โ˜‚๏ธŽ๏ธŽ HOUSE OF SHADOWS โ˜‚๏ธŽ๏ธŽ - fi...

By bibli_o_phile

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"๐˜ˆ-๐˜ˆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ญ?" "๐˜ฟ๐™ค ๐™„ ๐™ก๐™ค๐™ค๐™  ๐™ก๐™ž๐™ ๐™š ๐™Ž๐™–๐™ฉ๐™–๐™ฃ?" "๐˜-๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ถ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข๏ฟฝ... More

* ๐™ฐ ๐™ป๐šŽ๐š๐š๐šŽ๐š› ๐š๐š˜ ๐™ฝ๐š˜ ๐™พ๐š—๐šŽ *
* ๐™ฒ๐šŠ๐šœ๐š *
* - ๐™ฑ๐šŽ๐š๐š˜๐š›๐šŽ ๐š†๐šŽ ๐™พ๐š๐š๐š’๐šŒ๐š’๐šŠ๐š•๐š•๐šข ๐™ฑ๐šŽ๐š๐š’๐š— - *
* ๐š†๐šŽ ๐™พ๐š—๐š•๐šข ๐š‚๐šŽ๐šŽ ๐™ด๐šŠ๐šŒ๐š‘ ๐™พ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š› ๐šŠ๐š ๐š†๐šŽ๐š๐š๐š’๐š—๐š๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ต๐šž๐š—๐šŽ๐š›๐šŠ๐š•๐šœ *
* ๐š†๐šŽ๐š•๐šŒ๐š˜๐š–๐šŽ ๐™ท๐š˜๐š–๐šŽ *
* ๐™ฐ๐š— ๐™ฐ๐š‹๐šœ๐šž๐š›๐š ๐™ฐ๐šŒ๐šŒ๐šž๐šœ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐š˜๐š— *
* ๐™ฒ๐š‘๐š’๐š•๐š ๐™ท๐šŽ๐š›๐š˜๐šŽ๐šœ *
* ๐šƒ๐š‘๐šŽ ๐™ฑ๐š˜๐šข ๐š’๐š— ๐™ฑ๐šŠ๐š๐š๐šข ๐™ฒ๐š•๐š˜๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐šœ *
* ๐™ฐ๐š›๐š๐šž๐š–๐šŽ๐š—๐š ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ฐ๐š๐š›๐šŽ๐šŽ๐š–๐šŽ๐š—๐š *
* ๐™ถ๐š˜๐š˜๐š๐š‹๐šข๐šŽ ๐š๐šŽ๐š๐š’๐š—๐šŠ๐š•๐š *
* ๐™ฒ๐š˜๐š๐š๐šŽ๐šŽ ๐™ฒ๐šž๐š™๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ฒ๐š›๐š’๐š–๐šŽ ๐š‚๐šŒ๐šŽ๐š—๐šŽ๐šœ *
* ๐š๐šž๐š— ๐™ฑ๐š˜๐šข ๐š๐šž๐š— *
* ๐™ณ๐š˜๐š—๐šž๐š๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ฟ๐š˜๐š•๐šŠ๐š›๐š˜๐š’๐š๐šœ *
* ๐™ฟ๐šŽ๐š›๐šœ๐šž๐šŠ๐šœ๐š’๐š˜๐š—, ๐™ฟ๐š›๐š˜๐š–๐š’๐šœ๐šŽ, ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š›๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐šŠ๐š• ๐™ต๐š’๐š๐šž๐š›๐šŽ *
* ๐™ผ๐š’๐šœ๐šœ๐š’๐š˜๐š— ๐™ฟ๐š˜๐šœ๐šœ๐š’๐š‹๐š•๐šŽ *
* ๐™ฐ ๐™ฒ๐š˜๐š—๐š๐šž๐šœ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐™ณ๐š’๐šœ๐šŒ๐š˜๐šŸ๐šŽ๐š›๐šข *
* ๐šƒ๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š๐šž๐š—๐šŠ๐š ๐šŠ๐šข *
* ๐™ด๐šก๐š๐š›๐šŠ ๐™พ๐š›๐š๐š’๐š—๐šŠ๐š›๐šข *
* ๐š†๐š‘๐šŠ๐š ๐šŠ ๐™ป๐š’๐šŽ, ๐š†๐š‘๐šŠ๐š ๐šŠ ๐™ป๐š’๐šŽ *
* ๐™ถ๐šž๐šŽ๐šœ๐šœ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐™ถ๐š˜๐š˜๐š ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ด๐šŸ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐š—๐š ๐™ด๐šŸ๐š’๐š• *
* ๐™ฒ๐š’๐š›๐šŒ๐šž๐šœ ๐™ต๐š›๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š”๐šœ *
*๐šƒ๐š›๐šŠ๐š’๐š—๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š’๐šœ ๐šƒ๐š˜๐š›๐š๐šž๐š›๐šŽ, ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐šƒ๐š˜๐š›๐š๐šž๐š›๐šŽ ๐š’๐šœ ๐™ป๐š’๐š๐šŽ*
* ๐šƒ๐š‘๐šŽ ๐™ป๐šŽ๐šœ๐šœ ๐šˆ๐š˜๐šž ๐™บ๐š—๐š˜๐š  *
* ๐š…๐š˜๐š๐š”๐šŠ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ฟ๐šŽ๐š™๐š™๐šŽ๐š›๐š–๐š’๐š—๐š ๐šƒ๐š˜๐š˜๐š๐š‘๐š™๐šŠ๐šœ๐š๐šŽ *
* ๐™ฝ๐šž๐š–๐š‹๐šŽ๐š› ๐™ต๐š’๐šŸ๐šŽ *
* ๐™ฐ ๐š‚๐š™๐šŠ๐š›๐š” ๐™ฐ๐š๐šŠ๐š’๐š—๐šœ๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐™ฝ๐š’๐š๐š‘๐š *
* ๐™ผ๐šŠ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š–๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŒ๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐™ผ๐šž๐š›๐š๐šŽ๐š› *
* ๐š‚๐š๐š›๐šŽ๐šŽ๐š ๐™ณ๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š•๐šœ *
* ๐™ด๐š’๐š๐š‘๐š ๐™ฑ๐šŠ๐š•๐š• *
* ๐™ฐ ๐š‚๐šŒ๐š›๐šŠ๐š–๐š‹๐š•๐šŽ ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐™ฐ๐š—๐šœ๐š ๐šŽ๐š›๐šœ *

