Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Last chance to turn back and not be spoilt!

HEADCANONS:

GAD Catherine of Aragon
ADHD Anne Boleyn
Dyslexic Jane Seymour
Anna of Cleves deals with EDs
hEDS Kathryn Howard
ASD Cathy Parr

MDD Mary
DPDR Elizabeth
HoH Edward
Tourette's Mae

María has vitiligo
Paraplegic Maggie
Legally Blind Joan
OSDD-1 Bessie

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NOTICE: If at any point you feel as if the author or story are possessed, neither are. The author is fine and messing with those who have chosen to engage in the ARG. Everything is alright, this is fiction.

Also notice from the future - there is no ARG running anymore it was violently slaughtered by circumstances beyond the author's control. Sorry.

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CWs:

PROLOGUE: OPENING NIGHT

None apply. Implied disturbing unseen event ig

CHAPTER 1: FOUR YEARS

-Sexist slurs (minimal but uncensored)
-Implied supernatural influence
-Scratching oneself
-Anxiety attacks/heart palpitations

-Implied stalker

CHAPTER 2: HAUNTING

-Stalking and stealing
-Implied supernatural entity/person trying to impersonate supernatural entity
-CSA referred to (non-descript, Kathryn and Bessie Blount)
-Uncensored sexist slurs
-Suicidal ideation (not graphic yet method mentioned -overdose-)
-Hair pulling
-Mentioned bubble bath
-Paranoia surrounding illnesses
-Biting inside of mouth as a form of self-harm (mentioned once)
-Ableism against ASD character (though character being ableist is unaware of ASD)
-Mentioned cocaine (nobody is actually doing cocaine; it's just a thought)

CHAPTER 3: UNRAVEL

-Ableism towards ASD character (note that character being ableist is unaware of ASD)
-Anne quite literally wishing death upon Cathy (bc of what happeed with Liz)
-Implied/mentioned CSA (not graphic)
-Workplace harassment
-Uncensored sexist slurs
-Victim blaming
-Mentions of hypothetical (non graphic) stabbing
-Mentioned beheading
-Dissociation (mentioned)
-Mentioned SH
-Nausea and dizziness due to stress
-Anger mangement issues
-Pinching skin to ground oneself from anxiety
-Blackmail

CHAPTER 4: FRAGMENTS:

-Dissociation symptoms (memory gaps, incoherent thought processes...)
-Person with OSDD-1b unaware that she's part of a system/feeling very overwhelmed and disoriented (again we're not doing trauma porn in this fic so it's not glorified; just showing how her mind works)
-Implied hard relationship between child and parent
-Threats and blackmail
-Implied supernatural entity

-Referenced past CSA (mention of feeling hands on skin -undescribed area or feeling beyond "unpleasant")

CHAPTER 5: REPETITION:

-Eating disorder (not eating, obsession with calories, dizziness, desire for control)
-Implied supernatural stuff
-Referenced CSA (not graphic)
-Mentioned dissociation
-Blackmail and threats
-Light burn
-Broken arm (mentioned)
-Getting run over by a truck
-Major character death
-Nosebleeds

CHAPTER 6: HEARTS

-Eating disorder/mentioned purging (not graphic)
-Repeated mentions of nosebleeds
-Blaming victim of CSA for the abuse she endured
-Victim of CSA blaming herself for the abuse she endured
-Mentioned beheading
-Lightly implied suicidal ideation
-Questioning why one's alive/existential dread
-Mentioned broken bones
-Blackmail and threats
-Implied supernatural entity
-Toxic helicopter parenting (implied)

CHAPTER 7: PRELUDE

-OSDD1b character ignoring alters
-Alters unhappy about their continued denied existence
-OSDD1b character resorting to self-harm (hot water, loud music) to try stopping alters
-Referenced CSA (not graphic)
-Using sex to solve problems instead of talking through them (implied, not graphic)
-Messy break-ups (referenced)
-Cheating (mentioned)
-Early symptoms of hEDS (sprained wrist, mentioned) -Using a romantic relationship to feel better about oneself hurting the other person
-Guilt over not protecting someone from CSA
-Undiagnosed ASD character feeling like a fraud (impostor syndrome)
-Dermatillomania (brief appearance)
-Tourette's child going through medical hell (metioned)
-Tourette's child being afraid and feeling guilty
-Undiagnosed ASD character feeling guilty for symptoms
-Undiagnosed ASD character fearing losing custody of adopted child
-Guilt over not having been able to protect someone from CSA

CHAPTER 8: AULD LANG SYNE

CWs:

-Crushing guilt
-Mentioned people burning alive (Mary I of England)
-Referenced CSA
-Self harm used as a coping mechanism consistently (dermatillomania, head banging, pinching, biting, hair pulling; mentioned)
-Major character death (fall downstairs not described; aftermath heavily implied -implied body horror-)
-Blood (mentioned)
-Vomiting/sickness (mentioned)
-Catching a pedophile (not too detailed and nothing happens on screen, but potentially uncomfortable)
-Dissociation
-ADHD character going through severe RSD episode
-Parents missing dead children
-Implied sex (used to solve problems irresponsibly)
-Irresponsible use of sleeping medication (mentioned)
-Eating disorder (implied)
-Heavily implied suicidal thoughts/plans (not described)
-OSDD-1b character coming to terms with being part of a system
-Implied possession
-Demonic entities
-Blackmail
-Implied medical trauma
-Panic attack
-Implied cardiac problems and medication
-Child with Tourette's being very distressed
-ASD character sensory overload (implied)
-Anger outbursts leading to saying highly unfortunate things

THIS CHAPTER CAN BE ESPECIALLY TRIGGERING. IF I MISSED SOMETHING PLEASE DO TELL ME.

CHAPTER 09: VILLAINS:

CWs:

-Tourette's child suffering (tic attack, brief mention)
-Implied CSA (not described)
-Referenced dermatillomania
-Implied sensory overload
-CSA victim blaming herself and being blamed by others
-Uncensored sexist slurs
-Mild mention of SH (pinching, bruising)
-hEDS symptoms (small mention)
-Suicidal thoughts (not graphic)
-ED mention (not graphic)
-Brief panic attack
-Guilt over the death of a loved one (Lady Rochford)
-Hiding SH marks (bruises, not heavy mention)
-Cheating on a partner
-Heavily implied intercourse
-DID character questioning/in denial
-Family members not protecting children/believing an abuser
-Implied demonic entities as usual

CHAPTER 10: DEGENERATION

-All the arguing we've seen up to this point tbh
-Slutshaming adults and minors alike
-Victim insulting herself
-Referenced dying in a fire (Mary's mentioned but that's basically it)
-Heart palpitations and medication
-Feeling guilty about having loved a child abuser
-Family of child abuser not protecting children (implied)
-Heavily implied ED
-Cheating on one's partner
-Character death by falling object
-Implied ableism against blind character

CHAPTER 11: ECHOES

-Implied eating disorder (nothing graphic, referenced purging)
-Irresponsible behaviour with medication
-Suicidal ideation (not graphic)
-Referenced CSA (Kathryn and Lizzie; mention of hands on unspecified part of body during Kathryn's segment)
-Pain from untreated and undiscovered chronic illness
-Suicide baiting
-Victim blaming herself for CSA
-Referenced beheading (Kathryn and Lady Rochford)
-Guilt over other people's deaths/blaming oneself for other people's deaths
-ED symptoms mentioned (trembling hands, shivering, cold, exhaustion, hunger)
-Guilt over being unable to save a loved one
-Recovery pact
-Unconsensual recorded intercourse (not graphic or seen; mentioned)
-Unconsensual leaking of said recordings (again, mentioned)
-Break ups and cheating
-Amnesiac character being accused of faking
-Minor violence (throwing papers at someone)
-Slutshaming
-Loss of friends (and ensuing guilt)
-Paranoia over a loved one not being what they seem
-Mentioned harassment (stealing belongings, etc)
-Severe denial of ED
-Medical avoidance
-Pushing, hair pulling (own's hair), grabbing and thrashing
-Implied wrist subluxation
-Tachycardia episodecaused by stress leading to hospitalization
-Ambulance ride (mentioned)
-Threats
-Violent thoughts (shoving people off places, punching)
-ASD character judged for sensory overload (though nobody knows she's ASD but still)
-Implied claustrophobia (character off screen gets stuck in a storage closet)
-Fainting due to ED and hunger
-Implied claustrophobic attack (getting locked in a closet)
-Tic attack from Tourette child mentioned in passing
-Guilt
-Conviction that one cannot be a good parent and consequent ideation of abandoning child
-Dermatillomania (not explicit)
-Implied self-harm through sensory input
-Not caring about one's own life/reckless actions
-Emotional dissociation and dissociation from pain
-Stress related to feeling responsible for someone's wellbeing in a life-threatening situation
-Staying with a loved one in the hospital
-Mentions of dying in a fire (not explicit, brief mention of the scent of burning flesh)
-Falling to one's death (multiple times)
-Nausea
-Nose and mouth bleeding
-Biting one's mouth to cope with anxiety
-Tasting blood

CHAPTER 12: QUESTIONS (Part 1)

-Referenced past CSA (Bessie, Kathryn and Arianna; mention of feeling hands)
-System struggling with understanding and accepting they're a system (dissociative barriers, loss of communication with alters, etc)
-Mentioned computer hacking
-Referenced self-harm, ED and cardiac episode (from past chapters, nothing new)
-Ableism towards small child with Tourette's

CHAPTER 12: QUESTIONS (Part 2)

-Cardiac episode (referenced from Catalina's incident two chapters back)
-Referenced CSA (not graphic, Lizzie and Kathryn)
-Bee mention (metaphorical bees)
-Referenced suicidal actions (Kathryn back in Echoes)
-Oppressive parenting

-Dehumanization

CHAPTER 12: QUESTIONS (Part 3):
-Referenced CSA
-Discussions of morality regarding the above point
-Lightly implied suicidal ideation
-Mentions of hacking/cyberattacks
-Character death (crushed, not graphic)
-Mentions of blood and vomiting (not graphic)

CHAPTER 13: COUNTDOWN (Part 1)

-Referenced CSA (Kat, Bessie, Arianna)
-Self-blaming
-Dehumanization of self (one mention)
-Oppressive/abusive parenting (mentioned)
-Referenced execution (Anne's)
-Denial of trauma
-Character death mention (Amanda's death)
-Cardiac pain
-Blood mentions (bloody noses)
-Distress from not understanding one's own symptoms (OSDD-1b, hEDS)
-Mentions of stabbing and Jack the Ripper (predictably neither happen)
-Suicidal thoughts (non-descript)
-Mentions of irresponsible medication and ED (Kat and Anna)
-hEDS symptoms

CHAPTER 13: COUNTDOWN (Part 2)

-Child with Tourette's suffering
-Mentioned CSA (not explicit, Kat, Bessie and Arianna)
-Self-blame and sexist language (Kat)
-Referenced executions
-Implied child death (electrocution, not described)
-Depression, hEDS and OSDD-1b symptoms
-Character death mention (Amanda)
-Symptoms of a cold (coughing, sneezing, fever)
-Mention of bloody noses incident
-Implied ED (Anna)
-Suicidal ideation (not described) as self-punishment
-Cardiac issues mention (Lina)
-Getting drunk (not described)
-Drunken character (mentioned vomiting and slurred words)
-Self-esteem and self-destruction
-Cheating and breakups (María and Maggie)
-Malware mention (monitored cellphone)

CHAPTERS 14 & 15: FOUR (Parts 1 and 2):

-Mentioned heart problems
-Referenced pedophilia
-Mentioned vomiting
-Implied intercourse
-Threats
-Blunt traumatism to the head
-Harassment
-Referenced death by crushing
-Dehumanization, death wish and self-deprecation

CHAPTER 16: TWO (Part 1):

-Mention of a pedophile
-References to past childhood abuse
-Mentioned beheading
-Creepy doll
-Concussion and heart failure mention
-Mentioned death by crushing (Amanda)
-Fake blood
-Mention sickness
-Covert symptoms of OSDD-1b

INTERLUDE: PROGRESS LOG

References to every event in the fic (and hence most every CW) along with implied blood and gore about beheaded heads.

CHAPTERS 17-18: TWO (Parts 2-3):

-Implied CSA (Lizzie)
-Dehumanisation
-Implied beheading (Kathryn)
-Parental death (Anne and Lizzie)
-Referenced creepy dolls, derogatory speech and bloody noses
-Nothing supernatural that hasn't been in the fic before
-Light mention of eating disorders
-Implied purging (in the context of the above)
-Hypermobility and related injuries
-Threats, manipulation and bodily harm
-Referenced death by crushing (Amanda)
-Referenced cardiac disease (Lina)
-Infidelity and leaked intercourse videos

CHAPTERS 19-21: ZERO (Part 1):

-Referenced controlling parenting
-Mentioned noose (as a metaphor)
-Referenced past CSA and execution (not explicit)
-Victim blaming
-Implied eating disorder and referenced cardiac failure
-Fear that a loved one will commit suicide

CHAPTERS 22-25: ZERO (Part 1 second update):

-Graphic description of dermatillomania (skin picking; including feeling of scabs, blood trailing down fingers and addiction to pain, as well as mention of scarring)
-Self-harm as a coping mechanism, not knowing how to stop
-Thoughts of slamming head into piece of furniture
-Biting self as self-harm, pain
-Panic attack (short breath, crying, chest pain)
-Thoughts of murder

-Physical violence with head traumatism
-Loss of consciousness
-Supernatural themes
-Mentioned past CSA (Lizzie)
-Mentioned suffering and medical hell of child with Tourette's
-Intense self-dehumanization and self-hatred
-Mentioned missing children in government institutions
-Mentioned idea of giving own child up for adoption
-Conviction one will die
-Fear of loss of custody due to mental health (and anti-recovery sentiments due to unstable mental health, ignorance and fear)
-Broken families
-Light mention of body shaming
-Being kicked out of home
-Autistic meltdown

CHAPTERS 26-29: ZERO (Part 1 third update):

-Panic attack
-Referenced non-descript past ED and SH
-Referenced non-descript past CSA
-Referenced past executions
-Referenced burning people alive
-Crushing guilt, self-hatred and self-dehumanization
-Threats against one's child
-Sexist language and victim blaming
-Forced to act against one's own will
-Religious trauma (mentioned in passing)
-Physical violence
-Blood on one's hands

2025 return from hiatus note: i love how NONE of these chapter numbers line up in the slightest and it's taken me four fucking years to notice that. I will. Likely fix that in the future. Maybe. If i remember. ANYWAY:

CHAPTER 36: Interlude: Status Update

Everything in the fic, seeing as it's a summary of all events up to it.

CHAPTERS 37-39: ZERO (Part 1 fourth update):

-Non-consensual kissing
-The above reminding someone of past CSA
-CSA victim blaming herself for said CSA

CHAPTERS 40-43: ZERO (Part 1 fifth and final update thank god):

-Dissociation
-Victim blaming for CSA (albeit under demonic duress)
-Near-body shaming
-Bleeding from the nose
-Referenced terminal illness (non-descript)
-Confronting one's only friend's impending death
-Referenced past CSA

CHAPTERS 44-50: ZERO PART 2:

-Insults based on sexual history
-Infidelity
-Dehumanization
-Child abandonment
-Tic attack
-A lot of self-blame and feelings of worthlessness from a child
-Missing child
-Paranoia
-Referenced past CSA
-Police arrest of innocent civilian with slight violence
-Lying to the police to get an arrest
-Near-arrest
-Violent intrusive thoughts causing distress
-Thoughts of scarring and knives in a sexual setting
-Blood, mutilation and murder during intercourse fantasy (unwanted; intrusive thought)
-Self-deprecation
-Self-dehumanization
-Suicidal ideation
-Generational trauma
-Cycle of abuse
-Throwing out kid's toys and necessities
-Hating one's own child
-A bit of graphic gore
-Blood and viscera
-Self-hatred
-Vomiting
-Physical removal of child from room
-Screaming at deaf child
-Sexist language
-Ableist language
-Misuse of the term "psychopath" in a derogatory sense

CHAPTERS 51-57: SPINNING OUT

-Self-hatred and self-dehumanization
-Projecting past trauma onto others
-Seeing everyone as a threat
-Self-blame for past CSA
-Past CSA
-Being blamed for one's own CSA
-Inability to feel safe
-Child abuse
-Monitoring a child through cameras
-Death threats
-Mentions of a slit throat
-Wrongful pedophilia accusations
-Mentions of burning alive
-Dissociation
-Selling of a child's virginity (in a past life but still)
-Murder accusations on an innocent party
-CSA flashbacks with sensory input (grabbing thights, immobilization)
-OBE
-Suicide baiting
-Gore mention
-Graphic-ish description of burning alive
-Suicidal ideation
-Depression
-Silent treatment from a parent

CHAPTERS 58-63: TRUST

-Dissociation
-Allusions to past CSA
-Trust issues
-Slut shaming
-CSA victim convincing herself she was always in control
-Finding ways to frame sexual harassment as anything but (denial)
-Blaming oneself for sexual harassment
-Conviction that one is about to be raped (no actual rape)
-Restraining
-Non-consensual touching (searching; not in a sexual way despite our POV character's conviction)
-Flashbacks to past abusers
-Feeling hands when none are present (in a flashback sense not a hallucination sense)
-Many mentions of burning alive
-Parent distrusting blatantly innocent child
-Divorce and loss of custody of a child
-Dehumanization
-Parental rejection
-Unfair blaming
-EDS-related knee injury (non descript)
-Related, equally non descript shoulder injury
-Denial about having a CDD (Complex dissociative disorder)
-Mentions of past suicidal ideation and attempts

CHAPTERS 64-65: RETRIBUTION

-Depressed child
-Medical negligence and malpractice
-Disbelieving doctors
-Graphic blood and viscera (human blood, blood clots, bones and vertebrae) being poured onto people as punishment
-Graphic references to past beheading
-Eating disorder
-Self-hatred and guilt
-Slut shaming
-Child abuse
-Violations of privacy
-Sibling alienation

CHAPTERS 66-69: HOPE

-Parental mistrust of child
-References to burning people alive (non graphic)
-Broken families and general sadness
-Physical violence (shoving; non-lethal or anything)
-Violent intrusive thoughts
-Desire to harm someone spawned from anger
-Anger issues in general
-Horrible parenting
-Love-hate relationship with one's own child
-Dehumanization
-GHB
-Person being roofied
-Death threats
-Suicidal ideation
-Suicide planning
-Suicidal intention
-Graphic description of corpse decomposition (as imagined by the person ideating suicide)
-Self-hatred and self-dehumanization

CHAPTER 70: PICTURES

-Horribly abusive parenting
-Destruction of child's property
-Self-hatred
-Hatred of a child
-Physical assault

CHAPTERS 71-75: SHADOW PEOPLE

-Dissociation
-Misconstruing CDDs as "evil" disorders
-Outing someone's mental health problems
-Referenced CSA (not graphic)
-Referenced forced pregnancy and birth
-Self-dehumanization
-Self-blame for CSA
-Breaking and entering
-hEDS symptoms (and doctors ignoring them)
-Minor blood from minor cut
-Medication manipulation
-Framing someone for abuse
-Constant references to CSA

-Graphic descriptions of shoulder and knee dislocations
-Graphic suicide attempt (jumping off a high place)
-Fulminating traumatic brain injury
-Abandonment trauma
-Self-hatred
-Nose bleeds
-Repeated character death
-Fever-related visual hallucinations

CHAPTERS 76-78: ESCAPE

-Child with Tourette's going through hell
-Conviction one's mother is going to abandon them
-Loss of child

-Child death
-Car accident
-Motorbike accident
-Bus accident
-Graphic attempted suicide (traffic-related)
-Beheading in car accident
-Semi-graphic beheading
-Dehumanization
-Abusive, controlling parenting
-Self-deprecation

CHAPTERS 79-86: LULL

-Dissociation
-Denial of one's own CSA-related trauma
-Mentions of forced pregnancy and childbirth
-Mentions of past rape
-Mentions of past grooming
-Mentions of past executions

-Referenced past suicide attempt
-Consuming guilt
-Inability to forgive one's child
-Lack of maternal affection
-Guilt over having burnt people in a past life
-Hospital description
-Bus accident-related hospitalization (it's way better than you think, but still)
-Suicide baiting
-Emotional dysregulation
-Asphyxiating/abusive parenting
-Aftermath of witnessing one's own mother attempt suicide
-Self-hatred and self-dehumanization
-Mentions of past executions

-Blaming the wrong person for CSA
-Accepting the above-referenced blame out of guilt

-Threat to break someone's bones

CHAPTERS 87-92: EXORDIUM

-Discussions of suicidal ideation
-Referenced past passive suicide attempt
-Referenced recent active suicide attempt
-Wrongful accusations of child abuse
-Abusive parenting
-Hospitalization
-Mentions of involuntary hospitalization (psychiatric)
-Loss of will to live
-Demonic and supernatural themes
-Emetophobia warning (mentioned bile and nausea; not graphic)
-Discussions of christianity and catholicism
-Religious beliefs, gods and devils
-Mentioned past executions (burning)
-Mentioned past overdose attempts, hypovolemia attempts, self-harm (cutting) and passive desires to be hit by a car (not graphic)
-Mild description of one's own corpse, as imagined by a suicide attempt survivor
-Finding no worth in one's own life
-Violent intrusive thoughts mentioned and described in depth
-Cutting a partner during intercourse
-Arguable blood kink
-All NSFW mentions are fantasized about and not happening, but still sexual moments with little description
-Branding during sex
-Descriptions of blood on skin and its sensation and temperature
-Fantasies about passion crimes
-Self-hatred for intrusive thoughts
-Murderous intent due to jealousy
-Blatant misconstruing of reality because of jealousy
-Murder during intercourse
-Overall irrational thinking
-Arguably, knifeplay
-Non-consensual kissing (albeit it is well received)
-Unhealthy obsession with one's ex
-Mentions of broken bones
-Mentions of being crushed by a stage light (and mild gore warning to go with it)
-Goading someone into suicide
-Noose mention
-Considered suicide by noose
-Violence (mentioned black eye)
-Fearing for one's bodily integrity
-Workplace bullying (physical and verbal)
-Child abuse apologism/denial

CHAPTERS 93-99: ENTR'ACTE

-Suicidal intention
-Loss of value in one's own life
-Desire to die
-Discussed methods of suicide (walking into traffic)
-Bedwetting at unexpected age
-Mother misreading son's distress as mockery
-Self-hatred and poor impression of one's own intellect
-Sexist language (especially regarding reproduction)
-Dissociation
-Hearing parts (and parts in conflict)
-Discussions of child abuse (sexual and otherwise)
-Acting while dissociated
-Physical assault
-More suicide discussions (jumping)
-Suicide baiting
-Overall awful parenting
-Mentioned CSA
-Physically touching someone in inappropriate ways (as demanded by choreography)
-Violent intrusive thoughts and fantasies
-Fantasized vivisection
-Murderous intent
-Patently wrong perception of reality due to jealousy
-Unbothered by intrusive thoughts
-Sexual intrusive thoughts
-Arguably, blood kink
-Fantasized murder during intercourse
-Getting someone killed in revenge
-Many mentions of blood and organs
-Guilt over suicide baiting
-Recalling past suicide baiting
-Abusive parenting not wholly seen as such
-Blaming the wrong person for CSA
-Disordered eating behaviour (refusing to eat)
-Mentioned past butchered execution (and the blood spraying from it -minor mention-)
-Uncomfortable romantic relationship
-Many unhealthy views on romance and love
-Slight manipulation (although well-intentioned. Still manipulation)

CHAPTERS 100-101: DÉNOUEMENT

-Everything in the fic so far + very light body horror warning towards the end. Very light.

