Chapter 6: Dr E. Walker, Psychiatrist Extraordinaire
~ Part 4: Serendipity is a Beautiful Word ~
(Seriously, look it up.)
Dorothy’s room is easily three times the closet I sleep in. I’m not jealous. I’m just a guest after all. That’s just an observation. I’m not that petty. She also has a huge fluffy bed with heaps of pillows and not hard mattress on the floor. Again, just observing. Did I mention the wardrobe, nightstand, mirror and padded rocking chair?
It singularly lack any toys however. Something I’ve been meaning to remedy.
When I enter, the little amnesiac psychopath is already tucked under her covers. She lies in wait atop her large adult-sized bed, with her head propped against a mountain of blue pillows. Her hair is loose and she’s staring at me. A faint greenish glow is falling through the open window, casting eerie shadows on her face.
Awww~
My cute little gremlin.
I cross the room, pick up the rocking chair in passing, and carry it closer to the head of the bed. I sit down and lean forwards, elbows on my knees and chin resting on my interlocked fingers. It’s not the Gendo pose, but close enough. Which reminds me I really should get around watching Neon Genesis Evangelion… I’m sure it would make for a great bedtime story. But that’s for another day.
After setting my voice into a low stage-whisper, I ask Dorothy a question.
“So… Have you ever heard the tale of ‘Snow White and the seven vertically challenged mean old drunk people’?”
…
……
………
What? It’s an educational tale.
A classic.
Indeed. Nothing unwholesome about it at all.
As expected, Dorothy silently shakes her head in denegation. Good. It’d be awkward if she already knew a story I’m about to make up. With a smile, I take a deep breath and begin my improvised variation upon a famous fairy tale. My exhaustion is momentarily forgotten as my brains begrudgingly switches to second gear.
“Here it is. Ahem… Once upon a time, in a faraway land…” Dorothy stirs, getting more comfortable in her hill of pillows. “There was lonely Queen living in a huge castle. She–”
“Why was she lonely?” Dorothy interrupt right away. “Was there no King?”
So it begins…
Please, kill me now.
I think she’s trying.
Why is it I’m the one most tired by these stories I tell her? I haven’t even finished the introduction that already the little question machine-gun is firing.
I’m ready for the sudden assault however and I dodge without missing a beat. “The King was dead. He had fallen off his wyvern and broken his neck a few years before.” A plausible situation. Off-screen familial death is such a plague in fictions. Especially Disney’s. The souls of all these unknown dead characters are what give his evil powers to Mickey Mouse.
Dorothy nods, satisfied with the answer. I continue.
“The lonely Queen was very beautiful. Very, very beautiful. All the men in the realm wanted to bed– I mean marry her, and all the women were jealous of her. And, yes, I know that sentence is both sexist and homophobic, but it’s an old fairy tale so nobody cares.”
“Wha–”
“But!” I interrupt the interruption. C-C-C-COMBO!! Or is it interruptception?
Interception?
“But sadly no one saw the Queen as who she truly was. The lonely Queen had nobody she could call a friend.”
“Poor Queen…”
“Yes,” I quickly acquiesce, unwilling to leave her room to elaborate. “She was sad and alone for years. Until one day, the lonely Queen remembered the existence of an ancient mirror gathering dust in a corner of the castle. So the Queen went to the mirror and asked–”
“She talked to mirrors?” a puzzled voice cuts sharply through my sentence.
I repress my budding annoyance and shrugs.
“Yes, she did. What can I say? She was a lonely woman with a stressful job, no anxiolytics and probably sexually frustrated.”
“What?”
“It was a magic mirror.”
“Oh.”
“So, the Queen asked to the magic mirror: ‘Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’” I mark a pause and add resentfully for myself in a low whisper: “Because at least she could get that incantation right.” I’m slightly resentful about one of my spells that happens to conjure a mirror.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I scratch my neck embarrassingly and cough a little to regain countenance. “Ahem. The Queen wanted to find the most beautiful person of the country. She thought: if there was a person prettier than she was, maybe she wouldn’t be jealous and then they could become friends? The mirror, after coughing a lot because of the dust, answered: ‘Famed is thy beauty, Majesty. But hold, a lovely maid I see. Rags cannot hide her gentle grace. Alas, she is more fair than thee.”
Dorothy giggles. “The mirror speaks funny.”
“Yeah, well… It’s a Shakespearian mirror.”
“A snake-pear-what?”
My eyebrows twitch.