* ๐šƒ๐š‘๐š›๐š˜๐šž๐š๐š‘ ๐š†๐šŠ๐š๐šŒ๐š‘๐š๐šž๐š• ๐™ด๐šข๐šŽ๐šœ *

268 11 5
By bibli_o_phile

[021]
- ☾ '☂︎︎' ☽ -

           October 20, 1999

           For a brief moment, he watched his own pitiful vessel lay beaten and bruised on the bed. It was a strange experience, one that he was accustomed to as he had been doing for as long as he knew. Through his own eyes, he observed the flowering purple of her beaten face and the dull blotches of the pale red that coated the edges of her closed eyes. Like a distant spectator, he took in his surroundings with a detached fascination. He could do nothing, though he knew in his own unfathomable mind that he wanted to. His time was spent instead, occupying the vacant areas of the child's brain.

           She had a name . . . he knew it, Cassandra. But she didn't like it when he called her that.

           How very subdued and harmless he felt. Like a fish drifting through a stream. Unable to interact with the dry word outside of its restrictive habitat.

           Cassidy moved and sharply jerked awake, accidentally pulling her I.V. out of her arm. Her dark eyes focused and unforced at her surroundings. She was in her bedroom. There was a mirror on her bedside table she could see herself in and a drip was hanging above her head. She sat up and immediately held her hand over a large gauzy bandage on her stomach. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a piece of purple paper on the edge of her nightstand. On the cover, written in neat tidy letters, was a heartfelt apology that she didn't even bother reading.