CHAPTERS 102-105: ONCE UPON A TIME

-Extreme gore and body horror
-Conscious decomposition/rotting alive
-Dissolving alive
-Violent, gory afterlife
-Physical torture
-Blood and purge fluids
-Unhealing wounds
-Bones poking through skin
-Burnt and torn flesh
-Liquifying alive (and feeling the entire process)
-Many mentions of innards decaying
-Being eaten by maggots while still conscious
-Mentioned executions (beheading, axe)
-Graphic murder (axe)
-Choking on one's own blood
-Holding one's own child as they bleed out
-Extreme trypanophobia warning
-Needles in throat and other body parts
-Many needles. All of them the size of bolts
-Human experimentation
-Sentient flesh prison (quite disgusting; it breathes and squelches and it's covered in slime. Also it grapples people)
-Brain tumor mention and subsequent death
-Lack of humanity in previously presumed humans. Demon constructs
-Repeated death of family members
-Death in time loops. Watching everyone die over and over/dying oneself in many settings
-Referenced burning alive
-Mentioned house fire and subsequent burns/near-death experience
-Sinkhole
-Bisected corpse (not graphic but mentioned)
-Severe penetrating wounds (described)
-Foreign objects sticking into body and leading to death
-Demon-ordained degenerative impairments
-Breaking down of the human body and its health in many ways

CHAPTERS 106 - 113: PAWNS

-Graphic gore
-Extreme trypanophobia warning again
-Sentient flesh
-Prisoners
-Body horror
-Health deterioration
-Amnesia of one's loved ones and being forgotten
-Bleeding facial oriphices
-Explosion of a human body
-Suicidality and ED mention
-Difficult choices
-Persistent death of friend
-Replaced after death
-Death by crushing (Amanda again)

CHAPTERS 114-133: OPENING NIGHT

-References to all past events of the fic
-Blood as per usual
-Hospitalization due to tic attack
-Child mistreatment

-Eating disorder mention
-Tumor mention
-Addiction to alcohol, drugs and sex mention
-Hypothetically giving away one's own son

-Dissociation
-Mentioned CSA
-Extensive talk about OSDD in a clinical sense
-Ableism towards someone with OSDD
-Violent intrusive thoughts
-Mentions of blood, broken bones, and murder during intercourse
-Mentions of suffocating to death and mercy killings by suffocation
-Explicit suicidal ideation (shot to the head)
-Past child death (drowning)

-Explosion
-Mass death

-Graphic body horror (flesh prison 2 electric boogaloo)

CHAPTERS 134-140: EPILOGUE: ONE YEAR

-Discussions of depression, child abuse, false accusations of child abuse, eating disorders and dissociation

CHAPTERS 141-147: EPILOGUE: TWO YEARS

-Self-harm (biting)
-Broken parental/filial relationships
-Memories of suicide baiting and slutshaming CSA victims
-Thoughts of suicidal ideation
-Non-graphic, off-screen suicide attempt (method not mentioned, but implied drowning)

CHAPTERS 148-154: EPILOGUE: THREE YEARS

-Confronting trauma
-Mentions of fire and hell
-Mentions of the flesh prison
-Mentioned nightmares
-A bit of self-hatred
-Dissociation
-Dissociative amnesia
-Mentioned tic attack
-Miscarriage
-Loss of child and of sibling and consequent mourning
-Falling downstairs and facial injury
-Scapegoating
-Perceived abandonment
-OSDD-related symptoms
-Pregnancy

CHAPTERS 155-162: EPILOGUE: FOUR YEARS (REPRISE)

-Referenced past suicide attempt
-Dissociation and dissociative amnesia-related grief
-Temporary loss of hope
-Mentioned complicated childbirth

Chapter Text

(January 20th, 2024, Saturday)

Whatever you had expected, it wasn't this.

20:06, it's starting late. It's a new show, the cast you've never heard of. But the reviews were promising enough. A musical about the six wives of Henry VIII? The premise, if anything is interesting.

But now, in the theater, it just feels like a huge waste of money. The tickets weren't that expensive; but you bothered bringing your friends into this amateur musical. The stage is tiny. There's no props or backgrounds. The band is perfectly visible, composed of only four musicians.

Dreadfully underwhelming.

The lights go out before you can apologize to your friend. She's staring at her phone screen with an unamused expression, no doubt tweeting her initial reaction (and quite possibly complaining about you for dragging her here on a Saturday evening. She had better plans).

At least the show is finally starting. The murmur that had filled the room dies down as the curtains are pulled open. Out walk the six actresses and just stand there. In the dark.

'I'm inviting everyone to dinner after this. It's the least I can do' you think.

"Divorced."

"Beheaded".

"Died."

"Divorced."

"Beheaded."

"Survived."

"And tonight, London, we are..."

--

The show goes well, against all odds. It's witty, it's funny and interesting. Of course, it's not entirely accurate. But somehow it doesn't manage to ruin the enjoyment value. This is something you'd feel comfortable recommending people. Brenda's going to have to go back on her words and sing praises to you instead.

And everyone can pay for their own dinner, thankfully.

Are these the best actresses you have ever seen? No. This is probably their first time on stage. However, it adds to the spirit of the show. It's more fun-loving than serious, yet without shying away from important topics that are still relevant in today's society. Some quips are delivered better thanks to the cast's awkwardness, actually.

The best part, to you at least, is the familiarity between the women on stage. It feels like they really do know each other; like they have a past together. And maybe they do. They've been very avoidant during interviews and on social media about their private lives. Nothing has even hinted at them being acquaintances before this. Which, hey, more kudos to them for that performance.

And also props to the make-up department. They've managed to age down the actress that plays Katherine Howard so she looks like an eighteen year-old. Unless she's actually eighteen. But that can't be, right? She plays a very convincing role of a very tragic historical figure. If that's a real teenager she might as well be the next big star.

If there's one thing that has marred this show, if anything... No, it's probably just your imagination. Everything went well.

You look at your friends as the room erupts in applause and the cast takes their final bow. They're all smiling, the evening was a success after all. That should teach them to respect your taste in musicals. Maybe you can rope them into finally watching Beetlejuice after today.

Megasix is a spectacular curtain call. It's crazy how much recognition the band gets. More productions should learn from this. Your previous complaints about the band being small, or on stage, were pointless. They were a crucial part of the musical and their interventions, while brief, were very organic. This show is self-aware, it knows exactly what it is and that it's a performance. It doesn't pretend to tell an actual story.

Reincarnated Tudor queens? That would be ridiculous. It's better this way.

At the suggestion to pull your phone out from Anna of Cleves, you do just that, like everyone. How many views can you get from this video? Maybe your own content will get some attention if this show blows up. This is the first Megasix of the first ever performance. This could be golden in just a few weeks.

It looks like the cast's having fun. No, you were definitely seeing things earlier. There was no change of mood after Haus of Holbein. And, if there was, it was either exhaustion or nerves on their part. The ambiance is delightfully upbeat, as it should be. The song comes to an end and some lucky guy in the first row gets his phone taken by Parr. Oh well, you're getting nowhere as many views as he is. But don't be too sour about it, it doesn't--

...Is Boleyn okay?

This... This is what she'd been doing after Haus of Holbein, right? She won't stop looking somewhere off to her left. Is there someone back stage? She looks pale. After moving around so much and singing with this scorching heat her cheeks are flushed, but the rest of the skin is almost ghostly.

What is she looking at?

She walks by Howard and bends down to whisper something in her ear. Howard's eyes widen, and she turns to Cleves. No... No, this isn't your imagination. And it probably wasn't after Haus of Holbein, either. Something's going on backstage.

As Parr returns the phone to its owner, Aragon leans down and whispers something to the guitarist. She pretends to keep on smiling and playing, but as her fingers strum the ending melody she twists carefully in her wheelchair, trying to catch the organist's eye.

That settles that she has some degree of vision, then. You weren't really sure. This show went all out with representation. As long as they're treating the crew like people and not numbers for the diversity quota...

A series of whispers begins to build around the audience like the buzzing of bees. People are pointing at the stage. Fragmented words and sentences reach you: "Is that normal?" "Are they okay?" "Is this part of the performance?"

You're not the only one who noticed, okay. You're not paranoid. Something's definitely up here.

After a very rushed sign off, the actresses run off stage. There's no semblance of calm, they're running from something. Or someone. Or towards it-- None of this is your business, is it? You came here to enjoy a show and you did. Whichever problems production is facing are the theater's issue to deal with.

The band stays playing a remixed version of the ending of "Six" while people begin filing out. Most stay until the end, though, phones still dotting the room trying to record every last second of music. You do, too.

The people in front of you dash, though. A young woman, a red-headed teen, a small blonde boy with hearing aids, and a little girl that can't be older than eight. Jeez, what's the rush? It's not like the room's on fire. Oh well, their loss. If only they hadn't stepped in front of your phone... How rude.

Thank goodness you choose to stay, though. Otherwise you would have missed how the organist stands and walks out still unfolding her cane. The drummer realizes and misses a beat looking at her. She recovers spectacularly, but without the keyboard the piece sounds off.

The bassist must have also given up, because she leaves during the final chord, before it's over. Both she and the organist have followed where the actresses left. The drummer goes to the guitarist and pushes her away. No goodbye, no final vow. The audience's voices grow louder. Some are annoyed, others concerned, and most just curious. This is a catastrophic way to open a show. The reviews are going to--

...Was that a--?

The sound repeats again. Distant, from within the building, as bloodcurdling as the first. A third scream follows.

What is going on back there?

Security walks in, asking everyone to leave the building calmly. A tall order, considering the entire audience has heard someone wailing in a back room after half the band left in a hurry and the actresses ran off stage like they were being chased. The room becomes a mass of people shoving past others while security desperately tries to keep the situation under control to no avail.

Not what you'd expected indeed.

Even if you didn't get your phone snatched by Parr, you smile. The views you're going to get with this are uncanny.

Chapter Text

(November 27th, 2023, Monday, 2023)

Every action has consequences. That is a fact. Nothing can, or ever will, change that.

Kathryn exhales through her mouth and inhales through her nose. The air before her frosts and the cold bites at her lips and nostrils. She closes her eyes, chewing the inside of her mouth. Paralyzing anxiety will get her nowhere. She did what she did and said the words she said. She cannot go four years back into the past and change everything. Even if she could, she would not.

Through another series of breaths, her heart slows ever so slightly. The city comes into view once more when she opens her eyes. Why must it get dark so early in winter? Well, technically autumn, but still. She tightens her coat around herself. Is it because of the first or because of how empty the street is? Both make her equally uncomfortable, it is irrelevant.

She left the house Anna's house a while ago and this is the first time she finds herself alone. Practically alone, there are three people in the street. A couple and a child who they are swinging between their hands as they walk down towards an apartment building. Their conversation fades and dies as they close the door behind them.

Four years... They've really passed quickly except for summers. Will the others have changed a lot since they last saw each other? Will they still be arguing all the time? Will--

'Focus, Kathryn. They won't like you, it won't be different.'

A gentle sigh follows that thought. Yes, the likelihood that anything will turn for the better is slim. Considering the argument they all had last time--

The sharp pain in her wrist snaps Kathryn back to her senses. She removes her nails from her skin. That was four years ago; not now. Nothing they can do to her or say now can hurt her. Not anymore. She's had four years, four, to prepare herself for this moment. She knew it was coming, for crying out loud. The first thing they all found out after waking up in that forsaken house was that they were to make a musical. Now it's time. Why is she so nervous then?! Every second spent not grounding herself is killing her, her heart--

...Grounding, grounding. Alright. What can she taste?

She should really consider starting from sight to taste instead of the other way around. There is nothing here she can ingest. Although tasting doesn't by definition involve eating. That means she can taste virtually anything. However, she does have a cereal bar in her bag.

'Now two things to smell...'

The city air is never clean. The cold is making it crisp. But that isn't a scent per se, just a quality. Hmm... She walks a bit closer to the studio. She saw it on Google Maps earlier, when she was planning her route, but now she's actually here. The others will arrive soon, assuming they aren't already inside. Is she late? Kathryn looks at her watch--

'Grounding first.'

...She isn't late, anyway. She's ten minutes early.

Someone is cooking a type of meat with some strong-scented sauce nearby. And now, right on top of a sewer, the pungent stench of humidity and this morning's rain crawls up into her nose nauseatingly. Kathryn steps back and leans against the studio's wall. Although the main entrance's light illuminates the sidewalk and road before her, not seeing the building itself helps her heart settle a bit.

'Three things to feel now.'

The green marble exterior of the studio is freezing against her palms. Her back is shielded by her coat, so it only feels a bit chilly. If she were to take a step forwards she could also touch the streetlamp before her. And, if she extends her arm just a bit to the right, her fingers graze the studio's sign. “Belladonna Dance Studio”. They're going to be stuck together for three weeks until they can go rehearse in the theater.

The theater. A musical about their lives, in front of an audience. Real people listening to her sing about--

'Four... Four to hear.'

Despite the street's stillness it isn't hard to latch onto noises. A car rumbling down the main avenue to her right. Someone's TV through a window on the first floor. A passerby coughing in a nearby alley. The gentle breeze's murmur in her ears.

'And five to see.'

Easy and distracting, which is exactly the point. A plane overhead. A dead leaf being blown into her foot. A shadow moving across a curtain on the third floor window of the building opposite the studio. The lights of an oncoming car. The car itself, which is red--

'Anna's car.'

Whether Anna sees Kathryn or not matters little. As Anna rounds the corner presumably to go to the parking lot, something within Kathryn sparks to life. Her skin is greeted by the warmth inside the studio before the thought 'Time to go in' crosses her mind. Her heart is racing all over again. What time is it? Seven minutes' worth of grounding for nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Are the others here already? Will she have to wait alone for long? Does she introduce herself at the main desk or wait to be addressed? How long will it take Anna to park the car and come inside?

Does Anna hate her for what Kathryn's done to her?

Kathryn curls her fingers into fists, digging her nails hard into her palms. She only has to breathe, just that. In through the nose, out the mouth--

“Can I help you?”

The lady at the desk's voice is sweet, but it makes Kathryn jump all the same. She nods, making her way there. The brunette woman with the tooth-rotting voice introduces herself as Karina. She can't be older than twenty-five.

“Oh!” she says when Kathryn presents herself. “You really are as young as they said! Say, will you sign me an autograph when the show opens? I want to have the first autograph from all queens!! Oh, to think all of you have changed your names to match your characters... Can I ask why? It's such an interesting choice to...”

...Does she ever shut up? All Kathryn needs to know is where she has to go. Autographs, audience, musicals... Who cares? If they hadn't started receiving those stupid notes when they woke up four years ago and the notes' threats hadn't come true when--

“...Miss Boleyn and Miss Seymour, they're your character's cousins, ri--?”

“What?” Kathryn asks. “What about Boleyn and Seymour?”

Karina smiles. “Nervous, aren't you? Poor thing... Well, don't you worry!! If they casted you it's because you're qualified for this!!”

'Ma'am, that is not my problem here.'

“I was saying you share a changing room with them. Room 2.7, here on the first floor” Karina says, still smiling. Doesn't her face hurt? She produces some keys from behind the desk and dangles them in her hand, but doesn't turn them in. “Nobody else is here yet, but you can go leave your things in there. Once you're done, the studio itself is--” with a gasp and a wide smile, Karina's cheeks flush. “Are those... Are those Parr and Cleves?”

Karina might as well be the only person who really cares about this musical and its production. All the “actresses” she yearns to meet hate each other. Indeed, Anna and Catherine are at the door. They're talking. Anna and Catherine are talking. That cannot prelude anything good. Kathryn snatches the keys from Karina and bolts. First floor, 2.7. That's her destination. First floor, 2.7.

“Wait, Kathryn!” Karina calls. “I haven't told you where--”

“I'll figure it out” Kathryn replies as the glass doors slide open. Karina greets Anna and Catherine with childish wonder as Kathryn rounds the corner. She stops, leaning against the wall, and grasps her chest. Her heart might as well try breaking through her rib-cage and spasm onto the floor at this rate.

'You can break down at the changing room. Nobody will see you there. Anna and Catherine might be here any second now.'

Licking her dry lips, Kathryn does exactly that. Changing room 2.7 is the first one at the end of the right hand corridor. The signs around the place show that well enough. There was no need for Karina to go on such a tangent.

As soon as she locks the door, Kathryn takes a seat and holds two fingers to her neck. She isn't counting the seconds, but her heart sure is going hard and fast. She takes a shuddering breath.

Four years... Four whole years to prepare herself and when the time comes she's little more than a nervous wreck.

It's going to be a long two months... Two months? Two months of rehearsals. The show itself could go on double that at least.

“Fuck” she mutters under her breath. This experience is going to be hell.

-

A lot of things would have been great. No, really. This entire day not happening, for example. Not having been reborn in the first place. Not being forced by some unknown entity to assemble a musical together about their traumatic lives. Not running into Anne first thing upon leaving the changing room.

Out of all of them, however, by far the worst is that nobody bothered telling them what this first session would entail. Had Kathryn known it was going to be an extended meet-and-greet with the staff she would have called in sick.

It's been an hour. A whole hour. One. Sixty minutes. They sat down in a circle and just heard people talk about things. The director, the producer's secretary because he couldn't come, the costume department, the choreographer, the designer... Kathryn can't remember their names. Her mind is elsewhere. Who cares about the costumes at this point? They won't be wearing them until they move into the theater. And once they do they'll assumably be introduced to the staff there as well. What do they need two introductions for?

Does it make her a bad person that she doesn't care about these people's names? Probably, but it doesn't matter much, she's bad by default.

Why did the heating have to go down today? They're already in the middle of a cold front in a particularly cold month of November. The heaters in the studio and the changing rooms are all dead. Someone from the staff gave a long-winded explanation as to why. It was probably logical and all, but Kathryn wasn't listening. Who cares why? Point is she's freezing her eyelashes off for a glorified get-together with people she'll soon never see again.

In between sneezes, Kathryn has been paying attention to all that around her. The studio is pretty small and surrounded by mirrors. They won't be acting on a huge stage though, so it's fine either way. The wooden floor smells delightful and the chairs are not as uncomfortable as they look. That's all this dump has going for it. Good floor, nice mirrors, decent chairs. She can only assume the dance studio they had originally rented was better. Then a pipe burst last week and the whole place flooded. This was the only locale that would have them on such short notice.

And as dumb as it is to focus on the glare of the lights on the polished floor, or the choreographer's squeaky, a-mouse-would-be-jealous-of-it voice, it's convenient. As long as Kathryn's taking her surroundings in, she isn't looking at the others.

They were forced to sit in order of marriage. Whoever thought sitting Catalina, Anne and Jane together was a good idea should be fired. The three of them look like powder kegs beside lit matches. Concentrating on their conflict and their tense expressions is much, much better, though, than giving much thought to the fact that Kathryn is seated between Anna and Catherine--

'No, no. No thinking about that. The lights... are a very ugly shade of yellow.'

...Fair point, they are. But following their trajectory with her gaze makes her eyes land on Joan's mint green hair. The ladies are in a half-circle before the queens. None of them have changed much except for Joan. The pastel goth aesthetic fits her very well. She has colour-coordinated every aspect of her outfit. When Kathryn thinks about most the ladies she feels nothing. Now, if she directs her attention to fucking Bessie--

'No. Goddamnit, Katrhyn. Focus.'

But focus on what? She could draw this room from memory at this point. She could sketch every single person here's uncomfortable and awkward expressions contrasted with how excited the crew is. And... who is that, again? He spoke earlier. The prop guy? Well, whoever. He's still talking. It doesn't look like he's anywhere remotely close to finishing...

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, startling her. Well, she did ask for something to focus on. Can she sneak it out without being caught? Fitting into the stereotype of the phone-obsessed teenager isn't her ideal of making a first good impression. She may not care about any of these people; but she is interested in the work environment being acceptable, at least.

The man turns and talks to María. Something about her recording of the drum instrumental being off-beat (so he's probably not the prop guy). She looks so pale. Then again, they sat her next to her ex; it just makes sense. Maggie, too, looks like she wants to wheel out of the room as quickly as possible.

Well, with his back turned to her and both Anna and Catherine doing their best to look as far away from each other as possible, it's safe to assume Kathryn can risk a quick glance at her phone, right?

She unlocks the screen and... Jesus, not again.

It's a twitter DM. More accurately, another twitter DM. Some weirdo has been sending them from different accounts since the show was announced and the cast revealed a fortnight ago.

“Take your cousin's choker during rehearsal.”? Fuck, some people get bored. Message deleted. It's not like Kathryn and Anne get along, but stealing her choker is taking it too far.

Well, it was distracting, wasn't it? Now most of Kathryn's anger has been rerouted to the random internet troll who thinks they're a comedian. How would she even go about doing such a thing? Anne's choker happens to be firmly attached to her neck, and there's no reason for which she would take it off.

The rest of Kathryn's rage is aimed at whoever is responsible for this entire situation. God himself, if he's playing the role of puppet master. Is there even a god in the sense that Kathryn knows of?

She sneezes. Isn't this entire day just lovely.

-

Her wristwatch says the meeting only lasted an hour and a half, but it must be lying. That was hell to get through. At least three years have been shaved off of Katrhyn's life span from stress alone. Now that they've been given the script for an initial read-through the ambiance has calmed a bit. Everyone's focused on their lines instead of pointedly ignoring each other. A change for the better.

They wrote most of it together. Well, Catherine wrote it with help from everyone back when they lived in the same house. Whatever it is that brought them back must have had a chuckle forcing them to live together for six months due to the contract with the landlord. The ladies suffered the same fate in a house two blocks away from theirs.

Now the sick bastard must really be laughing it up, seeing them cooped up together in the same room four years later. The script-- Her phone again. Is it the--? Yes, it's the troll again. Shit.

“Tick tock...”

These anonymous messages are getting annoying. Does the person sending them ever stop making new accounts? Blocked again. One would really think--

“If we could put our phones down and start the read-through...”

The director's tone is dripping with disapproval, making Kathryn's heart race. She bites an apology back before it makes its way out of her, though. It wasn't just she who was on her phone. Anne, fucking Bessie, Joan and María were as well. Thank goodness.

The man is entirely unremarkable. Plain face, plain hair, less interesting than a video game NPC. The second he's out of her sight, Kathryn will forget him.

“Shall we begin, ladies?”

-

In all honesty, if it weren't because it's about everyone's collective trauma and Henry, it could be an enjoyable musical. Also the fact that Kathryn is contractually obligated to do this and has no say in it makes it much less pleasant, but those are just details. The script, objectively, is good. Catherine may be a bitch, but she's an amazing author and apparently script-writer as well.

Whether plain face insisted on taking five right after the Haus of Holbein break because everyone was getting tired or because Catalina, Anne and Jane sounded like they wanted to real-life murder each other and not just pretend-murder each other is a mystery. Whatever it was, it's welcome. Kathryn's throat is parched and there are few things she wouldn't do to just leave the room. The environment is hostile. The air crackles with tension between them.

It could also be because he doesn't want half his cast to get sick on day one. Approximately half of them are dressed to endure the cold. The other half's warm clothes consists of coats, gloves and hats; all of which would be too warm. This place is hell.

'And to think we're just getting started...'

The halls are kindly warm. Kathryn retreats back into the changing room to grab her gloves maybe. But Jane is there, calling her little fiend of a son. Kathryn is out before they can make eye contact. Can she wait in hall, then? No, no, Catalina is prowling it like a caged animal ready to tear its cage apart with its bare paws.

The lobby is always an option, but who has the patience to deal with Karina? Not Kathryn, that's for sure.

Alright then. She's got four minutes of break left and has to make peace with cold hands. Time to explore this dump.

The halls consist of white walls with chipping paint and humidity stains. The building smells like it hasn't been aired out in the last decade. All the floors are the same black, lackluster tiles. Occasionally a withering plant makes an appearance in a random corner. This place is more deserted than a shadowy alleyway at night. And, speaking of lighting, the overheads are so far apart there's a noticeable darkness between one and the next.

Many hallways and many locked maroon doors. Kathryn isn't above hiding spending time in the bathroom, but fucking Bessie was there, looking stiff as if her limbs were frozen, while she and Joan washed their hands in awkward silence. Joan Kathryn doesn't mind. Now, fucking Bessie--

Kathryn pinches her wrist again. She's never going to remain calm if she can't stop thinking about their last meeting. Screw Bessie and Anna and Catherine and the lot.

The musical is just a stepping stone. A necessary event. Like washing the dishes. Or going to that ridiculous etiquette class they forced onto her in the boarding school. The boarding school... A sigh rudely escapes Kathryn without permission. What wouldn't she give to be there and not here?

To be fair, though, being at the hospital sounds more appealing than being here right now. But at least at school she had her own room. She shared it with people, sure, but those people were strangers. Every time she returned to London it was back to Anna's place for the summer. Now that the move is permanent--

'My birthday's next month. I'll be eighteen. I'll be away from her. She won't hurt me and I won't hurt her anymore.'

Kathryn's heart hasn't quite calmed down in all this time. And now, remembering her warm bedroom and the safe environment of the school, it speeds up even more. Why is this happening? Why is any of this happening? Why a musical? Why about--?

Her phone again. Perhaps, instead of the troll, it's finally--

“Oh, you've got to be shitting me.”

“What do you think Anne would rather have when she goes home today? Her choker or her index finger? You're still on time. It's in your hands.”

...What? Taking the edge up a notch. Her heart pounds, but the message is deleted. “Fucking weirdo.”