“Do you want the rest of the story or not?”
“Yes…”
“Good.” *cough* “Excited by the mirror’s answer, the Queen ordered: ‘Speak! Reveal her name!’ to which the mirror answered again: ‘Lips red as the rose. Hair black as ebony. Skin white as snow.’ He then–”
“That’s not a name.”
Oh for the love of Walt Disney!
“Dorothyyyy,” I warn.
“Sorry…”
I nod indulgently. Though my indulgence is rapidly being eroded by fatigue.
“After his description, the mirror showed an image of the girl and then told the Queen her name. The girl’s name was Snow White. She was the King’s daughter, whom the Queen hadn’t seen in years.”
“The girl was called Snow White because her skin was white like snow?”
“Yes, as metaphor for purity before marriage. It’s a sexual thing.”
“Sessu-what?”
“Nothing…” I answer tiredly. My brain-to-mouth filters are shutting off. Now I am recalling clearly why I avoided bedtime stories for the past three days. Headaches still assault me at the simple remembrance of the inquisitive barrage that punctuated my retelling of the Little Mermaid, titled ‘Shut up and look pretty’.
Another classic cautionary tale against spouting bullshit.
One you definitely didn’t take to heart.
Ouch. Touché.
Anyway. I suppose I should be relieved that Dorothy doesn’t get sexual references… yet. It’s already bad enough that she asked me very educated questions about psychotropic drugs during my rendition of Alice in Wonderland…
I shake my head to clear my thoughts and go back to the current story. “Snow White, as she was called, was indeed beautiful, more so even than the Queen. Upon laying her eyes on such beauty, the lonely Queen, at first sight…” A small pause for suspense. Dorothy leans forwards expectantly. “She fell in love.”
“She fell in love?” Dorothy repeated with wide eyes.
“Yes.”
“But they are both girls!” There’s more incomprehension than outrage in her voice. Pure little thing she was... Errr, well. A selectively pure little thing.
“It doesn’t matter. Love conquers all,” I lie patiently.
Go tell that to the Trojans. They got conquered alright. Good job there Paris and Helen.
“Besides, lesbians are all the hype these days,” I add as an afterthought, eyes glazed.
Go Yuri. Go!
“Lez–?” Dorothy tilts her head. “But Snow White is the King’s daughter! So the Queen is her mother! It’s weird!” she insist.
Ahhhh~ Incest…
She’s not entirely wrong, but I kept smiling good-naturedly. “No. The Queen was Snow White’s step-mother, the King’s second wife, while Snow White was the daughter of the King’s first wife,” I explain patiently as I lift two fingers then one finger to underline my point. “Therefore, the Queen and Snow White weren’t related by blood. And everyone knows that everything is fair game as long as there’s no blood relationship.”
“Is that so?” She cocks her head in the other direction. I can see she’s still doubtful.
“Yes.” I nod with conviction. Hentais taught me so.
“Okay…”
*ting*
The Great God of Chaos approves of your corruption enlightenment of the innocents.
+1 Luck
“What the!” I jerk up in my chair, startled by the unexpected window that suddenly pops up in front of me.
“Big Brother?” Dorothy, who can’t see the blue floating rectangle, casts me yet another puzzled glance. Great, now she’ll think I’m weird.
“Ah. No, it’s nothing,” I reassure her, dismissing the window angrily. Corrupting the innocents? What’s that about? When did I ever do such a thing? Who was innocent anyway? “Stupid... Mmmh… Where was I…? Ah. Right.”
*cough*
“The Queen fell head-over-heels for Snow White. With butterflies in her stomach–”
“There were insects in her belly?! Doesn’t that hurt?”
Heavens help me, or I will make you choke this kid with her pillows.
“It’s an expression Dorothy. It means that when you’re in love, you feel tingly all over when you see the person you like. Your stomach do flips. Your legs grow weak. You see the world in pink… ‘n stuff…”
…Stuff. Yeah, sure. I’m not a very romantic person apparently.
Meh. You have your moments.
Thanks… I suppose?
“Sounds like being sick,” Dorothy chimes in.
“It’s a bit similar,” I concede. “Except you usually don’t want to get cured.”
“Like being sick but not wanting to get cured? So love make people stupid?” Dorothy looks deep in thought.
Out of the mouths of babes…
Then she looked directly at me. “Are you in love Big Brother?”
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
“…”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Buuuurn!!
You shut up.
Damn. That kid is far too smooth for her own good. But let’s ignore the jibe for now. I can be the better person and not get into an argument with an eight-year old.