           She scowled and snatched it, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it as hard as she could across the table.

           Well, that's not very nice.

           The voice was so low that it made her jump.

           "Please leave me alone," she muttered quietly.

           In his own seemingly distant amusement, he remained quiet. Not out of politeness, but to study and observe . . . as he so often did when he felt subdued.

           Cassidy sniffed harshly and her nose began to bleed at the same moment Grace glided in through her open door. Her baby blue dress was tied at the waist with a cream colored ribbon and her honey blonde hair was impeccably coiffed.

           She smiled down at her and Cassidy returned it, though rather weakly.

           "How are you feeling, Cass?"

           "Fine."

           "Only fine? Your father wants you to feel your very best before training again," she beamed cheerily, before humming quietly. Her navy blue heels tapped against the floor. Cassidy frowned.

           "My stomach hurts," she mumbled.

           "I know, sweety. It's lucky Five was there, otherwise someone could have gotten hurt."

           Shaking slightly, Cassidy exhaled."Five hurt me."

           Grace fixed her I.V. and replaced the bandage on her stomach then kissed her cheek. "Five was trying to protect . . . " She suddenly stopped speaking. Almost as if she'd realize what she was about to say, she changed the subject. "Are you hungry?"

           Ignoring her mother's strange behavior, she shook her head.

           "I'm not hungry."

           "Come now, your father wants —"

           "I don't care what he wants!" she spat. So sharp were the words that left her mouth that they didn't seem to even be her own.

           Grace blinked momentarily before her cherry red lips pulled back into a soothing smile. "Now, Cassidy. What did we say about watching our tongue?"

           "Holding our tongue doesn't make us powerless, it means we're in control," she said dryly. This saying had become a daily ritual, made specifically for her. It was an idea, etched into her mind with relentless repetition.

           "Good girl," Grace rubbed her shoulder lightly. Then smoothed out her hair with a touch only a mother was capable of. So soothing was this action that Cassidy wanted to fall back asleep.

           Notice how kind she is to you . . . how such gentleness and sweetness is conveyed in her every move. She doesn't love you. She is afraid.

           He, the voice in her brain, whispered those words as light as air, so they filled every space in her brain. They were so smooth, so easy, so simple to understand, rolling through her mind like water.

           Cassidy stared at Grace with a rising bitterness in her stomach. A robot felt no fear, yet perhaps her every sugary word and soft touch was the result of some hidden horror, concealed behind her porcelain skin and flawless face.

           "Mother. What are you afraid of?" she whispered, her dark eyes wide with the angelic innocence of a child. Grace cocked her head to one side, confused. "Does father make you scared?"

           In the millisecond it took her mother to falter a response, Cassidy could already guess the truth. But Grace was shaking her head and laughing airily before she could say a word.

           "Don't be silly, your father is a kind, hardworking man. Now, what would you like to eat?" She batted her long eyelashes at her and smiled again, exposing a row of impossibly white teeth.

            See how everything about her draws you in. From her clothing, down to her very smell. Reginald had successfully created a diversion ploy. The robot is only a sedative . . . a soothsayer to lull your mind into an inactive state of dysfunction.

           Cassidy did not respond. To Grace or the voice in her mind, whose words dripped like honey and sounded of music in her ears. She was too focused on analyzing Grace's seemingly flawless face in hopes of seeking out an imperfection, a defect . . . anything to expose her emotion. But there was nothing, except the baby blue eyes that probed her own face with a polite expression of curiosity.

           "Cassidy, darling, what is he saying?" she asked softly.

           She opened and closed her mouth a few times, debating whether the next thing that came out of her mouth would be truth or lie.