There's... No, no. They're doing everything it wanted them to do. They're doing the musical. There's absolutely no reason for the entity to screw with them again. No, Anne... Anne will be fine. She'll go back home with all eleven of her digits today. It's just some internet rando trying to make her uneasy and winning.

...Deep breaths. It's time to head back, anyway.

-

“Kathryn.”

'Ah, shit.'

She bites the inside of her mouth. “Anna.”

Anna looks like someone who would be very, very pleased if the gods were to smite her with lightning on the spot. Then again, Kathryn herself must appear the same.

“You-- Before we took a break, you were sneezing.”

...True??

“Keen observation, Anna” Kathryn quips. Anna flinches. Kathryn returns to her seat.

“Wait, wait!”

'Why me? Why today?'

“What” she groans.

“I...” Anna closes her eyes. “I can lend you my scarf if you want to. I-I really don't need it.”

Under any normal circumstances, Kathryn is more likely to accept anything that has fallen into an open toilet before accepting something from Anna. Kathryn could be bleeding out, Anna could offer to call 999, and Kathryn would choose death. But she is freezing...

“Whatever. Thanks.”

When Anna hands her the red scarf their fingers brush. Anna's hand is warm. As warm as it was four years ago, when Kathryn first opened her eyes in this confusing century and Anna enveloped her in the softest, most comforting embrace. The nights they spent together in that house, barricaded against the outside hatred. Anna is so warm and--

'You ruined it. She ruined it. You both hurt everything you touch.'

There's a lump in Kathryn's throat. She swallows it down. “Thank you” she says. It sounds like a pathetic whine. She walks away before Anna's done replying. When she slips the scarf around her neck it smells like Anna, Kathryn's chest tightens.

'...Must be the cold.'

-

And the hurry to come back, was...? They're all waiting for Jane and Maggie to grace them with their presences. Jane is no doubt being held back by her stupid spawn. The child is a wolf in sheep's clothing and Jane is his knowing, willing victim. And Maggie's probably waiting for María to go check up on her. Their relationship was so toxic and codependent... If Maggie's still got that love-sick, sad puppy act going on Kathryn might vomit.

Catalina hasn't sat down yet. Anne is standing too, in the opposite corner like Catalina and her are same-pole magnets. Anna is delaying sitting for as long as possible, and Cathy's nose is stuck in the script. María is making tense conversation with Joan about the weather. Fucking Bessie is staring at Anna like an innocent lamb. Honestly. If it weren't for her, Anna and Kathryn would have never--

Kathryn's phone buzzes and her breath hitches. Finally, this has to be--

'Oh, come on!'

“Lovely red scarf you're wearing. Tick tock...”

...How do they know that? Is... No, the person sending this can't be in the building, right...?

...But then how do they know?

The only person currently holding a cellphone is Catalina. She isn't sending these, though. Or is she? No, Catalina has better things to do. She would be more competent than to keep her phone in plain sight after sending such a message. Unless that's what she wants Kathryn to think... But no, no. Catalina hates her, everyone does, but is she that petty?

Who else would be interested in hurting Anne? Nobody despises Anne more than Catalina. Yet still, Catalina? Would she orchestrate something like this?

Maggie is also interested in harming Anne. Maggie and Anne can barely share air with each other without arguing. And Maggie's nowhere to be found... And, well, fine. Anne isn't very popular. Jane would also get a kick out of seeing her suffer and is also casually missing... But no. None of them had their phones out earlier, when she received the first text of the evening.

Kathryn looks up at the corners. Is the security camera feed in colour? Well, not necessarily. Someone could have seen Anna walk in and then watched her hand Kathryn the scarf.

'Or my phone's been hacked?'

Looking at the little white thing, at its frontal camera lens, sends a shiver down Kathryn's spine. She puts it away. The moment she's at home she's running a scan or three on it.

In any case, it's obvious someone wants a reaction from her. If it's any of the others Kathryn would rather stub her own toe than give them what they want. Same can be said if it's some sick bastard. She takes a deep breath. Nobody is going to come out of a dark corner and separate Anne's index finger from her hand. Someone's just getting their kicks from scaring Kathryn.

Finally, at long last, Jane and Maggie come in. They're admonished. Good. Everyone's ten minutes off schedule because of them.

It's the last stretch of the day, then back to Anna's house. Where is it worse to be, though? The studio or her room at Anna's place?

...Whatever.

-

Whether the knot in her stomach comes from having just read the lyrics to her song, the general murderous ambiance, her friends who haven't texted her yet, or that her mind won't stop wandering off to the anonymous messages is anyone's guess. All Kathryn really knows is that she's walking as if someone had winded her up like one of those silly toys. She needs to stand, to move, to go anywhere.

If she can make it to the changing room first and retrieve her bags before Jane and Anne arrive she can slip out unnoticed, probably. She just has to go fast and--

“Kathryn” Anna calls.

Goddamnit.

“Oh, what now?!” she says, unwrapping the scarf from around herself. “Here, have it!” she says, tossing it towards Anna. It falls unceremoniously onto the floor.

But before Kathryn can march away, Anna's rushing her words. “I was just going to ask you to let me drive you home. It's very late. It's dark. I already let you come here by yourself...”

Kathryn puts two fingers between her brow. “Don't we have to tolerate each other enough at your house?”

“I want you to be safe.”

The eye roll is more powerful than Kathryn can handle. “News to me.”

“Kathryn--”

“See you home, Anna.”

She's a minor. Anna can technically force her to do whatever she pleases. She's choosing not to, though. That's as much of a truce as they've had since--

'Shit.'

Anne arrived to the changing room first. Well, she too is doing her damnedest to pretend Kathryn doesn't exist. It would be worse if Jane had beat the two of them.

Anne pulls the door towards herself a bit and a pit opens in Kathryn's stomach. Why she doesn't really know. As soon as the door is away from the frame, Anne lets go of the handle and grabs the side of the door to pry it the rest of the way. Dreadful habit she has there. Four years later and she hasn't shaken it off yet. One day she's going to lose a--

'...Finger.'

“Anne--” Kathryn says. Her cousin turns to look at her with narrowed eyes.

“Wha--? Woah!!”

Anne leans forwards against the door, pulling her hand away. When she removes herself from the door, it slams shut. With a soft clink, the bottom-most hinge pin falls to the floor and rolls to Anne's feet.

...The door slammed shut. Just when Anne... Her hand was--

“Downright shithole we're in, yeah?” Anne says, bending down to pick up the pin. She looks at it. “Karina's gonna hear a piece of my mind on this; that she is.”

After taking two steps forwards, without stopping, she turns to look at Kathryn over her shoulder. “I'm sure you were talking, but I really don't care. Priorities, y'know? See you tomorrow!”

Kathryn frowns. 'What an asshole.' Why was she so worried about Anne? She's still a trash person.

...Yet concern is growing wider and wider in Kathryn's mind, making her heart gallop. Was that coincidence? The place is indeed in shambles. But did the hinge pin have to fall out today? Precisely as Anne was going to the changing room? Did someone screw around with the door? Was that a planned event, or--?

Something bumps into Kathryn's foot. Joan cries in surprise. “So sorry!” she says. “Who's there?”

Kathryn steps against the wall, out of Joan's cane's way. The woman is wearing dark glasses. The lights must have gotten too overwhelming again.

When Kathryn makes to speak, there's something lodged in her throat. She swallows a couple of times. Why is she breathing so hard? It was just Anne. And-And anyway, it's all probably a big coincidence. The studio is obviously falling apart--

“I can't tell who you are from breathing alone. You're freaking me out” Joan says. “Is everything okay?”

Kathryn nods. She nods. To a visually-- Damnit.

'You're a downright idiot, Kathryn.'

“Yes...” she says. She sounds breathy. “It's Kathryn, Joan. Don't worry. Just go.”

But Joan doesn't budge. “You sound distressed.”

'Fuck'. “So? Scram.”

...Why did she lash out at Joan? She's never had any problems with her. God damn everything on this cursed day.

Joan shakes her head in disapproval. “This attitude won't get us anywhere” she mutters under her breath, walking by Kathryn. “We're all in this together whether we like it or not.”

What? The freaking audacity of this woman.

“Then fix things with Jane, why don't you?!” Kathryn calls. “Life lessons for everyone while you don't move a finger to fix your own things, right?”

Joan doesn't stop. She says something else to herself and turns the corner.

...Why Joan? Joan hasn't done anything to Katrhyn. And if anyone needs to mend their bond it's Jane; not Joan. It was all Jane's fault. Kathryn groans. 'I'll just apologize tomorrow.'

Wait, the doors. If they've been tampered with, every door could be-- Shit. Kathryn's phone vibrates, but she's too busy trailing after Joan. She arrives in time to see her open the ladies' changing room without incidence.

Well, that's nice. But still, the other queens. Kathryn can hate them all she wants, but finger loss (or any body part loss) is entirely off the table.

She arrives to their changing room in time to warn Jane, she's still nowhere to be seen. Anna is leaving her changing room already. The door acts normally. Kathryn walks up to it, looks at the hinges. Every pin is in place.

'It was only our room...'

“Kathryn?” Anna says. “Everything okay?”

Kathryn nods. “Just fine.”

Anna gives her a soft, aloof smile. “Didn't know you were into door-making” she teases.

That smile... Something goes a bit soft within Kathryn. Anna's smile. Anna's smile is so precious. Once upon a time she used to see it almost every day. A strange force is tugging at Kathryn's lips as well. She's smiling back at Anna. Just like--

“...freaking door tried to fix my six-finger condition; that's the problem!” Anne's voice arrives before she does.

Karina is trailing behind her. When they both round the corner, Anna catches one glimpse of Anne and power-walks away. Anne is red in the face, pointing at the hinge. “Piece of shit could've maimed me.”

Karina stumbles over her apologies. She has no idea what happened, she says. It probably slammed because of the heat difference between the cold changing room and the warm hallway, probably. If the hinge was faulty, she'll make sure every door gets checked properly.

“'If' it was faulty?” Anne says, dangling the pin in front of Karina's face. She looks close to tears. “Ludicrous, it's quite literally in my hand and not in the door! What do you mean, 'if'?!”

Jane scurries past Kathryn and Anne steps by to let her in. Right, right. Kathryn has to grab her things, too. And she has to look at her phone. It probably won't be any of her friends, though.

Jane's blue eyes are cold when Kathryn's gaze meets hers. Well, they're always inherently cold. Blue is a cold colour. But... have they always been this dull? It's like the life's been sucked out of her in these four years.

'Why do you care so much?'

...Fair enough.

Kathryn retrieves her coat, bag, and leaves before Jane does. Anne has stopped scolding Karina. Good. Just because she's annoying doesn't mean Kathryn wishes a cross Anne on her. The only person she wishes a cross Anne onto is Catherine. Nobody else deserves that. Angry Anne is like a pack of hungry wolves compressed into a terrifying human woman.

Kathryn's fingers graze her skirt pocket as the studio's automatic doors slide to a close behind her. The cold wiggles its way deep under her skin. She shivers before pulling her phone into her hand.

“...I promise, I promise, I swear!!”

Kathryn groans. Why on Earth is Mary, of all people, here?

A very much angry, fiery Catalina rounds the corner from the parking lot with her daughter not far behind. “So when you got there the parking lot was empty?!” Catalina says, disbelief coating her words.

“Honest!” Mary says, violet eyes wide and shiny. “It-It must have happened before I arrived, mum, I--”

Catalina stops, turning to look at Mary head first. “You promise you did not slash Anna's tires?”

'...What?'

Mary sniffles. “I swear!!” she says, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I came to pick you up! Then Anna walked out and thought it had to be me since there was nobody else around! She screamed at me! But I didn't do anything!”

Catalina takes a series of deep breaths before grasping Mary by the arm and returning to the parking lot. “Alright” she says in a more even tone. “I was considering giving Anna a ride, but I believe you. She can freeze out here tonight for screaming at you. Who does she think she...?”

Her words are drowned by the distance between Kathryn and Catalina. Kathryn's hands are balled into trembling fists. If Mary's innocent then Kathryn's a fucking cactus. She slashed Anna's tires? And now Anna--

'Not your problem, Kathryn. Anna isn't your problem anymore, remember?'

The hand she's tensed around her phone hurts from where the slender item digs into her flesh. Right, right. Shaking her head, Kathryn unlocks the screen.

“Consider that a warning. Next time I won't be so kind. I'm back, Kathryn. Did you miss me?”

Her breathing is oddly still. She reads the message twice. She's walking before she gives the conscious order to do so.

If this is really the... the whatever it is that brought them back... then why is it...? It wanted a musical, right? Well, there it goes! They're already doing it! They've worked four years on getting it produced, four!! Why is it back to screw around with them again?!

...Or... Or, it could be someone pretending... But why? The only people who know about the entity and reincarnation are the others...

Kathryn stops at the first bench she finds. The inherent panic that courses through her when she finds herself in a deserted, dark street has nothing on the brand of fear she's experiencing now. It's almost paralyzing. Almost.

'...First, I go to Anna's. Then I can break down. And then it's brainstorm time.'

Doing her best to ignore the pounding in her chest, Kathryn stands on unsteady feet. As she begins to walk, it starts to snow.

*

She is bad. She is bad. She is the absolute worst person.

Bessie's tears feel like ice embedded into her cheeks. They blur her phone screen as she hiccups and sobs. She shouldn't have done that, she should not have done that.

With every step the words repeat in her head. The demand. The threats if she refused to comply. She cries harder, shaking all over, until she stops under a streetlight.

'We did what we had to do to get by' she thinks. 'No big deal. It's just some tires. Anna's fine. We couldn't risk anyone finding out.'

And yes yes yes. That she knows. She's painfully aware of what the punishment would have been. But... But still!! Mary got blamed!! Catalina screamed at Mary. It really wasn't Mary's fault. But Anna screamed at her, and so did Catalina. Poor Mary. Mary was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

'What's done is done. Let's go.'

Her inner monologue is quite imposing for someone who's knees are about to give out from the strain. She knows she has to go home, of course, but...

She reads the message once more, drying her tears with her scarf first.

“Good girl, Bessie! See? It wasn't that hard, now was it?

I hope you continue to be this agreeable in the future :)'

Her sobs become whimpers. It's real, isn't it? It's happening again.

Whatever brought them to life is back to haunt them once more.

Chapter Text

(December 2^nd, 2023, Saturday)

At this point last year Lina wouldn't have covered her head with her pillow the second the alarm clock went off. She presses it harder, but the sound comes through crystal clear regardless.

She could sigh, groan, or scream in frustration. The urge to most certainly blossoms in her chest, but what would be the point? She can throw a tantrum or be an adult about it.

Going to the school was a joy. Seeing her students, grading them. Teenagers can be grating, of course, but that was par for the course. The other queens are a thorn in her side. Five thorns. She would gladly take another room full of chatty, bratty students over seeing the witch bitching and moaning on and off about her things going missing.

Their first week of work is about to conclude. Tomorrow, at last, Lina gets to stay home with her daughter and... well, sulk. But at least sulk in her house; not with those five blasphemous snakes.

Perks of it being Saturday include that, to “celebrate” their first week working together, they are allowed to go home early. Downsides of it being Saturday are all related to the fact that she has to go to the studio at all.

She left her clothes ready last night. After grabbing them she goes to the bathroom. She will change, get breakfast and leave. If she's lucky, Mary will still be asleep. The odds are against her, though. Mary hates this flat. She's complained about being unable to sleep since they moved back to London for this show.

As much as Lina dislikes agreeing with Mary on petty complaints, regarding the apartment she has no qualms about her daughter's distaste. The previous owners painted it dark green. It's smaller than their previous house. The views are to a back alley and the pungent stench of rotten garbage may crawl in through the window on particularly bad days.

Mary's room doesn't even have a window. She painted the walls black. Her only argument for that was that “it's better than green.”

...Well. It's what they have.

After washing her face and changing Lina heads to the kitchen. Mary is already there, still in pyjamas. Her hair is a wreck. When Lina greets her, Mary turns around with a lost gaze and a broken half-smile half-grimace.

“I'm making breakfast” she says in the same expressionless tone she's had since Monday.

Part of Lina wants to smack her past self for as much as implying that Mary had slashed Anna's tires. The other part wants to shake Mary by the shoulders and tell her in no uncertain terms she needs to get a grip on her life urgently.

“Need some help, love?” Lina asks.

Mary shakes her head. “I'm just fine, mum.”

Lina's knees weaken for a moment. As appealing as sinking to the floor with despair sounds, someone in their small family must keep her head on her shoulders. If Mary cannot bear to face reality or leave the house, or change out of her pyjamas, or shower then Lina will be beside her daughter solid as stone.

“I'd like to help you regardless” she says in a tone that implies there is no room for argument.

As she starts the coffee pot, Mary puts the egg she was about to crack on the counter and turns around. “There isn't enough room for two in this kitchen.”

Lina pinches the bridge of her nose. “Mary, get back here!”

Mary stops in her tracks, but doesn't look at her mother. Her fists tremble beside her. “What?” she whispers.

'She needs to be put in place.'

“What can I do for you?” Lina says, though much to her frustration it comes out like a desperate plea. “Mary, please...”

Mary sighs, running a rough hand through her messy hair and no doubt pulling on it in the process. “You can't fix this, mum” she says. “I'm not an arts and crafts project. You can't fix me.”

“You're my daughter. Do you think standing idle as you waste your life away is easy?”

Mary shrugs, finally turning to look at Lina. Her eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep and tears alike. They drip off her chin. “I can leave.”

...That just hurts more. Lina's heart is trying to bruise itself against her rib cage in agony. But there's a dash of anger, too. A dash that grows and grows like a fire within her. “I didn't say that” she says sharply. “I just want you to do something.”

Is it really asking that much? Return to therapy, volunteer somewhere, resume art school, apply for another job...

'Anything but wasting away cooped up in here.'

Mary shakes her head, returning to her room. “Some people don't deserve second chances, mum. I'm one of them.”

At the end of the hallway, her door clicks closed.

Lina's hands close around her mug, raising it over her head. She almost, just almost, throws it at the wall. Its sound as it shattered would be so satisfying. Instead, she gently places it back on the counter. She repeats to herself that '“Anger” is just a letter away from “danger”', but it accomplishes nothing save increasing the pressure in her chest.

She closes her eyes and leans on the kitchen counter. Mary...

It's Lina's fault that she's so screwed up, isn't it? If Lina had done better, Henry wouldn't have parted them. Then Mary wouldn't have grown up to become--

The scent of burnt eggs snaps her out of it and leads her to the stove as if pulled by strings. She's failing at everything, at absolutely everything. She doesn't have time to have breakfast anymore. A cereal bar for the way will have to do.

She knocks on Mary's bedroom wall before leaving... It's pointless, Mary won't--

Knock knock.

Lina's muscles relax slightly. At least Mary doesn't hate her and why not? She abandoned her at the age of thirteen and put her on the road to--

Late. She's late. She won't get the bus if she stays mesmerized in the entrance hall.

She can't change the past, can she? There's no going back.

-

Driving herself to work would be more convenient than public transport, that's for sure.

Her hips are pressed uncomfortably into the burly man beside her, as are her elbow and torso. The crick in her neck is waking up from the bad posture, ready to greet her and nestle under her skin for the rest of the day. The air in the bus is stuffy. People are too loud. At least two people in her vicinity are unfamiliar with the concept of hygene.

Trying to breathe as little as possible, ignoring the heavy rain echoing on the metal roof of the bus, attempting to relieve the tension in her neck, and compressing herself into an awkward position are far from ideal travel conditions. But if she didn't do this, if she hadn't made up the excuse about parking the car being a nightmare around the studio in the morning, then Mary wouldn't leave the house to drive her home.

That's the only time she leaves at all.

Of course, when on the first day of picking Lina up from the studio Mary found a small parking lot just for people working there she was skeptical. Whether the half-assed excuse that “Trust me, it isn't big enough for all the people here in the mornings” washed or not matters little. Be it due to believing Lina or just to please her, the only thing forcing Mary to get out of her room is driving Lina back home every day. It's a definite improvement.

She shakes her head. There's a line in the musical put there due to Lina's own insistence. 'Have my golden rule: gotta keep my cool.' They are words she tries to live by. One misstep, one outburst, and she could hurt Mary again. One of those at work, in front of the others, and she would show them how much their final argument really hurt her.

They can never know. As far as they're concerned, Lina left them; not the other way around.

Even though they did. Even though everyone does. In the end she's always alone.

Her ribs are sore from where the colossal man grinds into her. The ribs on her other side are sore from bring pressed into the bus' inner wall. His meaty arm feels too warm beside her. He's either extremely hot or has a fever.

The thought makes her stomach lurch more than the scent of unshowered bodies permeating the bus. No, no, she'll be fine. She isn't going to fall ill. That will not happen, it won't--

He coughs. Lina stands. Next stop isn't hers, she'll be late. But if she gets sick then she'll be six feet under. Modern medicine cannot work miracles. Ailments and germs are still very much real. Being late isn't worth the risk of contracting a disease.

The rain smells beautifully compared to the bus. When the doors open Lina scrambles out. Her nose feels fresh, but the pellets of water burrowing in her hair are like ice cubes against her scalp. Curses.

Her umbrella-- isn't in her hand. Her umbrella--

'I left it inside.'

As she turns, the doors close and the bus speeds off. She yelps an actual curse word as the wheels splash the puddle forming underneath them and drench her. Street water is disgusting, but her body is tense with shock. She cannot aford more than a fleeting thought to the germs she must be covered in as she shivers in the cold.

A small sob escapes her, but she bites the inside of her mouth until she tastes iron. Crying won't solve this. She is already late as is. Hopefully she can use the hairdryer and showers there. Her handbag where her gym clothes are in is soaked, but it was advertised as water-proof.

'Time to test it.'

-

The second worst thing about arriving wet and trembling to the studio was Karina's over-exaggerated concern. There hasn't been a day the excitable receptionist hasn't asked most everyone for an autograph. Only Parr has conceded; but of course the likes of her would. Her stupid goddaughter could do with attention for most everything.

The worst, by far, is arriving to the shower room. It's right next to the studio. That would normally be fine; but since Karina oh so helpfully went ahead of Lina to inform everyone to start without her, the door to the studio is wide open. All she needs do is rush by. It won't give any of them time to see her in such a deplorable state--

“Do you think you're funny?!” That's Boleyn's voice.

“Ladies, if we could all calm down--” And that's Karina.

“Calm down?! One of these wenches thinks it's fucking hilarious to take my shit and hide it around the studio!! I'm going to find which one of you it is!!”

A small chortle escapes Lina. Whoever has been pranking Boleyn recently deserves an award. Maybe if everyone's gazes are trained on the witch Lina can sneak a quick glance inside...

Everyone's sitting in a circle as they do for warm-ups every morning. Except Boleyn is standing in the middle turning to look at both her cousins. Seymour is close to tears like the pathetic, whiny shell of a person she is. Howard is looking at her nails nonchalantly, twirling a strand of hair with her other hand. “Bold of you to assume I would waste time and energy on spiting you; cousin dearest.”

Oh, good one! Lina wouldn't invite Howard out for coffee if her life depended on it; but perhaps in another life the two could have bonded over their shared distaste for the witch.

Boleyn goes on yet another rant. Yes, yes, sure. Only Howard and Seymour have the key to their changing room. Whatever. Whichever of the two it is Lina would pay to learn their ways. Well, it could always be someone from the staff. That's... slightly more unsettling. The staff could have keys to all their changing rooms, so if that's the case then anyone could--

“Blimey!” Joan's voice says. Her cane has run straight into Lina. “Sorry! We haven't started yet because Catalina hasn't arrived; I thought I'd learn my way around--”

“I am Catalina.”

Joan frowns. Her eyes don't quite focus on Lina. “Why do you smell like something that's been dug up from a swamp?”

Why the insolent, little--

“Why are you roaming the halls like an errant ghost?”

Joan rolls her eyes. Were they always that shade of green or is she wearing contacts to match her hair? “In case you haven't noticed, I'm blind. And, in case you also haven't noticed, there's no braille anywhere here! If I want to get around independently I need to learn the layout. Since you were too busy playing in the mud to get here on time, I went on a walk.”

The string of insults lining on Lina's tongue she extinguishes. Boleyn's screeches are coming to a halt. Lina must get to the showers before anyone sees her. At least Joan can't give an accurate description of her sorry state.

“I hope you choke on your snark” Lina says.

“Have a lovely day too!” Joan quips, returning to the studio.

The intense and sudden urge to physically assault her co-workers Lina is slowly learning to make peace with. Joan hadn't sparked it in Lina yet. Why is she being so rude now? Lina was very neutral in Joan's fight with Seymour just as Joan hadn't taken sides in Lina's argument with her.

