Screaming loud enough to turn back the wind. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatawaytoburn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2012-07-25 09:09 pm
whatawaytoburn) wrote in rainbowfic2012-07-25 09:09 pm
Quill Grey: Writing is a struggle against silence
Name: Charley
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: Quill Grey (Writing is a struggle against silence)
Supplies: Eraser (Pollyverse)
Word Count: 519
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual violence, implied kidnapping.
Summary: Molly and Annabelle write letters, only Annabelle wants to send hers.
In the silence, after He’s gone to sleep and she’s laying at his side, curled into herself, Molly (never Annabelle, always Molly) writes letters in her head. She tells stories and composes words to all the people she used to know. She’ll never write them down, never send them because she knows that nothing good will come of it but she can’t help but scrawl them out in the walls of her mind.
Annabelle reads them, reads the things Molly says to Jim, to Vincent, to Victoria and Percival and Tristan and everyone else. She whispers the words back to Molly to try and lull her into relaxation but it never quite works out. She only makes Molly cry, makes her tear up and want to scream.
So Annabelle reads the letters but does so quietly and to herself.
They always end with the same thing, the letters, always finish off with a simple ‘I love you, I miss you. Find me soon.”
Molly can’t think of any other way to end them, no matter how hard she tries. She can’t think of a good way to wrap up her tales and her woes and her pain and everything else, so she keeps ending them the same way, not bothering to attempt anything else becuase why bother?
It’s all she wants to say in the end anyway, the rest of it is just padding.
Annabelle tries to write her own letter once, tries to scrape together enough words and memories from Molly to write a coherent letter to Jim.
It comes o9ut wrong. s
“He touches me the way I want you to,” she writes in the small space of their mind that she has to herself. “His hands to8uch me everywhere, not leaving a single spot unexplored. I can feel him now, wiggling his fingers inside me.
It’s not about sex, it’s about possession. Its not about love, it’s about claiming.
I want you to claim me, just like you claimed her. Like you claimed Vincent and everyone that matters to you. I want to matter to you.”
It’s not good enough, not right and it makes her angry, amkes her wnat to scream. All she wants is to belong to someone that’s not him, to feel someone’s hands on her that aren’t His. She’ll never be good enough though, never be Molly or have the things that Molly has.
She’s doomed to be His and His alone, she’s going to die being his.
And then she scratches out everything she’s written, smiling bitterly the entire time.
“Dear love,” she writes because that’s what he likes to be called most of the time. Love, at least when it’s not Daddy.
“Fuck you. Fuck you and your family line. Fuck you and the people who made you into what you are. Fuck you and everything you’ve ever touched.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
Then she stares at what she’s written, considers it and smiles.
One day, maybe, this will be a letter that she gets to send, even if Molly never wants to send any of hers.
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: Quill Grey (Writing is a struggle against silence)
Supplies: Eraser (Pollyverse)
Word Count: 519
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual violence, implied kidnapping.
Summary: Molly and Annabelle write letters, only Annabelle wants to send hers.
In the silence, after He’s gone to sleep and she’s laying at his side, curled into herself, Molly (never Annabelle, always Molly) writes letters in her head. She tells stories and composes words to all the people she used to know. She’ll never write them down, never send them because she knows that nothing good will come of it but she can’t help but scrawl them out in the walls of her mind.
Annabelle reads them, reads the things Molly says to Jim, to Vincent, to Victoria and Percival and Tristan and everyone else. She whispers the words back to Molly to try and lull her into relaxation but it never quite works out. She only makes Molly cry, makes her tear up and want to scream.
So Annabelle reads the letters but does so quietly and to herself.
They always end with the same thing, the letters, always finish off with a simple ‘I love you, I miss you. Find me soon.”
Molly can’t think of any other way to end them, no matter how hard she tries. She can’t think of a good way to wrap up her tales and her woes and her pain and everything else, so she keeps ending them the same way, not bothering to attempt anything else becuase why bother?
It’s all she wants to say in the end anyway, the rest of it is just padding.
Annabelle tries to write her own letter once, tries to scrape together enough words and memories from Molly to write a coherent letter to Jim.
It comes o9ut wrong. s
“He touches me the way I want you to,” she writes in the small space of their mind that she has to herself. “His hands to8uch me everywhere, not leaving a single spot unexplored. I can feel him now, wiggling his fingers inside me.
It’s not about sex, it’s about possession. Its not about love, it’s about claiming.
I want you to claim me, just like you claimed her. Like you claimed Vincent and everyone that matters to you. I want to matter to you.”
It’s not good enough, not right and it makes her angry, amkes her wnat to scream. All she wants is to belong to someone that’s not him, to feel someone’s hands on her that aren’t His. She’ll never be good enough though, never be Molly or have the things that Molly has.
She’s doomed to be His and His alone, she’s going to die being his.
And then she scratches out everything she’s written, smiling bitterly the entire time.
“Dear love,” she writes because that’s what he likes to be called most of the time. Love, at least when it’s not Daddy.
“Fuck you. Fuck you and your family line. Fuck you and the people who made you into what you are. Fuck you and everything you’ve ever touched.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
Then she stares at what she’s written, considers it and smiles.
One day, maybe, this will be a letter that she gets to send, even if Molly never wants to send any of hers.
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I disagree! That was heart aching beautiful.
As was the rest of the fic. Even the fucks. Thank you for posting.
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I really like Annabelle reading the letters that Molly writes even though they're only in her mind.
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And I like how Annabel reads Molly's letters. How they write the letters in their mind!
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