           Reginald, being a man composed solely of solid facts and sound logic, would only accept scientific evidence within his own center field of personal interest. Looking for an explainable reason for the bodiless voice in Cassidy's brain, he programmed Grace to pick up on small sensory irregularities from Cassidy that she showed whenever that voice happened to speak with her. Since then, Grace would probe her about the things she was hearing, then write them down on a notepad then give them to Reginald.

           "What does 'dysfunctional' mean?" Cassidy asked.

           "This was one of your words last week on your spelling test, remember?"

           "I'm only nine, Mom," she stated. Grace laughed.

           "Dysfunctional means, not functioning properly; impaired my abnormal functioning," She explained, smoothing down her sheets and briskly fluffing her pillows.

           "Is my mind . . . dysfunctional?" she asked.

           "Your father believes that you have a very special mind. And that in order for you to control it, he wants to help you learn about it," her lips met Cassidy's cheek softly and she smoothed her hair one last time before walking to the door. "I'll make you some eggs."

           "Ok. Love you, mom." She gave up on persuading Grace that she wasn't hungry.

           "I love you too, sweetly."

           The door shut quietly and Cassidy leaned back against the pillows. She stared up at her ceiling, finding shapes in the lines through the drywall. The silence was nice, it was calm, though filled with physical discomfort, it soothed her turbulent mind. But it did not last long.

           There was a loud pop, and Five appeared in the center of her bedroom, nearly impaling himself on the arm of her desk chair. He straightened himself and irritably brushed non-existent dust from his skinny legs.

           "I hate that stupid chair."

           "What are you doing here?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. Five's own green ones met hers in equal displeasure. He walked over to the bed and stared at her for a moment before roughly shoving a small notecard in her face. She grabbed it and flipped it over.

           It said "I'm sorry" in neat letters.

           "Can't you talk? Why don't you say that out loud," she asked sarcastically. Five glared at her and gritted his teeth. Cassidy cocked her head. "Why are you here."

           "Why is your brain messed up. And why do you hate Vanya," he snapped.

           "It's not. And mind your own business."

           "I heard Dad talking about you yesterday. Apparently you're causing problems and he doesn't like that. I think he'll loose it one of these days," he said.

           "Shut up. You don't know anything."

           Five only raised his head higher. "I think you were dropped as a baby, that's why your brain's messed up. That's why you're so weird."

           "I think you should shut your mouth, twig."

           "Dad has a special training session planned out. Allison overheard him talking to Pogo about it. You're in so much trouble. He'll probably put you in a little cage with all those dummies, he'll turn the lights off and you'll be in there for hours. So you don't hurt anyone."

           Cassidy blinked at him, her face paled and she looked down at her hands that had begun to shake.

           We could kill him right now . . . if you'd only let me. . . .

           "No," she said, it came out louder than she'd intended and she gave a terrified look to Five. "I don't like the dark," Cassidy whispered.

           Five's mouth pulled at the corner and he frowned. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he twisted his skinny fingers together in a way that showed his regret. His green eyes met hers and his eyebrows furrowed.

           "I don't like the dark either," — he paused — "I'm sorry, Cassidy."

           "What?" her eyes went wide and she blinked in surprise.

           "Don't make me say it again," Five grumbled

           Cassidy smiled and they sat in silence for a long while, the only sound was of the rain that had just begun to beat against her bedroom window. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling sitting in a room devoid of meaningless conversations. On the contrary, it was refreshing, to be quiet and simply take in the smallest details around the room. Five did this out of habit, as he so often did when he was not busy making snippy comments to his siblings. Gently, he suddenly grabbed her bandaged hand and ran his finger over the top of the wrapping.

           "Did Dad do that?" he whispered.

           Cassidy hummed, absentmindedly watching as his fingers traced symbols over her hand.

           It was not uncommon that they'd ask each other this. If anything, it became almost a default question whenever they'd discover each other in a less than perfect condition. The reason being could and would always be Reginald. The edge of his cane was about as sharp as the words he spoke. Each Hargreeves sibling knew this bitter fact. Some more than others.