In Joan's case, it was objectively Seymour's fault. In Lina's--

'Who cares now?'

Some times she wishes Jane and her were still friends, like at the beginning. Before they argued about Henry and their words became far too cruel to forget.

Lina sneezes. She will have an early death from hypothermia at this rate.

...Dwelling on the past is pointless, anyway. It can only hurt her more. Before heading into the shower she checks for messages from Mary. None, of course. Why would she as much as spare a thought for the mother who cannot save her in any life?

-

She makes it on time for their short, unscheduled mid-morning break. These happen when the ambiance gets too tense and people need a break. Everyone is tense at all times, by all means; but when the poor MD looks like he is going to be physically ill if he hears another passive-aggressive comment he always orders everyone to take five.

Well, good. She can do some warm-ups with this time instead of shredding her vocal cords.

Boleyn darts to her changing room, as she's been doing since her choker disappeared on Tuesday. She swore to Heaven and beyond that she'd only taken it off for a moment because it got too scratchy. When she returned from the bathroom break it was gone.

It appeared on Thursday hanging from a stage light.

Before reincarnation Lina would have scoffed at the thought of a ghost. Considering she is alive once more and that her knowledge on God and religion are quite obviously limited at best, she can no longer discard the option that vengeful spirits may also exist.

Whoever has been harassing Boleyn by taking her things is trying very, very hard to make it look like the studio is haunted. Every time she thinks about it, a shiver traverses Lina's spine. The pranks are funny afterwards. Walking into the studio in the morning only to find the car keys that were taken from Boleyn two days prior sitting on the table can be unnerving.

Mostly because a majority of these instances have happened first thing in the morning, right after the door is unlocked. This is the only thing that makes Lina believe it may be staff toying with Boleyn. Otherwise she would be convinced of Howard's guilt. And yes, sure, Howard has alibis for several incidents. Lina still wouldn't put it past her to have somehow conned everyone into believing her innocence.

But Howard, assumably, only has keys to her own changing room. Not the dance studio.

The whole affair is droll when only considering Boleyn's rage. If Lina thinks about it too much, it becomes menacing instead.

She walks up to Joan, who has her face uncomfortably close to her computer and a font so large most words don't fit on one page. Lina clears her throat. “I'd like to warm up.”

Joan's black-painted lips curl into a half smirk. “Break time, I'm going on a walk. Be my guest to use the keyboard.”

Why didn't Lina take piano classes? She has been taking music theory and singing courses for four years, since they were forced into this ridiculous show. She never thought learning an instrument necessary and now every time she needs to do anything on a keyboard her fingers tangle. She doesn't have the ease the others do to simply walk up and skillfully play a scale or a major chord. She has to stop and think about it. It's embarrassing to do in front of the others.

“Need any help with that?”

Hearing Maggie talk when not directly spoken to is a surprise. Lina almost says “No, thank you”, but what's the alternative? Hurting her vocal cords or demonstrating she can't competently play a keyboard?

She cradles her hand. “I sprained my wrist, so thank you.”

She'd sooner will herself to stop breathing than admitting she can't play the keyboard. Or anything else, for that matter.

Maggie says nothing other than asking Lina to remove Joan's chair so she can fit her wheelchair. Why she has chosen to aid Lina is anyone's guess. It must be their shared hatred for Boleyn and Salinas.

'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'

Her phone buzzes just two exercises in. It could be Mary. That's a priority, but Maggie is helping Lina... Mary can wait. Whether Lina goes overboard to give her daughter the moon and stars; remains cold and distant from her; or screams at her to move on with her life, Mary doesn't get better. She never improves.

As disheartening as it is, lately Lina is numb to it for the most part. Unless she has Mary falling apart before her, the knowledge that her daughter is far from alright gives Lina the same feeling that anaesthesia at the dentist does.

She's a bad mother. What sort of mother would be indifferent to her daughter's suffering? The same kind of mother that would give in so easily to abandoning her in court.

Maggie and her don't get very far before the MD returns. He looks like he is going to have a nervous crisis if the slightest thing goes wrong again. Lina thanks Maggie one final time before taking a seat. Boleyn returns followed by Joan. Joan goes to her place and drops her cane almost like she's resting it on something. It clatters to the floor.

'What the--?'

Wide eyes, Joan bends forwards, feeling the air around her. “Hilarious, guys. Very funny. Who moved my chair?!”

Damn it, she should have returned it to its place. Joan leaves everything in rigorous order. How can Lina apologize--?

“It was Catalina and Maggie!” Boleyn says in a sing-song voice. “They were at the keyboard when I walked in! I call ableism!!”

Maggie points at her wheelchair. “You're fucking kidding aren't you? I couldn't move her chair if I tried!”

Boleyn opens her yap to retort something. Parr starts rocking back and forth gently like the attention-seeking husband thief she is. The veins around Steven's temples swell.

“Enough!!” he screams. Parr hisses as if noise alone could hurt her. “That's it!! As your music director I must order everyone to calm down!! If you don't, we'll leave at the scheduled hour!! I know none of you are professionals, but none of this is okay!! Act your age, not your shoe size, ladies!!”

'Considering you're sharing a room with Boleyn, Howard, Parr and Blount, you make a very tall order.'

After a few muttered apologies, rehearsal finally begins.

-

They get sent home early instead.

Howard has a cold and won't stop coughing and sneezing. From Monday's heating fiasco, she says. Parr burst into tears halfway through “Heart of Stone” and was unable to articulate why. Blount has either a stomach bug or a cocaine addiction. Boleyn doesn't know how to shut up. Seymour won't stop looking at her phone because “her son is sick.” Right. The only thing the little brat has is the ability to manipulate his mother to his every whim.

“Next week we're starting on the choreography” Steve says, wiping his brow. He is red in the face from frustration alone. “Whether you're ready or not. We're not too late to make one of the swings a main cast member. First and final warning.”

He leaves without any pleasantries. Cleves quietly wishes him a good weekend when he walks by her, but he waves her off.

Lina busies herself with apologizing to Joan to give time for Parr and Cleves to go to their changing room. Sharing close quarters with them is unappealing, they can barely go two minutes without snapping at each other. Every time, without fail, Parr covers her ears like some terrified infant.

'She wasn't so sweet and vulnerable when she was seducing Henry, now was she?'

...Or at least that was Lina felt upon reincarnation. Revisiting their first life from the lens of the musical has made her not despise Parr for Henry, specifically. She has many other, more valid motives to dislike her goddaughter.

Cleves is too occupied trying to talk to Howard like some miserable abandoned dog whimpering so its owner won't abandon it. Pathetic. Howard and Cleves' relationship rotted away like a flower in the sun four years ago and the only person who refuses to let go is Cleves. What does she see in the haughty teenager, anyway? Howard looks like one of those students the grades of which Lina would have lowered grasping at straws if necessary.

Parr isn't making a move, either. She's sitting there, staring at her knees, pulling on her sweater sleeves. Is she really hoping someone will walk up and check up on her? Goodness gracious.

Well, if neither are going to the changing room, then Lina might as well use it. As she takes the first step, Howard speeds away with a groan. Cleves follows. Hopefully she will stay in the hallway with Howard engrossed in yet another screaming match between the two. How must it be for them to live together? They must be impatient for Howard's eighteenth birthday.

It's best not to look at Howard for too long. If Lina does, she sees to what degree Henry was a monster. She really was a child, wasn't she? Just like Blount. Lina loved a ped--

Her heart sends her a painful jolt. The past is in the past, she cannot change the feelings she once had for Henry or the people she hurt because of them. What she can do is go to the changing room, pick up her bags and go home early.

Should she call Mary so she leaves the house? Or should she surprise her instead? It's so early the bakery might still be open. Lina can get Mary some cookies...

They might just be enough to make her smile.

She heads off to the changing room. Cookies it is, then. Chocolate chip, or perhaps--?

“...doing here?”

The door to the changing room is ajar. Parr is still in the studio. Who is Cleves talking to?

“A-Anna. I-I... It's not what it looks like!!”

...Blount?

“So you're standing in my changing room, looking through my bag, because...?”

Blount sobs. “I'm sorry!”

“Are you the one who's been messing with me this week?”

“You don't understand... And I can't tell you why” she cries.

...Cleves too? It wasn't just Boleyn? Is Blount behind harassing Boleyn, too? But why? Boleyn doesn't have any direct problems with Blount. That Lina is aware of, at least. Who knows? It's been a long four years.

“...Just go” Cleves says. She sounds tired. “Out.”

“You're-You're not cross at me?”

Cleves sighs. “Go.” Her voice lacks any bite. What a pushover. No wonder Howard has her wrapped around her pinky.

Lina takes a couple steps back. Best for it to look like she's walking down the hall. So it was Blount all along, that's why she's been “going to the bathroom” so often... Lina would have sworn it was Howard. Howard has issues with both Boleyn and Cleves, anyway. It would make more sense--

'Did Blount slash Cleves' tires, too?'

...That stupid, stupid child. Who does she thinks she is? Lina screamed at Mary for that incident, at her own daughter!! If Blount is the reason Mary has been so crestfallen and broken recently London isn't big enough for Blount to run and hide from Lina.

Although Lina shouldn't have been so quick to assume it was Mary, either. It's almost like she believes deep down her own daughter is a monster. How was Mary supposed to feel?

When Blount leaves the changing room, chin quivering with poorly concealed sobs, Lina grabs her by the arm.

In this life Blount is an adult. A beautiful Asian woman with stunning black eyes. She looks nothing like the child Lina met in court. Yet when she turns around, surprised, and her eyes connect with Lina's, the rage eases. This is Bessie Blount. The same Bessie Blount who Lina should have protected.

Her grip on her weakens. Blount's eyes are wild with fear. The least Lina owes her is--

Her grip tenses. This is the same person who Mary got screamed at. She deserves a good scolding.

…

...The rage doesn't come. She can still see child Bessie. Lina can't yell at her.

'”Next time I see you in my changing room I'll call the police on you, you creep”. That's all I have to say.'

She takes a deep breath...

“...Stay out of my changing room” she says. Her hand falls to her side. Blount scuttles away.

...Why can she never say harsh words? Not to Mary, not to Blount. Why is she so useless her ability to tell people off related, for the most part, to Boleyn? Why does everyone else get either a watered down version of her thoughts or whatever the heck just came out of her mouth with Blount?

Never mind. She has to go.

The pressure in Lina's chest returns. How did Blount even get the keys to her changing room?

The side of Lina's head pounds in sync with her heart. Of course, a migraine is on its way too. Just lovely.

Boleyn walks up to her changing room door without as much as acknowledging Lina. Before walking in, the witch examines every hinge. How paranoid can she get? A hinge pin fell out of a door in a studio that, if regarded from the right angle, looks like it's scheduled for demolition.

'Pathetic imbecile.'

After discovering that every single hinge pin is, in fact, exactly where it's meant to be, Boleyn goes inside. She almost collides with Howard, who walks out with her nose stuck in a pink notebook.

She's been carrying that stupid thing around all week long, taking notes in it at random. If asked, she says she's highly forgetful and needs to keep everything written down. Items to shop for, dates to remember, and the like. If it weren't because the girl's dumber than a bag of hammers, Lina would think she was up to something. She's a superb actress; but that's the extent of her talents and abilities. Everything else is an empty teenage brain today as much as it was five centuries prior when her poor life choices lead her to the scaffold.

Henry may have had a lot to do in that affair. He may have actually been the sole culprit. Kathryn was a victim, too. Lina loved a monster; pretending she didn't can't redeem her.

Howard stops in her tracks specifically to flip Boleyn off. Boleyn takes a deep breath, but her eyes are ignited with rage. “Slut” she whispers to her cousin.

“Whore” Howard replies without missing a beat, walking away.

...To think they used to get along.

Cleves leaves the changing room a few seconds after Boleyn walks into hers. She has nothing for Lina other than a cold stare and a curt nod. She trails after Howard, but walks by her without as much as bidding her a safe trip home. Howard stills, staring after Cleves for a second, before her shoulders slump and she continues on her lonely way, dragging her feet.

Lina shakes her head. She has to get to Mary instead of standing like an idiot in the hallway.

-

On her way home, even when she stopped at the bakery to get Mary's cookies, Lina's mind flickered from the bustling streets to the strange exchange that had unfolded before her. If she understood correctly, Blount had been messing around with Cleves. It hadn't been in an overt fashion, though. Nobody even knew that Cleves was also being harassed.

That incident seemed to be unrelated to Boleyn's mysterious thief. Someone who had keys to the studio and her changing room, at least. Someone who was trying to get on Boleyn's nerves for sure; but also spook as many people as possible.

Lina sighs. Her priority is Mary now. Mary--

'Joder.'

She never did look at Mary's texts. What if she needed something? Though Lina's already in their building's entrance hall she might as well give them a read now.

For how shabby the apartments are, the hall is glossy with marble. Her footsteps clack and echo against the surface. Some floors above, the elevator dings and a neighbour's laughter carries all the way down here.

The messages weren't from Mary; they're from someone who isn't in Lina's contact list. She frowns lightly as she opens WhatsApp. Whoever it was must have realized they texted the wrong person. Every message has been deleted save for one. The sender probably missed it by accident.

'Just wanted to let you know I'm back!! Have you missed me? :)'

Back home? Back in town? Whatever it is, they seem to be really happy to have returned. Lina deletes the conversation and puts her phone back in her purse. She's in front of her apartment door. The key makes a grating noise as she turns it in the lock.

One would think whoever got the number wrong could have at least apologized for texting the wrong person. People are so rude.

“Mary, surprise!” she says. “I'm home early, I brought cookies!!”

Their cramped house is eerily silent as Lina locks the door behind her, double checking that it has closed properly. “Mary?”

…

…

...Perhaps she went out? Lina's heart races. Could Mary have really gone to the street out of her own free will? Is her daughter getting better?

“Mary?”

The bathroom's faucet turns on. The rushing water is faint through the closed door; but no room is too far apart from another in this tiny apartment to be soundproof.

Lina's stomach drops. Of course Mary's still here. It was naive of Lina to get her hopes up.

“Mary, love” she says. “I brought cookies.”

With every passing second of silence, the cause of Lina's palpitations morphs from expectation to fear. “You're not funny.”

Lina takes a tentative step closer to the bathroom. The faucet squeaks closed a moment before the door swings open. Either Mary switched the light off before opening the door or she was there in the dark all along. Both are equally plausible.

Her daughter always looks dreadful, but there's something about her haunted expression, as if she'd just seen a ghost, that makes Lina's entire body tense with panic. Mary closes her eyes. “I almost did something regrettable” she says in a monotone voice.

In her hand she raises an empty box of pills. “I threw them down the drain, don't worry” she says, using the same neutral intonation. “I haven't taken any.”

It's hard to say whether the bag containing the box of cookies falls to the floor before or after Lina darts towards Mary and the first panicked sob breaks free from her throat. She slaps the empty bottle from Mary's hand and embraces her daughter as the hollow object clatters on the floor. “What were you thinking?!” she says. “Mary, please!!”

'Don't you know I need you? Don't you know your life is precious?!'

'Am I that bad at showing you? Do you really not know?'

Mary remains limp in her arms. Slowly she lets out one wail, then another, until she is falling apart in Lina's embrace. “This hurts too much, mum” she says, her voice high with fear and strain. “But after all I've done this is pain I deserve. I couldn't take the cowards' way out. I have to be punished.”

Lina lets go of Mary, but holds her by the hand. She leads her back into the bathroom and starts a bath for her beloved daughter. As the tub fills with a constant bubbling sound, she leads Mary by the hand to her room and helps her pick out a fresh change of clothes. Mary doesn't protest once, letting herself be guided like a sweet lamb.

As Mary undresses and steps into the bathtub, Lina waits outside. When her daughter gives a croaky “Go ahead” she walks in and sits on the edge of the tub. Mary stays equally silent, with tears occasionally running down her cheeks and sobs wracking her body, as Lina washes her hair.

Lina is a bad mother. A good one would know what to do, how to fix her dear girl. What words to say, where to seek help. But whether she is a good or bad parent is a mute point. She's all that Mary has. She can't not be good enough.

Lina's tears mix with the water running down Mary's hair when she bends down to kiss her daughter.

'I'll make everything alright. Don't worry, my love. Mum's right here. I'll try everything for you.'

*

Jane locks the door. Her keys jingle softly against the key holder. The telly is on. She clenches her jaw. Eddie doesn't need the volume on at all. He knows he's supposed to mute it, since he can't tell how loud it is. He has subtitles on, anyway. The neighbours will certainly complain about this when Jane next sees them.

Had a hurricane gone through the living room it would look more presentable. Unfinished homework on the table, toys carelessly kicked around the floor, a half-finished bowl of popcorn the contents of which are mostly on the sofa... In the eye of the storm is Eddie, cross-legged on the carpet, smiling at Ben Ten.

His face is so bright, he looks so happy. His eyes crinkle when he laughs, as does his nose. A smile almost breaks through Jane at the sight of her son. Almost.

'He needs discipline.'

Jane steps towards the television and turns it off. Her heart picks up its pace, so she takes a deep breath. “I told you to keep the TV on mute, love” she signs. “And what happened here?”

Eddie's previous joy vanishes like a candle blown out. His endearing expression is replaced by a frown. He stands as tall as his ten year-old body allows him to and stares coldly at Jane. “You can't tell me what to do.”

Jane closes her eyes. She has to focus on breathing, that's all. “Yes, I can. I'm your mother” she signs.

Edward chuckles. “No, you're not.”

...Every time. Every single time he says that a part of Jane dies more. Her heart is wilting within her chest with every passing day.

'This son of mine is going to be the death of me.'

“Yes, I am.”

She wants to look angry, convinced; yet she tears up instead. When her lips begin to quiver, Edward grins. “My mum wouldn't be weak enough to cry. You weren't even strong enough to be alive for me. I don't want someone like you to be my mum.”

That's it.

“Why do you hate me so much?!” she screams as she signs. It's good Edward can't hear her. Otherwise he'd mock the despair in her words. “Why can't you love me?”

Her voice breaks.

'Why were we brought back?'

He sighs dramatically, smiling wider. “You're not my mum. You're keeping me away from my mum. I wish you'd stayed dead so I could be with her.”

Bile crawls up Jane's throat. “Joan isn't your mum!! I couldn't help that I died!! I'm sorry!!”

Edward looks up at her, turns heal and goes to his room, slamming the door shut. On a logical level she has the impulse to go after him, force him to look at her and tell him that he reminds her of his father. Yet her feelings have other plans as her knees buckle and she falls, crying into her hands.

There's no fight left in her. Her son hates her. Why did she leave him? Why didn't she cling to life harder? Why did she have to go and die? It's her fault. Although it really isn't. But it must be. Why, if not, would her own baby boy despise her?

She failed at everything. At being a competent queen. At leaving her mark in history. Every other queen is remembered for something other than delivering a child.

Some times she's resentful that he's the one she died for, considering how much he hates her. It makes her a trash person.

She can never do anything right. She's screamed at at work, she can't get her lines right. Anne screams at her though that she deserves. Lina screams at her. Edward screams at her. No matter what she does, no matter how hard she tries to be important, to be seen as something other than a mother, she simply cannot.

Even her song is all about the son who dreams of her death. Jane will never be seen. Everyone is better than her, more relevant. She is invisible. The sort of person who passes through life light as a spirit, leaving no mark behind her, no traces on the people she meets. She is as forgettable and replaceable as any common household object is. It was like that during her marriage, too. Henry replaced her thrice despite promising he loved her more than life itself. She is little more than a void encased in flesh. Was there a purpose for her to return? Things that are forgotten over and over, such as herself, are bound to become dust one day without anyone raising an eyebrow.

Her phone beeps in her purse through yet another shrill sob. Wiping her face, Jane stands on wobbly legs. Who will it be this time? The neighbours again, berating for screaming at Edward? They don't know what he does for her to yell at him like that. All they see is a sweet, innocent angel with a demonic mother.

...Hm? It's an Instagram DM; someone she has never spoken to.

'Hello, Jane!! It's nice to get back to you after all this time!! Tell me, how have things been? Is Edward behaving?

Just kidding! He still hates you. And why wouldn't he?

I have an offer for you, Jane. If you accept, everyone will be forced to see you. You will be invisible no more!! Now, if you don't... No, let's just say you do. We can save threats and unpleasant talk for later. So!!

...Do you want to play a game? :)'

Chapter Text

(December 4^th, 2023, Tuesday).

“Out of my way.”

Kat tries to sound commanding, but any authoritativeness in her voice is drowned out by the panic flooding her tone. Anne steps away from her cousin as Kathryn bolts from the studio back to their changing room. She slams the door shut. No hinge pins fall out.

'I'm five minutes late; what the hell happened here?'

Working together is far from a delight; but usually there's at least a half hour interval of peace before they start tearing into each other. Who got Kat's goat so early in the morning?

Voices come from the studio. Very angry voices. Someone's crying. Daphne is begging everyone to calm down. Whatever her salary is as this shithole's choreographer, truth be told the woman doesn't get paid enough for dealing with the queens. Nobody does.

Anne exhales slowly. The only way she's going to find out what happened is either talking to Kathryn directly or going inside. Since the chances of Anne willingly speaking to her cousin are that of her spontaneously growing a twelfth finger, she braces herself before pushing the studio doors open (by the handle; not the panel. Old habits only die hard when you're not scarred into killing them).

Loud.

It's Anna who's screaming. Strange, she generally doesn't care much about drama. Karina is crying, Daphne has gotten physically between Anna and Karina. Steve looks like he would much rather go for a long walk at the cemetery than be here right now. Parr is rocking back and forth because of course she is.

'Such a shame sounds won't actually kill you.'

...Hm. Who in this room is tolerable enough that Anne can bear to ask what happened? Steve is the only available neutral person; but he's pissed at Anne most of all, so he's off the table. That would leave Daphne, but she is currently occupied keeping Anna a foot away from a trembling Karina. Like bloody hell that Aragon, Seymour or Margaret are available options... And Joan and Anne don't see eye to eye for the most part...

That leaves María and Bessie. Talking to both of them makes Anne's skin crawl; but hearing María's annoying voice is enough to cause involuntary eye rolls that will certainly get the drummer mad at her yet again.

'Bessie it is.'

She looks pale. She's looked like shit since last week, really. Not that everyone else is doing much better; but Bessie looks like being around the others is making her physically sick.

Anne approaches Bessie and points at Anna. “Who peed in her coffee?”

Ah, shit. Bessie's enamoured by Anna despite their interesting arguments last time they shared a room. Anne should have predicted Bessie would give her a death glare for that conversation starter. “Nobody” she shoots back reproachfully. “Look.”

She pushes a book into Anne's hands. “We found several of these inside our changing rooms and in the studio. Didn't you see any when you left your stuff?”

Anne shrugs. She was late, she hadn't bothered observing the interior décor changes. The tome is black and much lighter than it seems. It's a history book about, of course, Henry's wives. Anne's heart plunges when she sees his face on the cover.

“There are others; not just that one. They're everywhere.”

Anne closes her eyes. Her breathing is becoming shallow, she's lightheaded. It gets a bit better with Henry out of sight. “Any particular reason why Anna's losing her shit over there?”

“Karina says they were on her desk this morning when she arrived” Bessie says, lowering her voice to a whisper. “She says there was only a note. It said something like 'Historical inspiration for the show. Give our actresses to read.' She assumed it was from a higher-up, so she just did it.”

That doesn't sound too bad, though. Anna may be an inconvenience to Anne; but she isn't exaggerated. It's not like staff knows they're actually the characters they portray after going through reincarnation and that Henry's mug could be triggering. “And the problem is?”

“...Just read the book.”

Anne opens the cover before looking at it. “What?” she whispers

No wonder it felt light. Most of the pages have been torn out. The only segments left are those related to Kathryn. Pink highlighter shows certain phrases. A knot forms in Anne's stomach. They're all about how Kat was little more than a foolish girl of loose morals who got what she deserved.

'...That's why he beheaded her, too?'

But... No, no. No no no. Anne takes Bessie's empty chair and sits down. Bessie asks if she's okay, but Anne waves her off. She's perusing the book; every word is worse than the last.

There has to be an error. She knows Kat had died young, but not that young. And not for those motives. This has to be someone's idea of a twisted joke, that's all.

She was a child. Henry was a monster, but...

“And this is accurate?” she asks Bessie. Her voice is quieter than she'd like. “Or is it something some sick fuck thought was funny?”

Bessie gives her a blank stare. “Anne, I died before Kathryn was executed.”