“No I’m not. Not right now.”
“Then you’ve been in love before?”
…How did we even ended up with this conversation?
“Errr. I suppose?”
“You don’t know?”
“It’s difficult to say.”
“You didn’t feel all tingly… ‘n stuff?” she smirks.
That brat. She’s making fun of me, isn’t she? That little…
This has to be a statement of something. You just got mocked on romantic relationships by an emotionless toddler with no friend and no family aside from a single mother with the emotional capacity of a white shark. …If that’s not the world crying out to you, I don’t know what is.
I know. I know… But I refuse to let my mind dwell on it. It’s simply too depressing.
“No, Dorothy, not really. I didn’t feel all tingly ‘n stuff’.” I add the air quotations with my fingers and sigh. My previous tiredness is slowly seeping back in and my thoughts are getting more sluggish by the minute.
“It’s an idealised vision anyway. It doesn’t really happen much outside of mushy novels and fairy tales. If you want to know, I think love is less about strong emotions and morrr–*yaaaaawn* …more about mutual comprehension and being comfortable together... Love at first sight is bullshit, mostly. *yawn* There’s the issue of compatible personalities too… which doesn’t always means similar ones, though it can, sometimes. They say opposite attracts, but then opposites also tend to cancel and destroy each other. Take anti-matter for example… In the end, it’s all about balance… Ying-yang… feng shui maybe… err… well… kinda like… zzzzz…”
My mind is now fully astray, and I have completely forgotten about the little girl who I am technically trying to put to sleep. In fact, I’m the drowsy one here.
“Big Brother?”
“Whoa!” My head jerks up in surprise. I didn’t even notice I had been dozing off.
I rub my eyes and shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. “Owsh.” It proves to be a mistake. My eyes are still sore from the earlier beating and fast movements doesn’t mix well with migraine. “Sorry Li’l Sis. Where’z I… Where was I again?”
Ironically for an amnesiac, Dorothy has an excellent memory, so I know I can trust her to keep better track of a conversation than I do.
“You were at the part were the Queen fell in love with her step-daughter, who was named Snow White because of a… sessual thing?” She tilts her head at the end, probably unsure of the terminology.
“…right.”
When she puts it like this, the God of Chaos’ notice seems less out-of-nowhere all of a sudden. It wasn’t my intention though, I swear!
*Yaaaawn~*
Stay awake Elric. If you sleep now you won’t get to log out and you’ll regret it tomorrow morning.
“Sorry… So, the Queen, having fallen in love with Snow White…” I pause to allow Dorothy the time to recline back in her pillows. “The Queen called for her best hunter and told him: ‘Go, and find Snow White, for I want to take her heart like she took mine.’ She was feeling poetic… Unfortunately, the hunter was a bit dumb and he thought the Queen wanted him to kill Snow White and rip her heart out of her chest to bring it to the Queen.”
“How could he make a mistake like that?”
“Beats me…” I let out a sigh that quickly turned into a yawn. “Fortunately, Snow White was a strong woman… She was strong because… err… because… Because she had been working in the castle with the servants for years… because… she was in fact the King’s illegitimate daughter!”
I’m getting off track again, but I can’t explain myself why the princess would be wearing rags, like the mirror pointed out, in the setting I created.
And why would the Queen ask a hunter to get Snow White if Snow White was… already… in the castle… Okay. Not pertinent. Keep going.
“Snow White escaped the hunter and ran away into the forest. As for the hunter, he was hanged until death by order of the Queen.”
“He was?”
“Yes. Because attempted murder is bad.” Here. I did say this is an educational tale. This is the first moral of the story: Murder, bad. Simple enough. “Sadly for Snow White, it was too late. She was now lost in the forest. She erred for days in the scary woods, tripping on roots and rocks and without any food, until she became a bloody mess, exhausted, thirsty and famished to the point of insanity. By that point she was running away from trees and talking to squirrels.”
Dorothy casts me a funny look, but for once doesn’t comment.
“This was the state the vertically challenged people found her in, deep in conversation with a skunk, sitting in the mud while hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. The men were seven, and all members of a strange sectarian brotherhood where everyone is named after a single character trait.”
“What were they called?”
“They were called Narcoleptic, Anger Issue, Mucus, Stoner, Coward, Know-It-All, and Autist. And they did what every group of middle-aged hairy single men would do when finding a lone helpless beautiful female with ripped clothes in the middle of the woods…”
There, I hesitate, letting a speck of silence hang in the air as I consider making this story take a very dark and trashy turn. I eventually decide against it. See, I can be sensible when necessary.
