future leadership. It’s why I won’t fuck up, now that I’ve got Penelope here, I’ll be good, for my brother, for his future.
For all of our futures.
“That can’t happen again,” Gore says, coming to stand beside me, his eyes also directed out onto the trees. “Someone could have seen her.”
“I know.”
“She was lucky,” he pauses, taking a slow, deep breath, his hands sliding into his pockets as I turn my head just slightly in his direction, finding his eyes now on mine. “You are not.”
Something else I also know but say nothing in response.
“Milus will assume you had something to do with Thomas’s disappearance when he comes home and finds him gone. He will assume that it is her that has triggered it. Your…rebellion.He will poke and prod and leave no stone unturned, she will be his target, to get at you, even more now than before.” The lump in my throat sticks, keeping me silent, my fingers biting into theornate stone railing, gargoyles and demons carved into the bars supporting it. “You need to keep your head. Remember what is important, Billy.” Jaw tight, I nod once, a slow dipping of my chin. “I take it you have not explained things to her.”
I sigh, dropping my elbows to the stone edge and burying my face in my hands, “Not really, but yes.”
“So, no.”
I smile at that, huffing a half-laugh through my nose.
“Dolly will tell her things,” Gore doesn’t move, doesn't seem to breathe, “that will scare her.” There’s a long pause, and then, “She will traumatise her with all of the things we live and breathe, brother, she willterrifyher.” He breathes in deep, sharply, at my exhale, “That’s why you let her go.” It’s almost a whisper, those final words, then a low dark chuckle, his realisation, “You want her to be frightened.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I snap back, feeling myself tremble. “If you could go back, if you could,” I sniff hard, “prepare Dolly bette-”
Gore’s words are lightning fast, cutting me off, “There is no preparation for the depravity that lives inside our father, you know that.”
It’s the first time in years I’ve heard Gore refer to Milus as our father, Father Black as the congregation refers to him, yes, but Father as in biological, no. It stills me, my every word dying on my tongue, a sourness sharp on my palate. I swallow acid, bile torching my oesophagus.
“Dolly’s memories, her thoughts, they are…different,things are not as they once were inside her head. She is not going to help prepare Penelope, Billy.”
“I want her to obey me!” I find myself screaming in temper. “I want her to follow me, I want her to listen,” I hiss the last word, pounding my fist to my chest, thumping my heart. “To tell the fuckingtruth, Gore! I want her to fuckinglive!” That last word is roared, my greatest fears spilling out of my mouthin an emotional outburst, not something I am known for, not something I do. “I need her to survive, Gore.” I swallow, forcing myself to take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I breathe out through my nose, nice and slow, “There is nothing else here for me, nothing else out there, nothing but her.”
The floor length velvet drapes block out the slow rise of the early morning sun when she gets back.
Penelope’s long dark hair is matted, hanging in her face, strands tangled across her throat, a smudge of dirt kissing her cheek. An oversized dark coloured hoodie is pulled overtop of her nightdress, white crew socks wrinkled where they’ve fallen down her claves, and matching white converse unlaced, all of it caked in mud.
And yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
And she’s mine.
Nellie closes the door softly, her back resting against it as she turns into the room, chest rising as she pulls in a long deep breath. Those big brown eyes finally lifting unto mine.
“Hello, Little Lamb,” my voice is low, quiet, calm, the exact opposite to what I’m feeling.
“Billy,” she breathes with something like relief, striking my heart like a dagger as she presses forward from the door, her feet moving her closer.
That’s when I see it.
All the dirt.
The dried blood.
The dark hollows beneath her eyes.
All evidence of what she’s done.