The only people Anne could ask for confirmation are Anna and Parr. Anna's rage no longer feels disproportionate. If someone went to the lengths of preparing this crap just to spite Kat that's heinous. But if these were the actual circumstances surrounding her beheading and someone decided to make it public knowledge...

Anne shudders. Anna and Karina sound very far away. She needs out.

“Be right back” she mutters as she, too, dashes from the studio.

-

Her first stop is the changing room, but Kathryn is there, curled under her beat-up vanity. If she notices Anne at all she doesn't show it. Her feelings surrounding Kathryn right now are too confusing. Anne needs answers first.

She goes to the lobby instead, pulling her phone out. If Anna isn't in a talktative mood there's nobody other than Mr. Google Anne can consult with. Parr was regrettably alive at the time of Kathryn's execution as well; but the only reason Anne would approach her would be to stab her.

The white and grey room is strangely quiet, almost peaceful, without Karina around begging for an autograph. At this point it wouldn't surprise Anne if the black notebook the receptionist keeps within arm's reach at all times were a Death Note and she secretly wants to kill all the cast. She's more than obsessed with getting signatures.

Anne closes her eyes. Why are her hands shaking? She's just going to run a quick search about her cousin. It's just Kathryn. The same Kathryn who she's done nothing but argue with since they first breathed air.

The same Kathryn who had the most visceral death day Anne has seen. Who chose her own death. Who at one point four years prior had curled up against Anne and told her she loved her and was happy to have met her.

There's something hard and wet in the back of her throat. She swallows it down. Whichever bond she had with Kathryn was as long as a fruit fly's life span. Kathryn blew it by being so headstrong they both blew it. Anne's no saint. She was the adult; the argument wasn't worth all the hate they shared.

Her hands tremble still. Anne takes a deep breath to steady herself; she needs to type--

Her phone vibrates. The sender isn't in her contact list.

...'Hm?'

“Miss Boleyn,

Good morning, it's Judith. I'm your daughter's chemistry teacher. Elizabeth seems to be having another episode. As of now I accompanied her to the nurse's office until she feels better. If her condition deteriorates perhaps it would be best if someone could come pick her up. Could you do that yourself? I am writing so as to give you time to contact somebody else if you are unavailable.

I will keep you posted on the situation and inform you of her progression. She's safe now. She doesn't seem to want to initiate any self-harming behaviour this time.

I would tell you not to worry, but I am a mother as well. I understand your anguish. Worry moderately, Ms. Boleyn. Your daughter is out of danger for the time being.

Kind regards,

Mrs. Beckett.”

It's like the blood has drained from her body. Why again? Why so often? She closes her eyes as another dizzy spell washes over her and she fills with dread. It's the third time in a week Lizzie dissociates so strongly she needs to be removed from class.

'What's wrong, sweetheart?'

If Lizzie could state where her mind wanders off to in those moments, what she sees... But she remembers nothing. Just fog. By the time she's back she has often forgotten what triggered the episode in the first place.

Anne clenches her fists and sets her jaw. Lizzie may need her. If it's moderate she won't; if it's strong she will. In any case, she needs to be ready to take her home. Once she's home she can leave her in their neighbour's house. The woman is sweet as can be and her many cats are therapeutic to Lizzie.

'If Beckett calls again go, pick Liz up, take her to Mrs. River's, come back.'

But for that she needs permission first. Right, she needs to talk to Steve.

In the musty, dank hallway leading to the studio are Daphne and Karina. Her shoulders are wracked with sobs that are quieting to sniffles. Daphne is leading her to the reception area, rubbing her back and making shushing noises. “It's alright...” she says. “Anna's having a bad day, that's all. It wasn't your fault...”

Oh, right, Kathryn. Well, Anne has no time for that right now. She needs permission first. And even then she won't be in the mood to google anything about her cousin. Not until she's certain Lizzie is feeling better. Lizzie first; everything else later.

More yells come from the studio. Why are people still screaming?

Everyone is sat except for Anna and Kathryn. Other than heavy-lidded and red-eyed, she looks normal. She's inspecting her nails and twirling a strand of hand with her free hand.

“...unacceptable!” Steve says. “Karina is a very sweet girl; you had no right to scream at her like that! This is simply unacceptable!”

Anna's entire face is tense, as if not shaking Steve by the shoulders were an effort. “Those books had the specific target of harassing my co-worker. I--”

“You nothing!!” the music director says. Anna flinches. “Ms. Howard's behaviour is also unacceptable!! Why did you get so worked up over such a ridiculous, school-girl level of petty prank?!”

...He has no idea. He doesn't know how much that can hurt--

“I guess I got so much in character I summoned the ghost of Kathryn Howard into me and got overwhelmed” she says, smiling cheekily at Steve. “You told me I was very disconnected from my role, remember? I guess you could say I have a... connection, with it now.”

She giggles.

Anne's breath hitches in her throat. Anna gives Kathryn a very concerned side-glance. Even Bessie frowns at her remark. They don't get it, what she's doing. But Anne does. Deflecting with humor runs in the family, it seems.

'How much did that really hurt you?'

Steve rubs his face as if he wanted to scrub it off. “One more snide comment on your part and I'm sending you home for the day.”

Kathryn raises an eyebrow. “Promise?”

She barely conceals a grin. Anne's stomach churns. There's no happiness in that gesture; it's all hollow yet searing pain. Kat plays her part brilliantly, though.

“Just-- For goodness' sake, Miss Howard!” he says, pressing his palms into his eyes. “Sit down. We're beginning now.”

“Excuse me!” Anne says. “Steve--”

He shakes his head. “Not now, Miss Boleyn. Sit.”

“It's important--”

“I said sit.”

“My daughter--”

“Just sit!!”

Kicking her chair isn't a conscious decision. It echoes in the silent studio. Parr hisses at the sound. 'Good.' Anne kicks it again, with more strength. She turns to Steve. “I'm not a fucking dog, alright?” she says. Her vision pulsates in sync with her thumping heart. “I was saying my daughter got ill and I'll need to leave to drive her home if she gets worse.”

He looks at her, beady blue eyes lit with rage as his face turns red. “I demand to be treated with respect!!” he says. Spittle flies from his mouth. He waggles his finger at Anne. “This is unacceptable!!”

“And I demand the same. Don't treat me like a fucking dog and I won't act like an animal.”

Catalina laughs. “There's another way to treat her? News to me” she says in a mock-whisper.

The amount of noise in Anne's head is maddening. There's so much ire, so much anger ready to be fired out. But when Catalina speaks that voice is still her voice; the voice of Anne's former friend. They were so close once-- the anger simmers with resentment, too.

Nobody steps up for her. Anna looks cross at Catalina, Joan shakes her head disapprovingly, but that's the extent of it. Anne shoves her fists into her hoodie pockets. No one needs to see them shake.

“I may be an animal; but at least I'm not as replaceable as used underwear.”

...She shouldn't have said that. She really shouldn't have. This is not the time, not the place, and most definitely not the moment. Pissing Steve off more is the last thing she needs. But of course, it's always like this, isn't it? Unable to shut up, unable to keep her mood to herself. Always sticking her foot in it. Why doesn't she have a shred of self-control? If she could just bite her tongue instead of--

“You cunt” Catalina says, standing up in her unimpressive 5 foot's full height. “You slandering slu--”

“ENOUGH!!” Steve bellows. His entire body is tense. “That is it! We're taking five, all of us! But when we return we're all going to be calm! I've had it with all of you! That's it! Whoever isn't calm when we return is getting an exemplary admonishment!”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his balding hair. “Miss Boleyn, I will accept you picking your daughter up today. From now on you will need to find someone who can care for her in case of emergency. Are we clear?”

She nods. If she opens her mouth she'll spew more profanity. She makes for the door before anyone can talk to her. Screw the petty thief. Whoever it is can have a heyday with her things in the changing room today. If she traps herself between four walls the pressure building up in her temples will crush her. She has to walk this one off.

Damn it, her car keys. They can't take her car keys. If anything, she needs those to get to Lizzie. She's already at reception, but what choice does she have? She backtracks.

She narrowly avoids running into Joan in the hall. Kathryn is walking straight past the changing room. Should Anne say something? No, now isn't the moment. She's got five minutes to walk the adrenaline off she's already said enough regrettable things for one day.

Jane is in the changing room, sitting at her vanity, with a shit-eating grin. She looks up when the door opens, but returns to the video she's watching as soon as she sees Anne. “I can see you're still great at controlling your anger” she retorts.

Anne takes a deep breath. Stabbing Jane is very tempting; but it won't solve anything. If she manages to just keep calm--

“Better at it than you're at controlling your kid.”

Jane's expression twists into a scowl. The light from her vanity behind her casts eerie shadows across her face. “Don't you dare--”

She continues talking, but Anne shuts her out. It's just Jane. Who gives a damn what she has to say? Anne retrieves her keys from her bag and walks out. Jane screams things. Does she think yelling really phases Anne? The shrieks of a pathetic push-over have nothing on the clamour of a crowd yearning for her death.

'Witch! Whore! Sl--!'

Anne steadies herself against the wall as nausea hits her. Her breathing comes in shallow. She presses her forehead against the cool hallway wall. It smells terrible, but it's distracting enough from the writhing mass of shrieking voices she has dragged over from her first life.

“...You okay?”

Anne snaps her head to the left. Kathryn is holding a bottle of water from the vending machine. She looks at the ceiling and offers it to Anne. “You look like you need this more than me.”

...What in--?

“Why do you care so much now? Why does it matter at all now? What do you care if I feel well or not?”

Kathryn sighs, exasperated. “My bad! I was worried about you now, I was worried about you when you almost lost a finger and I was worried about you four fucking years ago when you told me to go die!” she groans. “I don't know why I bother. You're insufferable, Anne.”

Her raging thoughts pause briefly enough to take a deep breath. Taking her anger out on Kathryn won't--

'Wait a damn moment.'

“Why were you worried when the door closed on me?” she says. Her voice is quiet.

Kathryn's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Her lips part in quiet surprise. “I--”

The pressure in Anne's head returns, pressing down to her torso, squashing out any remnant of logical, stable thoughts. “It was you, wasn't it?”

Kathryn frowns. “What?! Why would I do that and then worry about you?! It was my changing room too, dickhead!”

Bullshit. All bullshit. The only reason Kathryn would worry about her would be if she knew the door had been tampered with. Anne slaps the water out of Kathryn's hand. She must have already opened it and closed it rather poorly. The cap falls off, making an arc of water both cousins narrowly avoid.

“Oh, get fucked” Kathryn says.

Anne shakes her head. “Turns out you have a lot of experience in that area, don't you?”

Kathryn's mouth snaps shut. Her eyes glaze over. Anne walks around the puddle and shoves past her cousin. Karina says something as Anne leaves. Well, whatever. Karina also tries speaking to her as Anne arrives to the sliding doors. They whoosh open.

The cool breeze against her cheeks plays with her hair too. Anne turns left and jogs more than walks. Her heart is pounding, her head is stuffed with lead.

Why does everyone always hate her?! No matter what she says or does, whatever she tries, they all hate her. Catalina since the moment they saw each other. Kathryn after the ridiculous Lady Rochford discussion. Margaret since they opened their eyes in this cursed century, for some reason. Jane since their first lives. Why? Why is it everyone always winds up hating her? Her parents, her siblings, her sister in law, her cousins, her friends, her husband, her entire country, her daughter.

Her stomach cramps. Anne moves faster. She can jog this off.

The rhythmic blows against her feet are grounding. The streets are mostly empty at this time. People are busy working or at school. She only has to swerve around a dog walker and a mother with her baby carriage.

Why is she so easy to hate? Is there any choice she can make that won't get people to despise her? Resists Henry for seven years? Hated by her family. Caves in? Hated by Catalina, Jane and everyone else. Defends her innocence? Hated by her country. Plays the role of the villain they all so insistently pinned on her? Hated regardless.

Did Kathryn really go as far as to manipulate the door? Why? Their last argument flew off the handles, but was it that bad? Why is it always, without exceptions...?

Her jog slows to a brisk walk. Why is she feeling so miserable about this? She doesn't need to understand why they hate her. It's something she has carried with her since birth. People like her for a while, then they try to get something for her, then they hate her. It's the usual cycle.

She's developing a headache from the intensity of her frown. If she's to be hated might as well give them reasons to. Why does her heart sink because she called Catalina replaceable? Or that she told Kathryn she was a slut? Why does she still care so much about them? It's not like they care about her, anyway. She is so, so stupid for caring this much.

Whether Anne is nice or not it doesn't matter. Everyone condemns her before she has the chance to defend herself. Her sentence is always, unfailingly signed before her hearing.

'Catalina is replaceable. Kathryn is a whore. Parr is human waste. I'm hated. They're all facts. Just facts.'

She stops under a tree to catch her breath. How long has she run for? Three minutes. She should get back--

'Why the rush? Get there late, they'll hate you. Get there on time, they'll hate you. They can all fucking wait.'

Anne pulls her phone out instead. All these annoying, meaningless people have almost made her lose track of her daughter. Thankfully Beckett has only left one message to inform her that Lizzie seems to be feeling better. There are other texts from another unknown number, but they've all been deleted. Whatever.

She leans against the tree's trunk and closes her eyes. The distant rumbling of cars, the coolness of her skin, the tension in her muscles, the tree's faint scent... She focuses on those, trying to even out her breathing. So what if people hate her? So what if she says regrettable things?

'It won't make a difference. Nobody cares what I have to say. They've already decided I'm the bad guy.'

Well if that's what everyone wants, that's what they'll get. Nobody out-bitches Anne. She's delusional if she thinks that her exchange with Kathryn could have gone better if she hadn't insulted her cousin. It's Kathryn, for god's sake. Kathryn's a demon in her own right. They would have argued about anything. Anne just saved them both the time of beating around the bushes. Right?

If they want a villain, a villain they'll get. Wish granted. She can be the bad guy.

How can she be as much of an annoyance as possible to the others without getting fired? She resumes walking fueled by anger and determination. Her return to the studio takes longer than her departure, considering she isn't jogging anymore. Fuck it. If Steve is frothing at the mouth that's on him. Maybe he should consider not telling her to sit.

At the main gate Anne goes around the building. She'll go in through the back. Karina isn't the target or the cause of her wrath. If the receptionist as much as greets her there's a high chance Anne will take her feelings out on her. No need to waste irate energy on an innocent bystander.

The back entrance is just a side door that leads to the dumpsters. Should she be using it? No, but does it matter? Whether she's on her best or worst behaviour fucking Steve has already decided she's little more than a bitch. If she gets caught so be it. If they scream, she can scream louder.

It should be unlocked at this time. The cleaning lady doesn't bother locking it until she's done with the first floor and moves elsewhere. If she isn't ahead of her schedule she should still be finishing up with the bathrooms on the first floor.

The door swings open with a click. Anne sighs, relieved. The staff only area of the studio really needs better security.

The corridor that unfolds before her plunges into darkness when the door closes on its own behind her. The white overheads flicker over the deplorable waste of a hall. There's dust everywhere. The cleaning lady mustn't get paid enough for maintaining this.

Her own footsteps and the electrical whirring and popping of the failing lights accompany Anne as she holds her breath. It's a short walk until a storage area. It's marginally better kept than the hall and less of a hazard to breathe in. It is still dark as sin. Darker; considering the rows of old, rickety metal shelves that split the room into a small maze cast shadows every which way.

Anne stops. The only breathing to be heard is her own. Nothing stirs. It should be safe to continue without getting intercepted. Her anger has unfortunately been mostly replaced by anticipation. There's something unnerving about the storage room. She always feels like the protagonist of a survival horror game in it. And, as glorious as it would be to get into a fight with someone over getting caught here to blow some steam off, it's more practical for her if she doesn't. It's a very good route to avoid people and it took her a while to discover. Best not to get banned from it.

Unfortunately, her decreased anger leaves room for sympathy for Kathryn. How inconvenient. Maybe Anne was a bit harsh to her... She takes a step forwards--

With a high-pitched whine the shelf to her right slowly leans towards her. How--?

“What?” she whispers

A few old sheets of paper shuffle off it onto the floor. It continues to topple; it isn't stopping. Anne backs away, bumping into the shelf behind her. There isn't enough room; it will fall on her. How is it falling?

A louder, more urgent metallic groan snaps her out of her daze. She runs ahead. The shelf gains velocity as gravity tugs on it. Items clunk onto the floor. The shelves here are long, but she'll make it, she's almost--

“Shit!” she yells as her right shoulder erupts in searing pain. Then she's falling, a crushing weight on her, dragging her to the floor.

A white flash of pain blinds her as her head hits the floor with a dull thud. Something wet seeps into her s...

…

…

SGV5Li4uICBBdCBsZWFzdCB3ZSBjYW4gYWx3YXlzIHJlbHkgb24gcGFwZXIgYWlycGxhbmVzISE=

…

…

*

Why is it every damn time Steve says “take five” everyone understands “fifteen minutes”? Kathryn huffs. How disrespectful.

The same people are always late. Anne and María are musts. Another likely person to forget the meaning of 'common decency' is Jane. Of course, today that tensions are high as can be, she hasn't arrived yet. Maggie, for reasons unknown, is also missing; as are Joan and Bessie.

“This is worse than being with high schoolers” Steve says, wiping his glasses on his shirt. Catalina nods with a knowing expression.

Daphne is going over some of the steps from “Get Down” with Anna. Catalina is going down a long conversation with Steve about the similarities between their work group and school children. Catherine is reading while she taps her foot. It's maddening; but not worth talking to her about.

If Anne and Jane had arrived, they could start without the ladies. Choreography isn't the reason they're here, anyway. It must be so annoying to spend hours upon hours waiting for their brief intermissions in the play. What a dick move. At least once they move to the theater they'll be working on assembling the instrumentals instead of sitting around uselessly. Just a week and a half to go.

Well, since everyone's busy or distracted, this is as good time as any other to update her journal. Kathryn pulls out the pink notebook and a pen from her pant pocket.

December 4 ^th ,

The ringmaster finally put their money where their mouth is. This morning the changing rooms were littered with books about me.

Her heart quickens. Deep breaths... She can't afford to have another breakdown. She pinches her wrist.

What I don't understand is why it's taken them so long to carry out a threat. It's been over a week now. I've only been doing the most harmless of my assignments. Is this how far I can take it before they start punishing me? But why? Why now? Is it that not keying Anne's car yesterday is a greater offense than refusing to lock her in the changing room?

That's assuming I'm being chastised now for not keying her car. Perhaps it's the number of ignored assignments, and not the assignment in question, that got me punished?

A lot of questions; no current answers. Just great. Current tally: six accomplished requests; eight ignored.

On another note, Catalina complained about her tissues going missing earlier. That wasn't me. Anna confirmed Catalina brought them to the studio; it seems she used them in their changing room.

Is it a coincidence?

Bessie's still acting odd. Curiously enough she's missing right now, too. Is she involved in this as well? She should have returned ten minutes ago. Currently missing (10:46):

-Bessie

-Joan

-Maggie

Her phone vibrates. She finishes the list before looking at the notification. Dread pools in her stomach as she unlocks the screen. It's another Twitter DM.

“You stupid bitch. I told you I was tired of giving you chances. Did you think you'd get away with picking and choosing which assignments to complete and which to ignore?

Did you think you could disregard me? I was patient. I was lenient. I understood your hesitance to hurt your cousin. But the charade is over. I said you would deeply regret ignoring me when everyone discovered how much of a slut you are. But you know what? That isn't enough. I haven't seen you cry blood yet.

I was nice about Anne's finger. I haven't been so kind today.

Think twice about playing with me in the future . I'm the puppet master. This is my game. Don't forget who's in charge.

Have a lovely day :)”

Her pulse throbs in her throat. What--?

The door bursts open. Karina comes in wide-eyed, followed by a ghastly-looking Joan. “Anne had an accident” the first says, out of breath. “I-I-- If it weren't for--” she grabs the door frame so hard her knuckles turn white.

The quiet conversations that were filling the air fall silent. “What happened?” Steve says. Anna abandons her spot next to Daphne and walks closer to Karina.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I-I asked Joan to help me carry some folders to the storage room. She said it wouldn't matter; that you were going over choreography. Then--” she makes a pause to breathe. She's hyperventilating. “We found Anne under a shelf. We-We don't know what she was doing there, or how it fell on her. I--”

A sob cuts her off. Joan steps forwards.

“We called an ambulance” she says, although there's an edge of panic to her voice. She's still holding two thin folders between her free arm and her torso.

“Is she okay?” Anna asks.

Joan shrugs. “She's breathing, her pulse is even. It looks like she's got a concussion. But neither Karina nor I are experts. It smelled like blood and Karina said it's coming from her scalp; from where she hit her head. That's all I can tell you.”

Anna mutters a curse under her breath. Catherine is rocking lightly, looking up at the ceiling. “Could the shelf have fallen on her spontaneously?”

Steve shakes his head. “Absolutely impossible. There's no reason for which only a single one of those shelves fell if the others are still standing. Are they?” he asks, turning to Karina. She nods.

With a deep frown, Steve pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I'm afraid somebody pushed it on Miss Boleyn.”

Blood rushes by Kathryn's ears. She could have avoided this if only she'd--

“Anna, Catherine, Daphne and I were here all along; we didn't even leave during our break” Lina points out. “It can't have been us.”

“I just went out for a bottle of water” Kathryn says. Her voice is thick; she needs to get a grip or she'll seem suspicious.

Catalina's eyes narrow. “And where is it?”

“I-- finished it and threw it away” Kathryn says. The last thing people need to know is that she argued with Anne. That would be more dubious.

Anna nods. “She was in and out; she didn't have time to go anywhere else.”

Kathryn's shoulders go slack with relief. Thank goodness. Despite Catalina's skeptical look, her alibi is solid.

“Joan was walking around the reception area” Karina says. “She wasn't in my sight at all times, but I did see her.”

At first an annoyed grimace fills Joan's expression, then it eases. “Karina was at her workplace at intervals; at least. I can only clear her the times I walked by her desk; just like how she can't clear me for the entire break, either.”

Steve shakes his head. “You're both clear, then. I trust my niece with my life and Joan's still learning her way around the studio; never mind navigating the mess that is the storage room.

“Ladies, I have no alibi. I was in my office and didn't run into anyone on the way there or back; you will have to take my word.”

Kathryn's jaw and teeth hurt from clenching. They're looking in all the wrong places. The real culprit is--

Maggie, Bessie and María enter at last. The three of them are staring as far away from each other as possible. Bessie... Bessie looks tense. She's looked tense since last week. Could she be...?

“Where were you?!” Steven demands. “Where were all three of you?!”

“Arguing” María says, deadpan. “You said you wanted us calm and it's just choreography, so we waited to be civil. We agreed to disagree and promise to behave.”

“That's not the problem” Catalina snaps. “Where were you?”

María and Maggie exchange a glance like they did when they were dating on instinct. A blush creeps on Maggie's cheeks when she realizes. María crosses her arms uncomfortably before looking away. “In our changing room. We were discussing--”

“You were in there all break long?” Catalina asks.

Maggie nods. “What's wrong?”

Anna rubs the back of her neck. “You see, Anne--”

“Jane!” Steve says. “Where have you been?!”

Jane's frozen at the doorway, observing the scene before her. Her cheeks are flushed and her gaze very, very shifty. “My son—”

“Where?” Anna insists, almost in sync with Lina.

Jane looks at the floor. “In my changing room.”

“All the time?” Daphne inquires. Jane nods shakily.

“No, no you weren't” Catherine says. “I went to the bathroom and I saw you walk by. You went towards the reception area.”

...That potentially changes things... The storage area isn't at reception, per se. It's likely that Karina and most definitely Joan could have missed Jane slipping in there...

Jane shrinks under the multiple gazes trained on her. “And?”

“Why did you lie?” demands Steve. “What did you have to do there?”

Jane puts her hands on her hips. “Why am I being questioned?”

The back-and-forth that ensues is useless. With every word Jane digs her grave deeper. But is it really Jane...? She does have reasons to dislike Anne, but... Jane?

It's almost a relief that Jane merits so much scrutiny. Without her odd behaviour... Well, even with it. Whatever creature manipulated them into making this musical seems to be back. It sent the message about Anne's injury just before Karina and Joan arrived. But...

Kathryn grasps her hands tightly. The argument makes it hard to focus on her mind. Is she willing to believe that it's really back? Whoever this is acts like it did, granted, but... It could be a convincing performance. A hinge pin, a shelf, some books... Any of them could have done that... Right?

'Anne could have died because of me.'