“…They dragged her home and forced her to work for them! Doing chores, cooking, launder their dirty socks and such.”
“Like a slave?”
“Yes.” I nod drowsily. “Yes Dorothy, exactly like a sla–” My mind finally catches up. “…Err, Dorothy, where did you learn all this?”
“Mama told me.”
Of course she did.
“She said slaves are people who are tools,” the little girl adds matter-of-factly.
“…”
Words fail me to qualify this level of unappropriated parenting. Should I tell her that slavery is bad? Probably. But do I want to risk going against Martha’s teachings? …Yeah. Nope. Besides, she didn’t say exactly what she was told about slavery except the basic definition. Maybe she knows it’s bad. But will I ask her to confirm? Nope. Ignorance is a kiss. Didn’t know. Not my fault. I’m not guilty your Honour! Is it this bad really anyway? It’s all about cultural differences.
Gear up, my daring comrades, and let’s run away!
Shut your trap. I’m tired.
Comfortably reaffirmed in my cowardly ways, I return to my educational story. “However, the Queen, using her magical mirror, quickly found where Snow White was. She decided to go and get her herself. So she brewed a magic potion…”
“She could do that?”
“She was a magic Queen.”
“Oh.”
“She made a potion that would turn her temporarily ugly, so that she could sneak out of the castle unnoticed. Also, the Queen wanted Snow White to love her for herself, for who she was inside, and not only for her superficial beauty. Because, you know Dorothy, you shouldn’t love people only based on their looks.”
And that’s moral number two.
“But didn’t the Queen fall in love with Snow White only because Snow White was pretty? She didn’t even remembered she existed before the mirror told her.”
“…”
Girl got a point.
“Shut up kid. It’s my story.”
Brilliant example of maturity.
Shut up you too.
…What did I do to deserve this?
Plenty.
And stop with the judgemental stare, Dorothy. Big Brother will cry, you know?
“Ahem… Hehehe… Sooo… When the Queen, now ugly because of the potion, arrived at the short people’s cottage, she was lucky because only Snow White was awake. The seven men laid passed out on the ground, having drank beer and… yodelled all night long.”
“They yodelled?”
How does she even know about yodelling? Is it part of the standard assassin training these days?
Well, it would certainly destabilize the target… Imagine someone coming out of the shadows of your bedroom, in the middle of a moonless night, dressed entirely in black, and yodelling. Nobody would know how to react to that.
…Right. Dorothy.
“For some reason, yes, they yodelled. People have the strangest hobbies…” I shrug.
Dorothy seems to contemplate on that statement for a while.
“I see. You can continue Big Brother.”
“…”
I don’t like the way she’s looking at me like she suddenly understood something.
“Err…” Whatever. “At first, Snow White was startled by the ugly old woman who suddenly appeared by the window. Who wouldn’t? The girl almost fainted. Poor Snow White. She still was pretty traumatised and spend most of her days singing about loving brooms.” I shake my head. “Poor, poor Snow White… And poor Queen who discovered the woman she loved had gone cuckoo.”
I’m a bit losing the point of my story – again – but a quick glance at Dorothy confirms she’s still handing to my every words. So it doesn’t really matter.
“The Queen, however, didn’t lose courage. She came back every day to talk with Snow White. Each times she brought little presents, or food, like cookies and apples. Slowly, but surely, Snow White recovered. After a week, she stopped believing she was in love with her broom. After two weeks, she realised that birds didn’t answer her back. After three weeks, she accepted that trees weren’t conspiring with driftwood to kill her. And, after a month of constant courting, she finally accepted the love of the Queen, as well as a very big red apple.”
“A red apple?”
“Of course. The apple is an allegory for sex.”
“Sex?”
“Yes, Dorothy, the apple means sex. Like in the Bible.”
“The what?”
“Some book written by an old guy named Yhwh, allegedly.”
“Who?”
“Will you stop interrupting me?!”
“…”
“Good. So… After Snow White and the Queen got married–”
“There were two queens then?”
MGNABTEPGHJGEFRREHBABGRAAAA!!! WHERE ARE TABLES WHEN THEY NEED TO BE FLIPPED?!!?!
I silence a cry of despair and slowly massage the brink of my nose. “No. The Queen was the Queen, and Snow White was the Royal Consort. Happy?”