           Five nodded and tilted his head so she could see a blistering red mark behind his ear, near the back of his head. Crusted blood was stuck to some of his dark hair.

           "He got me too. Yesterday after he caught me sneaking around outside his room."

           "What were you doing near his room?"

           Blushing slightly, Five let go of her hand and looked at her and watched her out of the corner of his eye. "I was trying to get one of his fancy pens so I could write you that," he waved towards the card. But suddenly smiled widely and pulled something out of his breast pocket. It was a smooth black fountain pen, delicate silver symbols engraved on the outside.

           He's a thief and a bloody liar. Remember when we heard the screaming last weekend during training? Reginald lost his temper because the boy couldn't perform a simple two meter jump. I could smell the blood from our room . . . I saw it stain the floor. . . .

           Cassidy merely watched as Five removed the cap and signed his name on the bandage.

           The pen too, just another diversion ploy. He wasn't intentionally looking for it. Poison was his main objective until Reginald found him sneaking around. He had to think of an excuse so he grabbed the pen . . . Your eyes might miss the hidden fear, but mine never do.

           Grimacing, she held her hand up to her head. Five looked at her with an expression of concern. The heart rate monitor beside her beeped a bit faster. There were suddenly footsteps in the hall. Five jumped to his feet and hid the pen; he, like Cassidy, recognized the sound of the well polished shoes against the hardwood as a silver cane clicked along the same surface.

           Five smiled at her then disappeared with a loud pop just as the door to her room opened. She hid her bandaged hand under some of the blankets.

           Reginald swiftly reached her bed and tapped the heart rate monitor which was beeping erratically. Cassidy took steadying breaths and the noise stopped.

           "Dad?" she asked.

           "What is it, Number Eight?" he replied sharply.

           "Could I . . . maybe . . . eat with everyone else tonight at dinner? Before I have my late training?"

           I pray he says yes . . . I haven't eaten in so long. . . .

           Cassidy shuddered and Reginald surveyed her with his stoney gray eyes before cleared his throat.

           "Number Eight, we have discussed why that is not a possibility. Considering your current state of body and mind, I'm afraid that shall not be permitted. You remember what happened last month do you not? Do you wish to have a recurring incident such as the one prior?"

           Oh yes . . . wouldn't want to risk Daddy's precious reputation, now would we. Wouldn't want a commotion, or a flashy news headline. . . .

           Cassidy, looking down at her hands, shook her head, feeling stupid and ridiculous, as she often did whenever Reginald spoke to her.

           "No . . . sorry." she muttered.

           "Good, now hand me your arm, child. I want you to do your best for training tonight."

           Grimacing, Cassidy held out her arm. Reginald gripped it tightly and injected a syringe into her skin, pressing a dark red substance into her body. Cassidy gritted her teeth as she began to feel her arm burn where the needle punctured her skin.

           "I'll send Pogo up to retrieve you tonight. I expect you in your training room by 12 o'clock, goodnight, Number Eight." He nodded curtly then strode out of the room. Shutting her door with a click.

           He watched now in a dreamlike state, as Cassidy's body shook, and she gritted her teeth, holding her arm as it became red hot. He of course, felt nothing, he could only sense the ever growing discomfort from his vessel. And he watched in amusement as tears began to leak out of her eyes. Pain eluded him, and he felt more and more distant . . . like a fading dream as he watched Cassidy writhe in agony, tearing at her arm . . . how peculiar pain was, such a foreign sensation for and equally foreign being, whose purpose was to wait, and to watch, with silent, prying eyes at the chaos around him

           Through watchful eyes . . . the bloody truth lies. . . .

           His voice echoed through her brain, echoing as though in a large void space, before he knew, and saw no more.

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Atrocious aยทtroยทcious /ษ™หˆtrลSHษ™s/ Horrifyingly wicked
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Basically the title [REQUESTS ARE CLOSED]