That certainty makes her nauseous. Getting her car keyed would have been so much better than having a shelf fall on Anne. Perhaps, if Kathryn had conceded... No, that probably wouldn't have achieved anything regardless. Last time, when they woke up, with the entity, everything was awful. Just like now. Still...

'It didn't behave exactly like this. It didn't use us against each other.'

Of course, it could. Nothing prevents it from doing such a thing. Yet its threats were always public. Everyone knew there was something screwing around with them; it wasn't a secret. Kathryn isn't knowledgeable in supernatural entities, maybe it's just changed its modus operandi. It most definitely seems like it's back...

She sighs. She can't really put her finger on it. Maybe it's denial. Perhaps she's just afraid that it's back. Last time it was around it tore them apart. Perhaps she doesn't want to accept that it's a possibility. That would be narrow-sighted on her part. She can't discard anything. Not yet. Which means she also can't disregard the option that it is, as she thinks, one of the others exacting some twisted vengeance.

“...So Joan doesn't have a clear alibi, either?!” Jane says, her voice an octave higher than normal. “I bet it was her!!”

'Jesus Christ...'

“Don't be ridiculous, Seymour” Catalina says. “When you act like this I understand why your son was sorely disappointed to find out he'd be in your hands and not hers.”

The confused glance Steve, Daphne and Karina share is overshadowed by the string of profanity Jane directs at Catalina. For once in her second life Kathryn has to agree with Catalina. Jane is fucking ridiculous.

Cusses continue to be shared. Catherine stands up and leaves the room in a hurry, holding her hands over her ears. One of her major concerns with the musical was her sensitivity to loud sounds. As detestable as Catherine is, it must be torture to be constantly subjected to screams.

But she kind of deserves it. What she did to Lizzie --

Entity or person? Kathryn looks at the room around her. At Anna's worried frown, Catalina and Jane's enraged expressions. Joan is putting the other three ladies up to date. Steve, Daphne and Karina discuss whether calling the police is necessary and agree it most likely is.

If it's a person, it could be most any of them. Or someone else entirely. Kathryn's skin crawls. It could be the entity too, though. Either way, she isn't safe in these walls.

None of them are.

-

They're going home early yet again, taking the extraordinary situation into account. Steve is unhappy with the turn of events, to say the least. The studio's director talked him out of calling the police; something about the storage room not being up to fire standards. It's surprising that there's just one specific area of this dump that isn't.

Whether that's a good or bad take Kathryn doesn't know. If it's a person, perhaps authority involvement could help... No, it likely wouldn't. She's giving the police far too much credit. From what she overheard from Steve and Daphne the security cameras in rooms of infrequent use are only turned on at night. Even if the police were around they would have nothing to go on but everyone's murky testimonies.

The one thing everyone can agree on, although nobody has specifically talked about it, is that Jane probably pushed the shelf on Anne. She was late, she lied, she was unable to explain herself. But there's no concrete proof. The prospect of sharing a changing room with her now is even less alluring than it already was.

Unless some supernatural entity did it, of course. But then where was Jane? Why did she lie? What was she up to?

Whatever is going on, Jane isn't trustworthy.

“Kathryn” Anna says. Her tone is laced with ice. “I'll get home late tonight.”

“Alright.”

Anna stares at her a second too long, like she wants Kathryn to ask. Really? She sighs. Easiest way to get it over and done with is to comply. “Why, Anna?”

“Who's going to pick up Lizzie from school with Anne at the hospital? Lizzie's sick today, remember?” she says, her voice softening ever so slightly since their argument on Saturday.

...Liz.

The anxiety and stress clouding Kathryn's mind are pushed to the sides by a warm flame igniting in her chest. “Can I go with you? I haven't seen her since...”

Anna cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you had enough of me at home?”

“If it's to see Liz I think we'll both manage to be agreeable to each other.”

At her words Anna doesn't quite smile, but the expression that replaces her cold scowl eases into something gentler. “Alright. I'll wait for you at the car.”

...In the car with Anna. It's been a while since the two of them have been alone like that. Something knots up in Kathryn's throat, making it hard to breathe. She's kind of excited nervous. The anxiety spreads its tendrils from her heart outwards like a parasitic spider.

She says goodbye to Joan before heading out to the changing room. In, get her stuff, and out. She is not going to stay in a room with Jane any longer than she absolutely must.

Despite the dreadful day, despite the worry for Anne attacking her at random, there's something light in Kathryn's step. She's going to be with Anna like they used to and see Lizzie!! How much will the sweet girl have grown in four--?

“Anna of Cleves! How dare you?!”

Kathryn scrunches her eyes shut. Why is Catalina screaming at Anna now?

Their changing room is open ajar. “That's my heart medication!!” Catalina says. “You can't do that!!”

...Oh no...

“I didn't do it, I told you” Anna says in a level voice. “With all that's been going on recently--”

“Is it because you think my daughter slashed your tires?!” Catalina says. Something rattles loudly beyond the door. “She didn't!!”

“Then who was it?!” Anna says. There's an edge of danger to her tone. “Nobody else was around! But even though your daughter's hobby is slashing tires I wouldn't take it out on your medication; for god's sake!”

“Yeah, right” Catalina retorts.

“...What are you insinuating?” Anna says. It's almost a growl.

Time to walk away. Kathryn's heart is hammering in her chest. Catalina's pills, whatever happened to them, weren't her doing, either. Anna, Catherine and herself are cleared. Joan was with Karina for the most part. That leaves Jane; and Maggie, María and Bessie. María and Bessie barely tolerate Lina. Maggie and María barely tolerate Anne. Surely the three of them could have had a busy break and then pretended to be each other's alibis?

...Not worth discarding. But Jane has an even worse history with Catalina and Anne.

Kathryn opens her door. Jane is sitting close to the wall their changing room shares with Anna, Catalina and Catherine's. She's putting her things away after changing into her street clothes. Her reflection in her vanity's mirror shows the impish grin adorning her expression as she hears the chaos unfurling between Anna and Catalina.

'In, get stuff, out.'

Kathryn does just that, ignoring the rage coursing through her veins. Why is Jane enjoying that? She's enjoying Anna getting reprimanded despite being innocent unnecessary quarrels. Don't they have enough of those?

'Perhaps it was her. Maybe that's why she was late. Maybe that's why she lied. But why would she have gone to the storage area, then? And how did she even get in?'

Questions and uncertainty peck at Kathryn's mind like a murder of crows. She has to focus on something else. A dash of red hair, some vibrant green eyes. A sweet, gentle smile. Yes, she'll be seeing Lizzie soon. At long, long last.

-

Anna turned the radio on just so the silence wouldn't threaten to consume them. Despite her feigned indifference, her brow is creased with a mix of worry and anger. She taps her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

Kathryn bites the inside of her mouth. Should she say something? Would it be appropriate?

Is there anything left to say at all?

“Anna” she says, mostly on impulse.

“Yes?” Anna replies, keeping her eyes on the road.

'I'm sorry Catalina was an ass to you. I know you didn't do anything with her pills. I know you're innocent. Even she knows you're innocent; she cleared you. We're all just tense.'

“...Have you missed Lizzie?” she mumbles. Why dig her finger into old wounds? She can't trust Anna again. Anna wouldn't want her, anyway.

Anna nods. The unease in her expression turns a shade softer. “Every single day.”

'Have you missed me, too? After I left for the boarding school? Have you missed me?'

...There's no reason for this annoying jealousy to bubble in her chest. Her relationship with Anna is over.

A sudden stop snaps her out of her thoughts. They must have been driving for a while, they've arrived at Lizzie's school.

Loud children run from the door to their parents. Older ones walk in a more orderly fashion in groups of two or more. Loners dot the student landscape. As Anna locks the car, Kathryn searches. She needs to find--

Yes, that red hair. Lizzie located.

Her heart swells, etching a wide smile on her face. Oh, her beloved Lizzie is so tall now... But her expression is just as sad. Worse, perhaps. Is the harassment Anne's enduring at the studio taking a toll on Lizzie, too?

Kathryn palms her pocket, pressing her hand against the outline of her notebook. Entity or person, she will figure it out. Whoever or whatever is behind this will be exposed. For herself, for the greater good, and most importantly for the sweet child who needs her mother in perfect condition.

There are very, very few things Kathryn wouldn't do for Lizzie.

'I'll try my best for you, sweetheart. That's a promise. I'll keep your mother safe for you. Whatever it takes; no matter the consequence.'

Anna puts a hand on her shoulder and points, smiling wide. “She's seen us!”

Lizzie bounces on the balls of her feet, waving wildly. Her previously dull eyes are bright and sparkly. As soon as the light turns green, she dashes towards Anna and Kathryn. She doesn't slow down as she approaches, spreading her arms wide and pulling them both into an embrace.

Tears threaten to spill from the joy nestled between Kathryn's ribs. She buries her face in Lizzie's hair, wrapping her in an arm. Her other arm is blocked by Anna. Anna is crying with happiness, stroking Lizzie's hair. Anna places the arm that Kathryn is obstructing slowly and gently placed around her shoulders.

...Anna... Anna is touching her gently, tentatively. Kathryn's breath hitches. What should she do...?

Exhaling slowly, she puts her hand gingerly on the small of Anna's back. She would swear Anna almost giggled when she does.

But, of course, Kathryn's just acting affectionate with Anna because of Lizzie. Lizzie doesn't need to see them tense around each other. Yes, that's it. It's purely for Lizzie's sake. Kathryn hasn't missed Anna at all. She's been fine, perfectly fine, without her these four years.

In a matter of seconds, when Lizzie pulls away, everything will be glum again. Anna will let go of them both, Liz will be really upset to learn about her mother. The fear will be back to snatch Kathryn's peace of mind. Anxiety will claim her for its own again.

But now, for this one moment, all that can wait. She has Lizzie and Anna? Everything is alright.

*

The company of monotone heart monitor beeps is far from ideal. It's driving Anne insane.

She has many questions. What happened at the studio? Who pushed the shelf on her? Why? Who is it she has to look out for? Was it Kathryn? Is this related to the hinge pin?

But, more pressingly, since she opened her eyes, Anne has had a feeling. One that hasn't abandoned her even after a battery of questions and tests by her doctor; and a tense conversation with Anna about Lizzie and how she isn't alone.

For hours now, Anna has had the distinct sensation that something has... clicked, for lack of a better term, in her head. A door has opened, perhaps? Just before she lost consciousness she got a glimpse of... something. It was more real than a dream; but nowhere near comprehensive enough to be a memory.

She's probably giving it too much thought. It may have been her brain going haywire after she hit her head. But...

...Why did she wake up crying? Why was 'Kathryn' the first word that came out of her mouth when she opened her eyes?

Chapter Text

(December 08 th , Saturday)

“...Oh.”

Bessie places her glass of water on the kitchen counter.  She'd...  She'd already gotten one.  She doesn't need two.

Unsurprising, considering everything she forgets on the regular.  She'll just...  Drink both and go.  Last day of the week, one day closer to ending this nightmare.  She'll go to the studio and-- her stomach twists painfully.  She was given until today to finish her... task, for lack of a better word.

Her breakfast threatens to crawl back up the way it came.  She doesn't want to hurt Anna anymore.  When will this end?  What if she just... doesn't comply?  What would really happen if Bessie refused to?

'Don't be a child, you already know what will happen.  It'd punish you.  It'd reveal everything.'

Bessie presses the heels of her palms against her eyes, taking deep breaths.  Is keeping her secret really worth hurting Anna...?

'Well, what do you think?'

Anna was a good friend once.  Anna was nice to her.  Anna was friendly, took care of her--

'Why are you like this?!  You're an adult, Bessie.  We don't need anyone to take care of us.'

...Alright, fine.  That aside, Anna is a good person.  Anna is warm and loving.  She cares about everyone.  She's the person who least deserves to get hurt.

'...No, no.  Don't do this, please.  Anna forgot about you, remember?  Anna asked you not to talk to her again.'

But...  But that was all Kathryn's fault!!  If she hadn't been so needy all the time--

'Kathryn was fourteen when we woke up.  We were thirty-two.'

But Bessie was Anna's friend first!!  Besides, all she wanted was just to be friends again.  She would have gladly tolerated Kathryn if Anna hadn't been so obsessed with mothering her!!

'You're being a child about this.'

No!  She isn't!  She just--!

The clock chimes.  Quarter past seven, time to get on the tube.  Right, right...  She's so thirsty, she should get a glass of--  There's already two on the counter...

Bessie holds the area between her eyebrows.  She needs to sleep more.  This is bad memory even by her standards.  After drinking the glasses and placing them in the sink she goes to the door and--  Oh, for crying out loud.  Why is her bass leaning against the wall?

She...  She put it there herself.  Last night.  Or at least...  Well, who else could it have been?  It just...  Well, the memory's so hazy it feels more like a dream.  But what's new?  She always forgets everything; it's a moot point.  Now, focus...  Why would did she leave it at the entrance hall?

Steve... he said something.  Something about...  The ladies being required to play?  Yes...  Yes, he did, didn't he?

She shakes her head.  She doesn't have time for this.  If she gets there and it turns out she doesn't need her bass she'll leave it in the changing room and move on.  Or in the studio, within sight, just in case.

Weird things are happening in there.  Most of them aren't even her doing.

She locks the door behind her as she leaves.  The apartment she's rented is far from optimal, but at least it's close enough to the underground.  Of course, that comes hand in hand with a very noisy neighbourhood and the bustle of voices down in the avenue disturbing her often, but it's a small price to pay.

To be fair, she's never really sure it isn't her.  She always has to check through the messages she has been sent from the entity to check whether Catalina's disappearing heart pills, or Anne's vanishing trousers were her missions.  But the only tasks she's been cursed with seem to be strictly related to Anna.

It's a bit unfair to her, but Bessie isn't about to risk everyone finding out.  Not to save Anna's ass.

'That's so rude.  So, so rude!  Anna's nice, she's my friend!'

“Holy fuck...” she mutters under her breath.  Does her head ever know how to shut up?  It's almost like there are multiple people in there holding a conversation every hour of the day.  She doesn't even care that much about Anna other than as an acquaintance.

'No, you do care about her!!  I care a lot!!  Anna's my friend!!'

Anyway.  As she opens the door to the outside she's greeted by the city's loudness.  A teen on a skateboard passes by so close to the building Bessie has to take a step back.  Just a prelude of what's to come.  Navigating the avenue at this hour on a Saturday is a guarantee of bumping elbows and shoulders with multiple strangers.

She hates being touched.  That every part of her can agree on.

Bracing herself, Bessie steps outside.  It's surprisingly empty--

“Hello, ma'am!!” a young boy asks, walking up to her with a clipboard in his hand.   He can't be older than sixteen.  “Excuse me, I'm running a survey for my school's newspaper” he says, holding his hand out.  “Brant Finnegan, pleasure to make your acquaintance!”

...Just great.

“Sorry kid, I don't have time for--”

'Oh, come on.  There's no need to be so rude.  Perhaps he only has one question.'

'Exactly!  You're being mean to Brant!!'

...Fuck.

She forces a smile.  “How long is your survey?”

He withdraws his hand awkwardly, putting it in his pocket.  “I just need to know your thoughts on getting rid of the only park we have left in our neighbourhood to build a shopping center!” he says with fire in his brown eyes.  “We want to know how many people are in favour and how many against!  If there's enough against we'll start a petition to--”

“Against” she says.  She hasn't heard anything about the park being removed to her knowledge, anyway.  But there's a slight chance this kid may stab her if she says anything else; he's very passionate about this.  And anyway, stick it to the man.  Kids need a park.

He beams at her, jotting down her answer.  “Thank you!!”

“Okay, good--”

“Wait, wait!!” he says.  What now?!

“We're also trying to sort our results by age group and gender” he says, nodding himself along.  “So far, it seems there are certain demographics in our neighbourhood who don't really care--”

“Just get on with it” she says.  If he finishes quick and she dashes she might still make it.

'Wow, rude.'

'And mean.'

She's going to get a headache at this rate.  Is there an off button for these intrusive thoughts?

'Intrusive thoughts?'

“So...  Gender and age?” he asks again.

Simple.  She's...  She's...  A woman?  Non-binary?  Why...  Why isn't this clear?  Now isn't the time for an identity crisis.

She's never even questioned her gender.  Why is she hesitating?

“...Woman” she says.  “I'm...”

...How...  How old is she?

'Eighteen?  Twenty?'

...No...  That's not...

“Thirty-five” she says.  Why does she sound strangled?  And why is she light-headed?  Fine, she forgot her age.  Not the first time that happens.

“Thank you, ma'am!” the kid says.  What's his name?  “Thank you for--”

“Bye, kid” she says.  If she runs she still might make it.

'It was a bit rude of you to cut him off like that.'

'Brutally mean.'

'That may be a bit much...  Just 'rude' does it, I think.'

'Does not.'

'Does too.'

'No!'

'Yes.'

“Stop” she whispers.  At the pedestrian crossing she'll stop and take out her headphones.  This is nothing music can't fix.  She's just having a particularly bad day.  That's all.  It will get better.

The light turns red.  Exhaling, Bessie claws through her bag for the familiar shape of her headphones.  She wants to crawl out of her skin.  She's pressed too close against the people beside her.  It's too cold, but she's sweating too much in her coat.  Everything's too much.  Too loud, too hot, too close, too--

♫ Basically I bet you'll see, at first I'm not quite what I seem♫

She can breathe again, her lungs fill up.  Does she recall having put The Chattering Lack of Common Sense on?  No.  But...  But that's it.  The one fool-proof way of getting her brain to shut up.

Finally.

Her heart slows as she makes her way to her platform.  It's twenty-five past; she's got three minutes to board.  More than enough.  She pats the front of her pants searching for her pass--  Where is it?  Where's her pass?  Why isn't it in her pocket?  She always keeps it there.  Why isn't it--?

'...You're holding it.  You already got it.'

...It's... in her left hand.  She sighs in relief.  Yes, she pulled it out already.  She's fine.  She's still on time.

Bessie boards the subway.  Her bag is ridiculously heavy today, what did she put in there?  No, never mind, it's her bass.  She's supposed to bring it, right?  She needs it for... something, assumably?

There's an empty seat at the end of the crowded, stuffy wagon, but it's next to an old man.  She shivers.  No, she can definitely stand.  Holding on to the bars tightly she closes her eyes, shielding them from the annoyingly bright lights, and rests her forehead against the cold metal.  What a downright miserable morning...

Too much anxiety and stress.  Too much noise inside her head.  Perhaps...  Perhaps she can relax now, right?  Her ribs expand and contract with every breath.  Expand...  And contract.  Her senses seem to fall asleep.  Everything sounds far away, under water; even her music.  She has no clue what's playing.  But the tension in her neck and shoulders eases at last.  When did she clench her muscles so hard?

♫God in heaven if I were reborn some day and if there's another life ahead♫

What?  As gently as her hearing turned off, it returns.  Why is she listening to her sad playlist? She doesn't need it, she's fine.  This morning everything's gone well.  She got up, had breakfast, and made it to the tube on time.  Why'd she put this one on?

...Oh, wait, there was also that kid.  Uhh, Brant?  Yes, and his survey...  Perhaps she was a little bit rude.

'Mean.'

No, that's a bit much.  'Rude' does it just fine.

'...Does not.'

'Please don't argue about this again.'

What in--?

“You're in the way” a woman says gruffly.  She's trying to get her shopping cart onto the tube.  They've stopped?  

With a muttered apology, Bessie steps away.  She's only two stops away from the studio.  They got to the first one much faster than she realized--

Out the window, past her distorted reflection, there's a demolished tube bench.  Some hooligans smashed one at the studio's stop, too, with some bricks.  They've come here, too?  

She double checks the stop.

'Shit!'

Thanks to a young man trying to get his elderly mother onto the underground Bessie has time to scuttle out before the doors close.  Her heart is her throat, her breaths coming in shallow.  What time is it?!

07:44, according to her wristwatch.

There's bile in her throat.  How...  How have twenty four minutes gone by?!  She just got on the tube, it makes no sense.  What?

She leans against a dusty grey pillar behind her.  People move by her, chatting.  Too loud, too close.  Too much.  She can't breathe.

'Out.  Get out.'

'Out, please!'

'Now!'

She shoves past the crowd.  Fine, fine.  She fell asleep on the tube.  Standing up.  Whatever.  Stranger things have happened; it's not that deep is it?.

The cool, polluted air is a welcome change from the overcrowded, stale ambiance in the underground.  Her lungs fill with crisp air and it's as if a weight were lifted off her shoulders.

'Thank you.'

Why is she thanking herself?  God, she's so weird.  No wonder Anna got tired of her.

No wonder she doesn't have any friends.

...Because she's just thanking herself, right?  It's not...

Her stomach knots.  No, she's just gaslighting herself.  And the entity knows it.  It knows everything about her.

Today, if Bessie wishes to keep her privacy safe another day, she must spill water over in Anna's bag.  If Bessie fails to do this, everyone will learn about all that transpired between her and Henry.  Her chest tightens just thinking about it.  If everyone knew--

'They can't, they can't!!  They just can't know!!  If they do--'

Her brain is so loud it might as well burst her skull open. “Please, just shut up” Bessie says.  Her eyes water.  Sniffling, she dries them.

'Don't--'

She turns up her phone's volume until it hurts to hear and she hisses in pain.  At least it makes her mind fall silent for once.

-

“How are Anne and Lizzie doing?”

Kathryn lights up at the mention of her cousin's daughter.  Anna does as well.  They both stop their quiet conversation before warm-ups to tell Joan, in detail, how Anne is feeling so much better from her concussion and how Lizzie is just the absolute best dream child to ever exist.

Why can't Anna care about Bessie, too?

She sighs, pulling her bass out of its case.  Ever since Anne temporarily moved in with Anna and Kathryn while she recovers from her concussion, Anna and Kathryn have been closer.  They try not to be, they're painfully tentative around each other, but Anna has started smiling more at Kathryn.  And, on her part, the brat's been in a much, much better mood.  She barely hurls profanity at anyone anymore.

'She's not a brat.  Kathryn didn't do anything too bad.'

'She hurt Anna!'

'Anna started it.'

'Anna would never hurt anyone on purpose!!'

'I didn't say it was on purpose.'

'Well, for the record--'

“From Ex-Wives to Haus of Holbein; are you ready?”

María stands before Bessie with a soft smile.  Anger bubbles in Bessie's chest.  They reached an agreement on Tuesday.  That does not mean they're friends now.

'Why not??  María's so nice!!  We knew her in court, with Catalina!!'

“I thought we were only supposed to prepare up to Heart of Stone?” Bessie asks politely.  Coming across as rude and starting an argument so early in the morning isn't worth it.

María tilts her head, confused.  “We all wanted to do up to Heart of Stone.  You insisted it should be up to Haus.”

...She did?  But...  But this morning she didn't even remember what she needed her bass for...

“...Well--”

The doors swing open and in comes Steve and everyone scrambles to their designated places.  The music director's pre-emptively red in the face, one scream away from a heart attack.  “Good morning, ladies” he says gravely, clasping his hands as if to give himself strength.  “Let's make this bearable for all of us, shall we?”

With Anne out of the picture, Kathryn having reduced her remarks to a minimum and the tense peace treaty between the ladies, there will seldom be room for conflict.  The number of arguments has gone down exponentially.  Really, it's mostly Jane making the occasional unwarranted comment.

'Perhaps we should push a shelf on Anne every time she returns, just to keep the peace.'

Bessie snorts.  Oh, that was twisted .  She most definitely wouldn't push a shelf on Anne; but this brand of intrusive thought is almost funny.

Joan plays an F Major chord and warm-ups start.  Once again, Bessie's stomach twists.  She hasn't rehearsed Haus of Holbein; she'll slow everyone down.  She doesn't want people to hate her.  Why did she forget?  How come--?

'...I actually don't mind if anyone here hates me?'

'But I care if Anna hates me.'

She closes her eyes.  It's going to be a long, long day of being trapped in her own mind; if that's the proper way to call this hell.

-

...Something isn't right.

“I'll be expecting everyone here in twenty minutes” Steve says with a pleased smile.  “And I will also expect this cordial behaviour on everyone's part.  Good job, team!”

Bessie didn't study the part for Haus of Holbein.  But her fingers knew.  She did great, she didn't stumble, or mess up, once.  She's terrible at sight reading scores.  So then she must have rehearsed it to the point of developing muscle memory.  But when?  

The harder she focuses on locating her absent memories, the quicker they burrow into unreachable corners of her mind.  Her head throbs with a pulsating headache in her temples.  

'We need to take a painkiller.'