“Okay~”
Don’t “okay~” me, you little annoying psychotic piece of imp! Ahhh. …I’m tired. Really, really tired.
“So, like I was saying… After the marriage, Snow White, now Royal Consort, condemned the short people to go work until their death in the diamond mines, to pay for the many crimes they had committed in the past… Well, officially at least.”
I lower my voice further and shook a conspiratorial finger. “In fact it was mostly for revenge. The evidence of their crimes was forged by Snow White and the Queen. But nobody cared because the short people were mean and drunk and unemployed, while the two monarchs were too beautiful. So everyone forgave them. Like Boa Hancock.”
“Who?”
“A hot pirate empress who likes to wear very revealing clothing.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Big Brother.”
“Don’t worry, it doesn’t concern little girls. Only hormonal teenagers with unfulfilling love lives.”
“Like you, Big Brother?”
“…I’m not a teenager.”
“I understand even less.”
“It’s normal.”
“Is it?”
Obviously completely lost by my non-explanation, she cocks her head to the side, again. She’s going to get herself a stiff neck if she continues. But it’s cute. I must also admit, I am toying with her a little. Confusing people is a guilty pleasure of mine. Mmmh… Okay. Maybe not a “guilty” pleasure. Just a pleasure. Although, in my defence, most of the time I’m not even doing it on purpose.
“Yes it’s normal… And thus, the Queen and Snow White lived happily ever after, as the despotic tyrants of a kingdom going to its ruin. Every day they enjoyed the luxury of the castle and ate lots and lots of ‘apples’ at night. Meanwhile their people worked day and night, starving, cold and afraid. The End.”
I raise from my chair and carry the seat back to the other side of the room. “Now sleep, Baby Sis. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I gently kiss her forehead.
“Big Brother?”
“Yes?”
“What about the Prince?”
“What prince?”
“The Prince. Snow White was a princess right? There’s always a prince in stories about princesses.”
Is there? And who decided of that very arbitrary rule?
“Not in mine, Sis.” I shake my head. I’ve been doing that a lot. I shouldn’t. It hurts. Damned headache. “Girl Power remember? Strong women should never need no man to kick ass.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep, just look at your Mama. Now sleep. It’s late.” For everyone, I refrain from adding.
“Big Brother?”
I sigh. “Yes?”
“Your stories are weird.”
“…”
“But I like them.”
Despite my tiredness and growing impatience, I can’t stop a weary smile from spreading on my lips. Have you ever heard something sweeter?
“Thank you Cupcake. Now really, sleep. Big Brother is tired too. You’re a big girl aren’t you? You won’t need Big Brother to keep you company all night, will you?”
Please say no.
I watch with relief Dorothy shake her head sideways, then burrowing deeper into the cloud of pillows. Suddenly I remember my resolution to give her more toys to play with and an idea suddenly strikes me.
With a wave of my hand, I retrieve the last plush toy in my inventory. It’s the reproduction of a monster from Hell. I think it suits her. …Ah. Not because it’s a monster from Hell… No, okay, maybe a little, but not only because of that… The toy represents the downsized puppy version of a [Border Collie Hellhound]. It’s really cute, for a demoniac man-eating dog from Hell.
In its true form, the canine monster looks almost exactly like a normal Border Collie – except for its three metres of height, solid blood-red orbs in place of eyes, poisoned sabretooth-like fangs, and petrifying fire breath.
Really, details, details…
Of course, the plush puppy is harmless. Probably. I think. Should be. I mean, it’s always a bit of a gamble when using monster parts in crafting. But I have yet to encounter any problem with my collection of monster dolls.
Didn’t one get possessed by an evil spirit once?
That… totally doesn’t count. It had nothing to do with the materials. Yes, I probably shouldn’t have sewed the toy next to an abandoned sacrificial altar still coated in ancient dried blood and surrounded by piles of bones, but in my defence it was raining. That cave was the only shelter close by. Plus I was bored.
I wonder where that guy went after that…
He said something about ‘laying waste to the known world’, but I don’t think anyone would have taken a pink fluffy unicorn-kitten seriously…
Probably not.
My eyes return to the toy puppy in my hand. I consider this one a personal masterpiece, last creation of the “Fluffy Monsta-tan” series. I sewed the items of that collection six in-game months ago, all with materials which could on average bankrupt a small noble estate.
But shhhhh. Don’t tell the kids. At least the toys are durable. Damaging the hide of a godbeast is rather difficult after all.