She's the second to last one out.  Jane stays behind, still sitting on the floor, on her phone.  Bessie closes the door as she leaves Jane to her evil musings.  Since Monday she's had this... it's hard to classify.  It's like a subtle change in demeanour, perhaps?  She's more confident, there's purpose in her stride.  In the event someone has taken a jab of her, instead of bordering on tearing up like every other time last week...  It's like she doesn't care anymore.  And not in the sense that she's trying to be the bigger person and let it slide.

More like she's already plotting who to push a shelf onto next.

Despite knowing that the entity is back, there's no being sure the shelf, specifically, wasn't Jane's doing.  She has no alibi, she was late, she hates Anne, she's clearly changed...

'I don't like her.  She's up to no good.'

The entrance to the ladies' changing room is barred by Maggie.  The wheelchair doesn't fit through the door; this place isn't even up to the latest accessibility standards.  At the very least the ladies don't need to bring comfortable choreography clothes and change, like the queens do.  Every morning it's Karina who leaves Maggie's bag in the changing room.  Ever since Tuesday, though, it's been María.

“Do you want your bottle of water?” she asks.  Her voice comes faintly from within the room.  Maggie's cheeks tint pink every single time María addresses her.

'Maybe they'll get back together??'

...Hm.  Maybe.

“Yes, please” she replies, breathy.  Her mismatched eyes are trained on María inside.  She also has a loopy, lop-sided grin to finish her love-struck look.

Perhaps Bessie doesn't need paracetamol at all.  Maybe just getting out of the studio does it.

'No!  We should go inside!  I want to talk to María!”

Bessie walks by the changing room, nodding in greeting to Maggie as she passes by.  Her head pounds harder the louder her mind screams at her.

'María's nice!!  I have a headache!!  I want María—!!'

No!  Bessie doesn't need anyone to fuss over her, or take care of her.  She doesn't even want that!  It would be most uncomfortable if someone as annoying as María got on her case.  It's irritating enough that she's decided that Bessie and her are friends again or something.

'You just don't want me to have friends!'

Because she doesn't need any friends!  All friends do is bring problems and heartache.  Why expose herself to that?  Solitude is slightly painful, but it's preferable.  It's safe; so much safer.

Much like the majority of Bessie's memories, these feelings of craving social contact, or to be taken care of, don't feel hers.  They feel like they're the emotions of a character in a movie she has bonded with; but is still very much obviously not real.  Why is she burdened with fictional feelings?

'But they're not fictional...  Astrid does want friends.'

Bessie stops walking, putting her palm against the dusty wall.  Astrid is her online name.  One of them, anyway.  She's in tune with several names and cycles through them depending on the community.

Astrid isn't real.  Astrid is just herself.  It's her online persona.  Astrid doesn't have her own personality.  Astrid doesn't have different wants and needs than Bessie herself.  That makes no sense.  She does act different in Astrid's accounts than she does in Amethyst's, or Finn's.  More genuine, more friendly.  But that's... that's coincidence.  Astrid happens to be in more open communities, less judgemental.  It's Bessie herself who's more relaxed in Astrid's accounts.

Maybe she's going crazy.  Who knows anymore?

...Huh?  How did she get to the second floor?  Well, walking obviously.  But last time she checked she'd just walked by the changing room...  Agh, never mind.  Anyway.

The second floor could work as the set for a haunted house.  The lights don't work, nobody has dusted it in the past year at least.  It's imbued with a vast emptiness.  No living being other than squeaking mice and skittish insects have walked here for far too long.  It smells humid and dank.  In some distant corner of this liminal place, water drips from the ceiling.  It echoes throughout, filling the corridors with a steady pitter-patter to set the soundtrack.

It's the most peaceful location in the studio.

'...It's horrifying.  Astrid hates it here.'

'I do!'

Bessie shakes her head.  This is the best part of this dump.  It's been declared neutral grounds as well.  Bessie isn't the only person who saw the “No Trespassing” sign at the bottom of the stairs and took it only as a suggestion.  She has seen Kathryn, Anne, María and Cathy around the most.  Rarely, Jane visits it as well.  How everyone got to the silent agreement to leave all arguments and feuds downstairs is unclear.  They simply ignore each other up here.

Since all the windows have the blinds shut, only a faint, ghastly light comes through.  Just barely enough to outline objects and furniture left to rot in the hollow rooms when one's eyes have accustomed to the dark.

Bessie walks down the hall and takes a left.  Her sole company are her footsteps and the clear, constant dripping of water.

These must have been offices during the studio's days of glory, before it hit a rough patch it never recovered from.  It must have been resplendant; so many people used to work here.

Unarguably the superior room, though, is the old storage closet.  Nothing but spiderwebs and dust remain; but it is also the only pitch-black room in the building.  It will be great for her headache.

Her limbs are paralyzed with fear, but at the same time her entire body is calm for the first time since she arrived.  The dark is warm and welcoming.  It eases all aches, soothes all--

'Can we get out?!'

...No, the fear seizing her isn't her own.  The calm is.  The fear...

...Never mind.  If she thinks about it too much she's going to--

A voice outside of her mind, in the real world is whispering frantically somewhere up ahead.  So she isn't alone after all.  Well, that's unfortunate.  She continues forwards, towards the storage closet.  Once she closes its door she should barely be able to hear anyone at all.

“...mi vida, por favor...”

That fluent Spanish can only be Catalina.  She sounds terrified.  Bessie's stopped by her body freezing in place.  What's that bitch doing here?

'...A bit harsh.'

'Very!'

Bullshit.  Catalina is the single most detestable person to walk among the living or the dead.  She and Jane tie for despicable trashpiles; but there's a special place in Bessie's heart for hating Catalina.  

At least the other queens have the decency of despising Hen-- him.  But no, Catalina and Jane are the devoted wives who love a monster.

Neither of them protected Bessie.  María didn't, either.  They didn't care what the rat did to her.

Why wasn't the shelf pushed on her instead of--?

“...Shhh, Mary, por favor, mi niña...  Me estás asustando, ¿sí?  Escúchame, cielo...”

Bessie's stomach lurches yet again.  She's going to throw up again at this rate.  Mary...  It sounds like she's really suffering like four years ago.  Even more; nothing other than her daughter would make Lina panic like this.  Mary was such a cute baby.  She was the only innocent in either life she's never hurt Bessie .

'And we got her in trouble with her mother.'

...Not quite.  Mary was an unintended casualty.  Besides, isn't the fact that they were pushed to doing this stupid musical proof enough that there's no winning against the entity?  No, Bessie just did what she had to do.

Right?

'At Anna's expense!!  That's so--'

A shrill, sharp sob comes from the room Catalina's in.  “No mi amor, ¡no!  Escucha...  ¿Quieres que vuelva a casa pronto?”

Mary's hurting so much.  Mary's really hurting.  Is it Bessie's fault?  Did she accidentally throw poor Mary into the line of fire?  Did Catalina scream at her a lot after the parking lot incident?

Bessie turns heel and returns the way she came, cautious to make her sneakers as quiet as possible.  It doesn't matter that Catalina's suffering.  But Mary?  That's unfair.  But what was the alternative?  This entity doesn't play around.  Bessie can either play by its rules or endanger herself and others.

Her head hurts more now.  Mary entered this life crying and it would appear it was but a prelude of what was to come.  She carries such a heavy burden from actions she no longer condones.  It's like there's a part of her permanently stuck in one of her executions.  That every time Mary closes her eyes she sees smoke rising from pyres and it suffocates her until she can't breathe.

The pain has now extended to behind her eyes.  She really, really needs that paracetamol now.  Not taking it earlier wasn't the smartest move.  But dealing with María--

“Scheisse!”

Bessie steps back, stumbling, as her heart races.  Before her is a wide-eyed--

'Anna!!  It's Anna!!'

...The giddy excitement that fills Bessie at that thought isn't hers, either...

“Bess” Anna says, panting.  “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Likewise” Bessie says, her pulse beginning to slow.

Her forehead is tense from frowning.  She best relax it before Anna realizes--

'Let her realize!!  Maybe if we're sick she'll come down with us to the changing room!!  And then we can talk to her!!'

Anna scratches the back of her neck.  “I came up here because reception's better.  I checked up on Anne.”

...Sure.  Bessie's legs are ready to walk away at any moment.  Anna is far from her favourite person in the world.  But something is seizing her, tethering her to the spot, annoyingly enough.

“Have you been okay, Bessie?” Anna asks in a very warm, soft voice.  

A sob almost breaks free from Bessie.  Just almost.

Not so long ago this was her favourite voice to hear.

“Mighty fine” she says.  

'No!!  Tell her the truth!!  We miss her!!  We want to be friends again!!'

Jesus, Bessie cannot wait for this cursed day to end.

“That's good” Anna says, twidling her hands.  She's looking up at the ceiling.  “Well, we best be going, right?”

'Yes!!  Together!!'

Absolutely not.

“Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute” she says.  Close proximity with Anna is dreadfully unappealing.

With a curt nod, Anna continues downstairs.  A sharp, red-hot rage nestles behind Bessie's sternum.  The desire to hurt herself, to stratch her arms and scream and kick the walls and throw a tantrum.  While it rages like a storm and gives Bessie aggressive intrusive thoughts...  

It still doesn't feel real.

That makes no sense.  Every inch of her skin is screaming to be torn apart by her nails; it's like she's on fire.

But she's also not.

None of this makes sense.  She swallows bile down, trying to control her speeding breaths.

'Astrid...  Astrid, love, I'm going to need you to calm down.'

'No!!  No, Astrid wanted Anna!!  Why couldn't we go with Anna?!  Bessie ruins everything!!'

What...  What is this?!  Some repressed part of her personality?  A desire to be close to Anna, to feel sheltered, that is so secret even Bessie herself is unaware of it?  Her neck sends dull pain trickling down her back from the tension.  Holy shit.

Whatever it is that's going on inside her head will be the death of her.  It's time to get a painkiller and return to the studio.  Hopefully if the pain stops, the crowd inside her mind will quiet with it.

-

She puts her bass back in its case.  Finally the weekend can begin.  Fuck, what a day.  Nothing sounds as tempting as crawling out of her skin and hiding underground until the mess inside her head sorts itself out.

At least at home she won't have to deal with Catalina's hollow, dead inside gaze.  Whatever she spoke about with Mary during first break has made something in Catalina snap.  She isn't even trying to hold the appearance of her calm, collected self.

Bessie can only hope Mary's fine.  The guilt is gnawing at her from the inside out, threatening to fill her with holes.  Is this related to Anna's tires?

Jane will also be out of sight.  The blinding, vivid, very-much-her-own rage that jolts through her nervous system every time Jane sings Heart of Stone and her praises to the rat will finally be soothed.  Though, to be fair, dreadful as the rat is, Jane's choice to sing about him isn't half as bad as Catherine deciding to sing about fucking Thomas Seymour, of all people.

She could just say she doesn't give a damn about Lizzie and move on.  Why bother writing a song about how the love of her life was a child abuser and sing it with said child's mother standing there?  It's such a twisted, messed up thing to do.

Jane, Catalina and Catherine don't deserve this second chance.  The three of them belt their undying love for people who were objectively pieces of shit.   It's so insensitive.  Every person who those two pathetic excuses for human beings harmed are subjected to hearing how wonderful and beloved they were over, and over, and over, and over .   It's disgusting.  Catalina, Jane and Catherine are absolutely revolting.

Yet what has gotten to Bessie the most, the reason her chest hurts with every breath from every furious beat of her heart, has been seeing Anna and Kathryn happy together.  

And yet again it feels off.  Like someone is uploading intense, vibrant emotions straight into her mind.  Is this how empaths feel when they see someone else suffering?  It must be exhausting, draining and infuriating if they're unable to shut their abilities out.

There's an ugly jealousy blooming like a twisted rose within her, wrapping Bessie's heart in thorns.  It's been sending intrusive thoughts to the forefront of her mind so often and so loudly it has come as a minor blessing that she memorized the score to the point of muscle memory.  Had she not, she would have played so poorly everyone would have thought she wasn't even trying to do a good job.

She returns her attention to her bass, slinging it over her shoulder.  Its weight settles painfully on her tense, sore shoulders.  She needs a warm bath.

...The world is always slightly out of focus for her.  A lens of her attention span that refuses to fixate on her surroundings.  Her memories are blurry and spotty, her connection to reality always feels weak.  It's almost like a signal that's being jammed.  She frowns.  The interferences are worse now, though.  Is it because of the strange emotions flooding her?  The energy detoured to keeping them in check is worsening this dissociation from reality?

...No...  She's forgotten something...

...But what is it this time?

Her phone vibrates against her upper thigh.  She pulls it out of her pocket--

“Fucking ugly horse.”

'What?'

Catalina is looking up at Anna, arms crossed.  “We get it; you're having so much fun being an imbecile.  But did you really have to leave my nail polish open inside my bag?!”

Catalina's hand is covered in yellow, drying nail polish.  The contents of her purse, which she is pulling out, are ruined.

“That wasn't Anna” Kathryn says, taking a step forwards.  “You have no reason to accuse her.”

As soon as her sentence ends, she shakes her head.  She looks conflicted. 

'Like she's not really sure why she stood up for Anna.'

“Zip it, Howard” Catalina says, shooting daggers at Kathryn.  “Who knows?  Maybe you helped your friend.”

Kathryn takes a deep breath, crossing her arms as well.  “And...  Why would I want to be her friend?” she says coldly.  “If I wanted to screw you over I wouldn't recruit anyone.”

If someone had just poured an ice-cold bucket of water on her, Anna would look less shocked and miserable.  That was such a cruel thing to say.  Who does Kathryn think she is?!  Anna--

'She doesn't deserve that!  Kathryn and Catalina are the worst!!'

Defeated, Anna presses her mouth into a thin line.  “Why would I leave nail polish open in your purse?” she says flatly.  “And when? I haven't gone to our changing room since I got here this morning.  You were already in when I arrived; and I left before you did.”

Catalina rolls her eyes.  “And I should just take your word for it?” she asks sarcastically.  “Were you with anyone during our break?”

Steve, Joan and Maggie file out without as much as saying goodbye to anyone.  María starts packing up as well.  Catherine, with a pained expression, is rushing through the process of gathering her belongings; route that Daphne was wisely chosen to take as well.

'We saw Anna!!  We did!!  She must have already been upstairs even before we were!!  Otherwise we would have heard her walk in!!  We weren't that far from the door!!  We can defend her!!'

...Her feelings towards Anna aside, what's fair is fair.  Bessie opens her mouth to speak,  but closes it immediately.  Anna, of course, turned to Kathryn for support.  The same brat who just hurt her by stating they aren't friends.  Kathryn wasn't with her upstairs at all.  Why would Anna rely on her and not Bessie?

...Well.  If that's how it is, Anna's problems are her own.  Bessie has no need to get involved.

The emotions in her head are messy like an angry scribble.  The jealousy returns tenfold.  Because, no matter what, Anna will never rely on her, turn to her, ask for anything.  No matter the situation, Anna will always, unfailingly, choose Kathryn.  Not even when Bessie would be more useful.

And apparently some part of Bessie cares enough about that that it's throwing a hissy fit.  She sighs.  The sooner she takes distance from this mess, the better.

Anna and Catalina are going back and forth about how they apparently both have reasons to hurt each other.  Anna is blaming Catalina for all the harassment she's endured these past two weeks.  Good.  Even if Catalina wasn't the person screwing Anna over, she deserves to be screamed at.  Just for existing.  And most certainly for loving the rat.

And not protecting Bessie.  How could she do that?  Catalina is a monster.

'...Do it.'

Anna and Catalina's screams become significantly muffled when the glass doors swing shut behind Bessie.  What is it she has to do?

'We had a task.  Do it.  Anna doesn't love me.  She's never going to love me.  I don't care anymore.  Let's hurt her.'

...Her mission.  Bessie facepalms.  Yes, she almost left without fulfilling it.  That would have been a catastrophe.

The part of her that's imploring her to hurt Anna purely for revenge is pushing harder and harder against Bessie's consciousness.  Almost like she herself is being dragged to the back of her mind and held hostage in her body.  Whatever's happening, despite the surge of panic this realization sends down her spine, she won't let it take over.

Yes, she has to finish her assignment.  But not out of hatred; she doesn't want to do it like that.  It's a necessity, like washing the dishes.

No matter what some clandestine bit of herself feels, she draws the line at revenge.  Not on Anna, or even someone like Catalina.  Self-perservation is a valid motive.  She has no conscious, willing desire to harm anyone in this life.

There was enough pettiness last time.  ...Though what is it that Bessie is experiencing in this one if not the same courtly bullshit at the hands of marginally the same people?

Catherine walks out and locks the door of her changing room.  Although Catalina and Anna's voices are barely audible, they must be holding a damn loud conversation if Bessie can hear them from here.  Their words are rendered incomprehensible by distance, but their distinct voices are crystal clear.

She pulls the keys for Anna's changing room from her back pocket.  She can't keep forgetting to make a copy; Karina's bound to realize there's one set missing sooner or later.  Replacing them should be as easy as subtracting them was: wait for her to go somewhere with Joan and sneak behind her desk.

This stupid game is forcing Bessie to do many things to hate herself for.  More to add on to the list, anyway.

But what's the alternative?  It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation.  The entity made it very clear upon waking up that not listening to it simply isn't a choice.

It destroyed everyone inside out.

There's nobody else in the hallway.  Kathryn must have stayed behind for who knows what reason and Jane is almost certainly enjoying the show.  Sadist.  But then again what's new?  She loves Henry, does she not?  Enough to write an entire song about him.

Anticipation and anxiety overtake the part of Bessie that's screaming for revenge.  The key clicks gently in the lock and the door swings open soundlessly.  Once inside, she turns the lights on.

The changing room is as cold as ever.  Well, the heating works just fine.  It's just so barren.  There are no personal effects, nothing that indicates people use this place people who used to be family.   The ladies haven't done that much in terms of decoration, but María brought a couple of magazines and Maggie contributed a succulent for the corner.  This has nothing.  A void as large as the distance between the room's occupants.

'Stop grieving and get a move on.  They won't argue forever.'

Alright, Anna's vanity is the one on the far left.  Her bag is on full display, half open already.  Pouring water into it...  It isn't half as bad as slashing her tires, really.  But...

'Do it.  Do it, she deserves it.'

...Bessie hasn't really tried defying the entity yet.  It's not worth the risk...

'Do it or don't, but it's time to get out.'

'Do it!  Do it!!'

...Hmm.  Most definitely not worth the consequences.  But 'in her bag' is a very generic order.  If Bessie empties its contents before soaking it, it won't be that bad.  She can preserve her integrity while also reducing damage.

'Now go.'

Anna doesn't carry much in her burgundy backpack.  A few possessions that clatter onto the wood of her vanity.  Her ID card, money purse and bluetooth earbuds would have been quite bad to ruin, though.

Bessie reaches for her bottle of water--

The door behind her opens.

“La madre que te parió.”

For a second, everything is still, like the top of a roller-coaster before the plunge.  So silent and--

Storming up to her, Catalina pushes Bessie against the vanity.  The edges dig into her hip, bruising her.  She gasps in pain, struggling to keep her balance.

“I knew it was you” Catalina says, dangerously quiet.  “You--” she closes her eyes, her frown deepens.  “It was you with the tires too, wasn't it?”

Bessie cannot will her mouth to open.  It has clamped shut of its own accord.  Why?!  Her breathing quickens as the panic settles.

“I blamed my daughter because of you” Catalina whispers.  “I thought after all that happened four years ago...  I thought she'd...”

...So Bessie did get Mary in trouble.  Her heart pumps equal parts adrenaline and guilt.  When Catalina opens her eyes there's a flaming fury in them.  “Have you been playing with me as well?  My nail polish?  My heart medication?”

She may be unable to speak, but Bessie can still jerkily shake her head.  She was unrelated to all those events right?

“Bullshit” Catalina declares.  “This is exactly what you wanted, isn't it?” with every word, her volume rises.  “Revenge on the friend who abandoned you and on me for--” her expression softens for the blink of an eye.  “For a moment back there I honestly thought it was Cleves.  I thought she was pulling my leg because she's convinced my poor Mary slashed her tires.  But it was you.  It was all you!"

Catalina is breathing almost as heavily as Bessie is.  She nods to herself and snatches Bessie by the wrist.  Painfully.

“I told you there'd be consequences if I ever saw you in my changing room again” Catalina says.  She sounds under water, she sounds elsewhere.

Bessie has to break free.  She has to, she has to get out.  Catalina's grabbing her.  She doesn't like being grabbed.  The only times people have grabbed, or dragged her, have been for--

“Let me go” she whimpers.  “Please.”  Catalina tugs harder.

The studio's halls morph into Bessie’s bedchambers in the palace.  She can't see him, but she feels him.  Behind her, around her, surrounding her all over her.   “Let me go!” 

Yet Catalina won't stop speaking.  Words come out one after the other.  Should Bessie fight back?  Fighting back only means it goes on for longer.  Complying is the only option.  She can never win.  He's much stronger than her.  He's stronger, and he's the king.  Everyone thinks she should be thankful.  That she's ungrateful for hating how he feels--

“I said let go!!”

She wrenches free from Catalina with more strength she ever knew she had.  Except she's a mere spectator in her own body.  Someone else has taken the wheel.

“Don't you fucking touch me again” they say.  It's her own voice, but she cannot find her words.  She's driving shotgun in her mind.  “Don't you dare.”

Catalina's eyes and mouth are round with surprise.  She looks from Bessie's face to the aching wrist she's cradling.  It hurts like hell, Catalina may have sprained it.  While Catalina crosses her arms, her expression betrays remorse.

'Good.  There wouldn't be enough atonement for you if you lived a million lives.'

...For once, agreed.

“Your actions have consequences, Elizabeth” Catalina says.  It's all bark, though.  The bite has evaporated to wherever her rage has gone.  “I'm going to tell Anna.”

No no no no no--

'No!'

“Do whatever you see fit.  See if I care.”

That defiance is admirable.  Where was it when Catalina was dragging her away just like Henry once had?  Why hadn't she--?

Her vision clouds with black spots as the walls solidly become her old bedchambers.  And he's there again.  And no matter what she does, nobody's going to help.  She's alone.  Alone, and Catalina won't help.  She won't even bat an eyelash while her husband...

…

…

IkFscmlnaHQuICBJdCBzZWVtcyB5b3VyIHRpbWUgaGFzIGNvbWUuICBZb3UgaGF2ZSBhbiBvcHBvcnR1bml0eSB0byBzZXQgZXZlcnl0aGluZyByaWdodC4gIFRvIGVuZCB0aGUgY3ljbGUsIHlvdXIgdGFzayBpcyBzaW1wbGUuICBZb3UgbXVzdC0tIg==

…

…

“Hey, knock it out!!”

The lights are too bright.  Bessie closes her eyes.  What...?  What's going on?

“We were arguing because--” Catalina says.

“It doesn't matter!” that's Joan.  She sounds urgent.  “It's María.”

...María.  The studio.  Catalina and Bessie were arguing.  Catalina caught Bessie with Anna's things.  ...Right.  Yes, yes, she remembers it still feels like she just watched a movie about someone else .  Then Catalina's screams reminded her of... something?  From her first life, perhaps?

...But there was something else--

“This needs to stop” Joan says.  “That was taking it too damn far.”

Catalina and her walk away towards the ladies' changing room.  María...  Yes, something happened to María.  Bessie follows Catalina and Joan several steps behind.

For the first time in four years, everyone's together unrelated to work.  Well, Anne and Catherine aren't here.  María is pale.  Maggie's crying.  Kathryn is very awkwardly handing her a tissue while sporting an upset expression herself.  Anna looks horrified.  Jane has the same revolting grin she's had since Catalina and Anna started screaming at each other earlier.

They're all gathered around a spot of the wall to the right of the door.  What are they looking at?

“Whoever did this is despicable” Joan spits.  “How fucking dare you?  Can you sleep at night?”

Bessie walks up behind Maggie’s chair, very conscious not to rub up against anyone.  Whatever she remembered can’t have been good; every last one of her nerve endings is frazzled.  

She gasps.  Someone has written, in what seems to be red lipstick, a rather derogatory opinion on María’s skin.  

The poor woman’s shoulders tremble, as do her clenched fists.  When she first woke up, unfamiliar with vitiligo, her skin’s appearance made her panic.  Once she learnt about the condition, it still took her some time to grow comfortable and confident with the drastic change in her appearance.

...Joan’s right.  Ruining, misplacing or hiding a few possessions has nothing on tearing down someone’s self-esteem in such a crude manner.

...What will Bessie do if she’s tasked with something as horrendous as this?  Anna’s looks are also a sore spot for her; as much humor as she presents the issue with in the musical.  Could Bessie do it?  Where’s the limit of--?