I am quite proud of this particular puppy. The black and white fluffy exterior is made out of the fur of the actual demonic hellhound. I encountered the beast and defeated it during my short incursion in Hell. I didn’t stay long. The place was unexpectedly boring.
For the eyes, since using the actual red globes of the hellhound would have been gross and unhygienic, I put instead ruby pearls obtained from a pair of [Cannibal Oysters of Hades], fished during a swim in an underground lake of sulphur. And I’d like to mention they really were cannibal oysters, not anthropophagus ones. This important distinction made for a strange spectacle to behold.
Finally, the stuffing was the fur of the [Black Demon Goat “Baaarbaaaara”] whom I befriended by offering her the bloody cadaver of a moronic PKer. The murderer was slightly overcooked for my tastes, but hot sauce helped. Baaarbaaaara seemed to appreciate tabasco too. She was a hot lady. For a sheep. And her cashmere was top quality too. Highly fire-resistant.
All said and done, I died seven times just to gather the materials for this plush hellhound. The result should be worth a small fortune. I’d say at least enough to buy a comfortable mansion in the best area of any capital city. And it really is absurdly durable, especially against fire. Lava wouldn’t damage it. Dragon breathe, perhaps. But I have my doubts.
First and furthermost though, it’s sinfully cute. And fluffy.
With a smile, I step closer to the bed and nest the doll next to Dorothy’s head. “Here, he’s all yours, Little Sis. His name is… err… Toto… the Second. Yep. Toto the Second. Take good care of him.” I think I saw her twitch slightly at the name, but I’m too exhausted to pay much attention. I pat her head, and am about to leave when I’m stopped in my tracks.
“Why ‘the Second’?”
“Mmmmh…” I’m not sure how to answer. “Why?’ you ask…”
What about answering: “Because I melted ‘the First’ in a river of tormented souls? And I smiled and acted silly while I watched it scream in agony?”
Haha… I can’t say that, can I?
Your call.
“Errr… Because the first one was an obscure cross-reference joke that didn’t live long?”
Yeah. Because that answer is sooo much better.
However, one thing only seems to retain Dorothy’s attention.
“He died?” She looks faintly troubled for some reason.
“Ah…” Again, I feel unsure. “Yes. An unfortunate incident. So unfortunate. Unfortunately so.”
“Okay.” She lifts up the red-eyed toy before hers, and gave it a wavering smile. “He-Hello Toto the Second. Happy to meet you. I-I’m Dorothy. Let’s be friends.” Then she hugs the plush, buries her face into its fluffy back and fall in her pillows, her own back to me.
Struggling against my fatigue-clouded brain, I stare, puzzled, at the curious display. That she acts cute isn’t anything new, but I can’t recall her ever stammering. Stammer is usually a manifestation of uncertainty or emotional overload, not something Dorothy should be able to suffer from.
“Dorothy?”
Only silence answered back. Asleep already?
“Little Sis?”
Still no answer. I shrug and, after a mumbled “Goodnight”, I move away, raising my hand towards the door.
*sob*
The muffled cry echoes behind me, almost too faint for notice. I freeze, suddenly wide awake. Before I’m able to register what I am doing, I am back kneeling by Dorothy’s bedside and reaching out to gently touch her shoulder.
“Baby Sis? What’s wrong?”
Still clutching to the toy like a shipwrecked sailor to a piece of driftwood, the little girl slowly turns towards me.
“Bih-ih-ig Broh-other…” her voice comes out low and broken. I am stunned to see the tears rolling sideways across her face. Without thinking I wipe them off with my thumb. With my hand, I cup her wet cheek.
She hiccups again. “Dead… they all… Mom… Dad… Toto… They– waaaaaah!”
I drag myself up to sit onto the bed. I lift her small trembling body in my arms, cradling and rocking her as her muffled cries transform into full blown wails. My shirt feels damp where Dorothy’s face is pressed against my chest, but I couldn’t have cared less. I am far too busy being confused by what is happening, and by not having a clue about how to deal with a crying child. I’ve always handled sadness horribly, mine or others’.
Hoping to find some kind of answer in the night sky, I raise my gaze towards the window… and nearly die instantly of a heart-attack.
There, right outside, straight and immobile in the underworldly glow of the green mountain, staring at me, who is holding the crying little girl on top of her bed, with two unblinking cold pale blue eyes that would scare the life out of the Grimm Ripper themselves, stands Martha.
With a raised axe.
* * * * *