“Who was it?” Anna asks, pensively.  “Catalina, Kathryn, Jane and I were in the studio.”

The hesitant glance she casts Bessie’s way pierces straight through her heart.  She would never do such a thing!  But…  There’s no way Anna would know that.  She doesn’t know it’s back.  She doesn’t know the only reason Bessie’s messing with her is purely out of obligation.

‘And because she deserves it.’

No.  No, not that.  She most definitely doesn't deserve it.

Catalina sighs.  “For once, I myself can vouch for Elizabeth's innocence.  She was busy elsewhere.”

She sounds almost disappointed that she can’t blame this on Bessie.

Kathryn raises an eyebrow, but she’s interrupted before she can share her thoughts.

“Joan was with me” María says.  “And anyways…” she gestures to Joan’s cane.  “It couldn’t have been her.”

All eyes turn to Maggie.

“I got here first and saw it” she explains, her voice a bit scratchy from crying.  “I was wondering if I could avoid María seeing it when Joan and her rounded the corner from the bathrooms.”

“...We don’t know when it was made” Kathryn points out, holding her chin.  “It could have been during someone’s bathroom break, or even by staff.”

Jane shakes her head.  “I don’t think anyone from the staff hates us as much as we hate each other, love.”

Kathryn nods vigorously.  “Well aware!  Just saying we shouldn’t discard anything.  Not yet” she says.  Some form of intense emotion takes over her expression as she says: “Anything goes until we have solid proof.”

‘Determination.  She’s determined to do something.’

...Yes, that may be it.

“Well, ladies” Jane says, twirling a strand of hair.  “I think we can stand here all day long wondering who it was, or go home.”

With that, she returns to her changing room.  Catalina casts a sad glance at María before following Jane.  María looks at the writing on the wall one last time before walking into the room.  

Anna and Kathryn stare at each other.  Something silent’s definitely going on between them.  “I-I’ll get Karina to call the cleaning crew, if they’re still here” Kathryn says.  With a sigh, Anna looks straight at Bessie.

Part of her almost crumbles.  She could have defended her from Catalina’s accusations and didn’t.  The other, dominant part, can’t forget how Anna still chose Kathryn for no apparent reason.  The mixed feelings linger until Maggie asks Bessie if she could go inside and hand her her bag.

María staring at herself in mirrors from every possible angle is a scene Bessie hasn’t missed in four years.  Perhaps Bessie’s too soft.  She should feel no compassion towards someone who failed to protect her in such a dire situation.

That was five centuries ago, though, and this is now.  Yet again, a desaturated segment of Bessie’s mind is screaming that María deserves any form of pain she can get.  It feels childish, though, a part of Bessie that refused to grow up.  The portion of her mind that never truly left her bedchambers and still feels him like a shadow on her skin.

But Bessie grew up.  And then she was a Lady, too.  Perhaps…  Perhaps María didn’t have a choice but to follow her queen.  And granted, they were friends aside from Lady and mistress.  But maybe…  Bessie had to do things she hated, too.  She had to exchange Christmas gifts with him when she was under Anna’s orders.  In any case, Bessie’s never going to know what, exactly, was María’s thought process back then.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” Bessie says.

María jumps.  When she turns to face her, her usual cocky grin is back.  “Trust me, I do” she says.  “I was wondering how someone happened to make such a misguided assessment of my face.”

...Yeah, sure.

After bidding her and Maggie a good weekend, Bessie’s finally free.  The cold air outside soothes her flushed cheeks.  It’s been a long, long day.  Far too many things have happened.  But now…  Now she’s strangely calm.  Her heart has relaxed.  She got to work just fine, then they rehearsed, she knew her part well, then Catalina and Anna had an argument, and then someone harassed María.

It’s a bit sad that such cruelty has become par for the course.

“Elizabeth.”

Bessie takes an instinctive step back at Catalina’s voice, her muscles tensing.  Catalina's just beyond the main entrance, leaning against the wall with an arm crossed over her middle.  She seemed to be reading something on her phone with her free hand.  The screen’s light casts shadows on all the wrong parts of her face.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what I saw” she says.  “However, I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

...Grabbed…?  Oh...  Bessie also argued with Catalina, right?

‘In the changing room.’

Yes.  The quarrel made her very upset--

“Next time you will have no saving grace” Catalina warns in almost a snarl.  “I catch you in there one more time, or you frame my daughter one more time, or I as much as suspect either of those one more time, and I swear to God Himself I’ll make you regret the day you were born.  Are we clear?” 

Bessie nods.  Catalina turns the corner towards the parking lot, leaves crunching under her boots.

...Yes, that...  Why was Bessie in Catalina's changing room?

‘Our assignment.’

Oh.  Oh, no.  She tears through her pockets frantically.  She failed, she failed, there are bound to be consequences.  She can’t fail--

As she pulls it free, her phone vibrates against her hand.  It’s a message from an unknown sender.

She puts her pattern in wrong twice due to her unsteady fingers.

“I told you I was merciful, did I not?

“It isn’t your fault you were intercepted by Catalina.  That said, you should have organized your  time much better.

“Just this once you’re off the cuff.  If poor time management leads to another failure in the future, I hope you can sleep with one eye open.

“For your own good :)”

...That’s it.  Her stomach knots and knots until it squeezes the remains of her lunch back out.  Gasping, with the foul taste flooding her, she braces herself against the wall a few steps away from the mess.

Slowly, she slides down to the ground.  It is freezing through her pants, but she’s so dizzy she would be on the ground regardless.  Her head spins.  And, the more it does, the further away reality feels.  Fear, guilt, anticipation, stress…  They all draw her consciousness away, leading her deeper into herself.

‘Music would help.’

...Yes.  That’s…  That’s not a bad idea.  Some intrusive thoughts may not be so bad…

The nerve endings on her finger tips have turned to rubber.  She clumsily opens the zipper, her vision blurring.  She just needs her headphones.  ...This feels like her wallet…  And those are some candies…

Crunch.

...Hm?

That’s…  Paper, that’s paper.  Did she leave last week’s shopping list in her bag?  It wouldn’t be surprising.

She pulls the folded note out.  How strange.  Bessie doesn’t own sepia paper.  Or, fine, to her knowledge she doesn’t.  She may have gotten it at some point.  She unfolds the creased sheet of paper.  Best to make sure it’s just the list; it could be something important she’s forgotten.

“Bessie,  

“I can’t tell you who I am for both our safeties.  Listen to me, are you getting threatening messages?  Is it getting in contact with you, too?

“If it isn’t, if this note makes no sense to you, destroy it and never mention it to anyone.  Please.  It is imperative you never disclose that you ever received this.  I’m risking a lot by reaching out to you.

“But, if as I suspect, you have also been threatened, I need you to understand something: I don’t think it’s back at all.  I can’t be sure, but it isn’t acting like it did when we woke up.  Back then it never hid the game, remember?  It made sure we all knew.  This is a new behavioural pattern.  I think it’s worth consideration, at least, that one of the others could be playing with us.  I’m not sure how, or if it’s possible at all.  But you need to know something:

“ No matter what it threatens you with, there’s a considerable chance it won’t carry the threat out.  It’s playing with us, with our fears.

“I know this is scary.  And disobeying got me severely punished.  But if we work together, maybe we can get to the bottom of this once and for all.

“In any case, do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone you’ve read this.  Don’t mention it.  Don’t keep this note.  Don’t take a picture of it, or scan it for future reference.  Read, memorize, and destroy.

“Just having this in your possession endangers you, too.

“If you want to leave a response so we can work together, the empty flower pot in the last office in the rightmost corridor of the second floor’s a good place to leave it.  Just don’t leave it out in the open.

“Stay strong,

“An unlikely ally.”

…

...What?

*

Her mother’s resting in Anna’s guest room.  She still has a bit of a headache after that shelf fell on her.  

Anna and Kathryn have such a nice, warm and cozy house.  Well, Anna does.  But Kathryn’s lucky enough to live with her.  Why she asked to be sent to a boarding school is a mystery to Lizzie.  Yes, she and Anna argued, it seems, but was it bad enough to renounce to this?

What wouldn’t Lizzie give to stay here?  She wanted to go to a boarding school too, far away from her mother; but she wasn't allowed to.

“Alright!” Kathryn says, coming in from the kitchen.  She's wearing a pink apron.  “How’s my most favouritest niece?  Are you ready to frost some cupcakes?”

Lizzie nods, turning the telly off as she stands.

The cupcakes Anna, Kathryn and her baked smell delicious, filling the checkered kitchen with the sweet scent of vanilla.  Nonetheless, when Anna and Kathryn returned from the studio today they seemed tense.  Maybe they argued again.  The situation was so uncomfortable Anna came up with a poor excuse about having to send some important emails or whatever to avoid frosting with Lizzie and Kathryn.

...Her loss.

“So,” Kathryn says, spreading the necessities on the marble counter, “your mum’s feeling better, you’ll be going home soon!  Are you happy?  You must miss your own room, and your stuff.”

For a second, Lizzie freezes.  Then she pushes a smile and nods.

...How could she begin to explain she’d rather stay with Anna and Kathryn forever than spend a single hour with her mother?

Chapter Text

(December 15^th, Saturday)

The cold water drips off Anna's face as she blindly pats the bathroom counter for the towel she set out. When the tips of her fingers rub the soft fabric she grasps it and dries her skin, observing herself in the mirror before closing the faucet. Reddened, sunken eyes, cracked lips... She looks dreadful.

The bathroom goes silent without the steady flow of water. Anna keeps her gaze down, on the floor, as far away as possible from the mirror. She doesn't need a reminder of her appearance.

...How is Lizzie feeling now? When she and Anne left on Monday it came as a small relief; having Anne at home was the opposite of a positive. But Liz... she seemed anxious. Anxious about going back home with her mother.

Despite the many, many arguments that Anna had with Anne last time they lived together (mostly Anne's fault though it would be a lie to say Anna couldn't have handled herself better; it's her fault too), she'd never think Anne to be a bad mother. But then... What was Lizzie so afraid of? Did she fear Anne would reprimand her for growing close to Anna and Kathryn? Would Anne do such a thing? Punish her daughter for refusing to pick sides in an argument that took place when she was twelve? Unless Anne has given Lizzie her heavily biased side of the story, there's no way Lizzie even accurately remembers what happened when--

Knock knock.

“Are you done? I still have to get ready. I made your breakfast, too. It's getting cold.”

The sound of Kathryn's voice alone makes something wither and die in Anna's heart sets a stone-cold, heavy feeling in Anna's soul. What that feeling is, she hasn't found a name for yet. Regret. Guilt. Anger. Grief. So many names; just none she wishes to acknowledge.

She places the towel back in its holder before opening the door. She'll have the entirety of tomorrow to get lost in thought and spend her hours worrying about Lizzie. Today, at long last, is their last day in the decrepit studio.

To think this isn't even the halfway point of their rehearsals is nerve-wracking. But it's a milestone, at least. It's better than nothing.

Catalina used to have a Spanish saying about this related to stones, maybe? She had a lot of sayings; Anna misses them.

Kathryn takes a step back from the door when Anna pulls it open. So many feelings crowd Anna's heart at the sight of her that they devolve into an indistinguishable grey mass much like the clouds gathering outside and equally stormy.

“Morning” Kathryn says, keeping her eyes trained on her neon-pink nails.

Anna hums in response, walking by her in the narrow corridor towards the kitchen. The bathroom door's lock clicks in the distance.

Her furniture and the colours on her walls haven't changed since she rented this place four years ago. Yet every time Kathryn returns the apartment feels foreign to Anna. As if everything had been displaced a quarter of an inch, just barely enough to be noticeable; nowhere near enough to constitute an actual change.

Of course, the only thing that's been actually displaced is her bond with Kathryn. That pain seeps out of Anna and warps the otherwise familiar environment of her house it warps everything.

Kathryn has made pancakes and tea again; what a surprise. Chocolate chip this time. Anna's stomach growls and knots at once. She is hungry, but Kathryn and her ordered pizza last night. Does she really need the pancakes? She's been known to overeat when she's anxious, and she's been quite anxious since rehearsals started. Doubly so since Lizzie's been consistently popping into her thoughts.

...So probably not. No, really, she's fine.

It's just stress. Her long months of hard work at the gym aren't worth wasting because she's a bit nervous now. Especially considering she hasn't had that much time or energy to do cardio lately. And granted, choreography constitutes physical exercise; but a large portion of the time destined to that is catered to Jane getting left and right mixed up.

One pancake. That'll do. Then a smoothie during break and her salad for lunch. After that, dinner--

It makes her nauseous to think about food. She'll cross the dinner bridge when she gets there.

She grabs a fork and takes a seat. Maybe she should plan her meals ahead of time to have a clear idea of her caloric intake. She grabs her mug-- ouch. What did Kathryn warm it up with? Hellfire?

She presses her fingers against the cool edge of her plate, slightly relieving their throbbing. They won't blister, she doesn't think, but they'll hurt for a while. Had she somehow gotten past the process of grasping and drunken it she would have burnt her mouth. Singing like that would have been a challenge.

What are the odds that Kathryn did it on purpose--?

'No. She didn't. She wouldn't. Not to me.'

And why not?

Anna pushes the two topmost pancakes to the edge of her plate with her right hand. Handling the fork takes too much out of her poor dominant yet injured fingers. Kathryn has had the nice thought of lathering the pancakes in honey instead of maple syrup. Anna only mentioned that preference once in passing. She cuts a piece from the pancake.

'What's the caloric value of honey?'

Her internal monologue makes her stomach close up even more. Now she won't be able to eat the damn pancake until she finds out. And finding the pot of honey would only give her a rough estimate, anyway. How much honey is there on the pancake? And what about the chocolate chips? And the pancake itself?

She really shouldn't have ordered pizza last night. But she was exhausted from rehearsal, and Kathryn's been complaining of an achy wrist for a while, so she couldn't whip anything up. Pizza is junk food, right? Which basically means--

“Christ, Anna! Your fingers!”

The panic in Kathryn's voice jerks Anna's attention to said appendages. They're indeed red. And blistering. As she stares, Kathryn walks over to the freezer and pulls out a bag of beans. “The cold should help” she says, leaving the bag at the edge of the table. “And why haven't you had breakfast yet?” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “We're going to be late.”

'Ice on a burn?! What do they teach her in that school?'

First-aid ignorance aside, it's uncertain in Anna's mind whether she wants to slap or hug Kathryn. She's the only person alive capable of stirring up Anna's feelings to the point she isn't certain about them. Why does Kat have to do this? Why can't she get away from Anna and stay away?

“And... Why would I want to be her friend?” Those words have looped on repeat in Anna's mind all week long.

Something within her desires to be angry so much it hurts. But... she's tired. She's very tired of arguing with Kathryn and hurting her. And getting hurt.

“I'm not hungry” she concludes. She doesn't have time to check everything. She can't control every factor. She doesn't want to put anything in her mouth if she has no control over it; her body freezes stiffer than the bag of beans presented to her at the mere thought.

Kathryn pales. “But--”

Why does she have to seem concerned? Why does it have to look so real?

“Pizza didn't sit well with me last night” Anna says. She sounds impatient, like she wants Kathryn to leave her alone she kind of does. “Then your tea tried to murder me.”

Kathryn closes her eyes, frowning. “I'm sorry! I didn't know how longer you'd take, so I heated it up to the max. I forgot to tell you, didn't I?”

Anna gestures at her hand. Kathryn flinches back. “Sorry...”

“Never mind.”

Despite having shut the conversation down, Kathryn remains in the doorway, closely inspecting the door frame. Is she looking for hinge pins? Anne's convinced it was Kathryn who tampered with the door; she was horridly vocal about it during her unpleasant stay.

“...You're sure you're not hungry?” Kathryn asks.

A hot ball of rage starts awakening within Anna. If only Kathryn would make up her damn mind about whether she gives a shit about her or not. This give and take is maddening. Who does Kathryn think she is, anyway? She doesn't have the right to question Anna.

But fighting isn't worth it. It seldom is.

“Call a cab, okay? I can't drive with this hand and you don't have your license yet.”

Kathryn stares at her just a second too long. “I'll make sure you packed lunch. In case you're feeling better later.”

Damn it.

-

“Jane, wrong right” Anne points out, mocking. Until they remove the cast from her arm she's bound to watching choreography rehearsals. Daphne appointed her observer and, considering the grimace she makes every time Anne forgets her manners, she's clearly regretting her life choices.

“How can you be so sure?” Jane spits.

Anne smiles. “I have eyes on my face.”

“Oh, wow!” Joan exclaims from behind the keyboard, beaming. “So do I!”

...A very awkward silence permeates the studio broken only by Maggie's snort.

“...Sorry, Joan” Anne mutters.

“Eh, never mind” Joan says. “I shouldn't have said that; wasn't the time.”

She bows her head. Even Joan, who has remained calm and upbeat for the longest times, has started cracking this week. Ever since Anne returned, arguments escalated again and Jane became Satan incarnate for some reason, Joan's hope for peaceful co-existence has started to falter and it shows in her erratic outbursts.

...Poor thing. She only really had a strong argument with Jane when they woke up; and rightfully so. It must be so disheartening to witness how all the effort she's put into staying away from drama and being a neutral person in every conflict amounts to nothing.

Anna would know. Her stance has been similar these three weeks and the constant quarrels have taken their toll on her sanity, too.

“Well,” Daphne says, uncomfortable at always being caught in the middle, “it's ten minutes to break, anyway. Let's wrap up for now; see you all in twenty.”

It would seem she can't reach the door fast enough judging by how she power-walks.

Anna's shoulders drop when she exhales. Her tolerance for Anne's bullshit has gone down to near zero after dealing with her for a whole week. If Anne treats everyone in her life like this it's no wonder she didn't have anyone who could take her in while she recovered from her concussion.

...That's probably a bit cruel to think. But still Anna's point stands.

Little by little, most everyone starts filing out. Maggie and María stay behind, taking much longer than necessary to put their instruments away while they talk and blush. Or drumsticks, in María's case.

Anna stops at the door. She'll get to her changing room, go in, retrieve her smoothie, and return to the studio. That's it. If Lina's there and has more false accusations, she'll ignore them. If Catherine's there, Anna will do her best to pretend that failed excuse for a human being doesn't exist.

She resumes walking. If she's quick enough she may out-speed Kathryn. She's been keeping an annoyingly close look at Anna since their breakfast incident. Despite Anna's hardest, most honest effort to not partake in any of the multiple ongoing feuds, if there's one person that can make her crack like sweet Joan earlier it's most definitely Kathryn monitoring her food intake. Why does she care so much, anyway?

“And... Why would I want to be her friend?”

“Goodness fucking gracious, Anne. Could you stop checking the bloody hinge pins?!” Kathryn says, arms crossed. “I'd like to get in there and get my cereal bar!!”

...There the cousins go again. Anna walks by them. To her changing room, then back to the studio. That's it.

“Can't be too sure” Anne says. “I also have to watch out for falling shelves, it seems. Someone won't stop trying to--”

Anna closes her changing room door behind her and sighs. Anne's singing voice is beautiful. Her whining and bickering one, not so much. Though the closed door just serves to muffle her passionate bullshit it's better than hearing the performance in full.

Catalina must have taken a detour. But Catherine's there, at her vanity, reading something on her phone with an emotionless expression, snacking on... are those dinosaur-shaped cookies? Yes, they are indeed.

The longer Anna shares a closed space with Catherine, the hotter the ball of rage within her gets. There she is, living a normal, peaceful life, while poor Lizzie's left dissociating out of her mind because Catherine is a repulsive predator. She should have stayed dead.

Smoothie in hand, Anna braces herself for Anne's ongoing dulcetto tones. Kathryn's twirling a lock of her hair, inspecting her nails disinterestedly yet again while Anne goes on a spiel about a hinge pin, and her choker, and a shelf, and too many things for Anna to catch onto. Anne talks a mile a minute; like her voice box works faster than her jaw. Kathryn stands there, about as engaged as she would be watching snails race.

“Are you done?” she asks when Anne stops to breathe. Considering Anne resumes her breakneck speech, she isn't.

Their conversation fades into incomprehensible whispers when Anna shuts the studio's door. Maggie and María are still here, giggling together. It's nice to see someone's getting along, at least. But Anna's too drained from all this to feel anything for them other than dull, apathetic glee.

Seeing as Jane's been acting like she got possessed by a demon last week, Anna wouldn't have thought she'd be glad to see her at the studio. Third-wheeling Maggie and María would have been horridly awkward, though; so Jane's presence is an unexpected relief.

Despite the inconsistencies in Jane's defense, and the fact that everyone is convinced she pushed the shelf on Anne... Anna isn't so sure.

She opens her smoothie and impales the container with its straw. Jane is the obvious candidate, but...

'It was could've also been Kathryn.'

Anna wouldn't have even doubted Kathryn's innocence if she'd actually been in and out of the studio; or if she'd returned with a bottle of water. But she didn't. She took longer than necessary to go to the vending machine and return.

Anna brings the smoothie close to her lips. Kathryn insists she stayed behind to clean the water; that Anne slapped the bottle out of her hand and it was poorly closed. Why bother the cleaning staff? The queens already cause enough problems as is; Kathryn decided to get some paper towels and deal with the mess herself. That was the delay, she promises.

And it sounds plausible, but...

Anna takes a sip of the smoothie. She's much hungrier than she'd realized.

If she hadn't let Anne stay with them for Lizzie's sake, Anna may not have even noticed the time discrepancy between Kathryn leaving for the vending machine and returning without a bottle of water. But hearing the vicious words the cousins tear each other down with for a whole week...

She didn't know Kathryn was capable of such intense hatred. It burnt away the aloof persona Kathryn puts on all the time and left spiteful, biting remains behind. Granted, Kathryn has many reasons to be cross at Anne. Yet still... If she can hate so passionately...

...What would stop her from--?

Getting hit by a wave of nausea, Anna leaves the smoothie on the chair beside hers. Is she seriously considering Kathryn again? Granted, earlier this week everyone saw her locking Anne in the changing room, but... That was just a prank taken a bit too far right? Petty revenge after Anne had been harassing her the previous week at home. There's a difference between that and pushing a shelf on her. Anne could have died.

Anna shakes her head. Even if things between her and Kathryn haven't been optimal lately for the past four years Kat just... she wouldn't. Like she wouldn't burn Anna's hand on purpose. She just wouldn't.

But does Anna really, truly know Kathryn? She doesn't recognize her at all in this cold, indifferent person she has blossomed into. Their last argument seemed to shed the last of Kathryn's kindness and leave this heartless person behind. Who knows what she's capable of?

Anna picks her smoothie up again. She needs to eat something; next song to go over with Daphne is hers.

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She should ignore it; she's wasted more than half of break mulling over pointless things. But what if it's Lizzie? Anna promised Liz she could text her whenever, for anything, at any time, no matter what.

She's not losing Lizzie again. Not after four years of no contact with her.

...It's just someone with the wrong number. Someone's asking if she's enjoying the game so far. Message deleted.

Lizzie... What's going on at home? Why was Lizzie so distraught to go back? Is Anne hurting her, somehow? Or is it something else?

Anna's throat closes up. She can't keep a single child safe, can she?

In any life. Not Kathryn, not Lizzie. Is it that surprising Kathryn hates her?

Blinking back tears, Anna gets up and goes to the bathroom to dispose of her smoothie. Everything is spiraling out of control. Lizzie, Kathryn, everyone's behaviour. Last week's insult to María was taking it too far. María is a beautiful woman who has only made some questionable choices since reincarnation. She didn't deserve that.

Unlike Anna. What would someone say about her in a similar message? Perhaps they'd call her horse face, like Catalina did.

Maybe they'd be right.

She keeps her eyes stuck to the green floor tiles as she heads for the bin don't look at the mirror, don't look at the mirror, just don't. She may have lost control of every aspect of her life; but she can still control her appearance. And if she gets a bit dizzy... perhaps she deserves it. Perhaps it's the bare minimum for hurting everyone she touches. For failing Lizzie, and Kathryn, and going as far as to doubt her innocence.

It really is the bare minimum. She does deserve it.

-

...Dizzy was an understatement...

...Quite... Quite an understatement...

Walking... hell, standing... feels like being in one of those fun-house rooms where the floor jerks and tilts. She blamed it all on a head cold, of course, and Daphne let her sit the rest of rehearsals out, just singing.

But Anna still needs to get home. And Kathryn has been showering her with attention. Too much attention for Anna's comfort, really. If she ate lunch, if she has a fever, if she's feeling well... Police interrogations aren't as thorough. Every time Kathryn acts like this it's nerve-wracking to consider Anna ever thought she could do something evil. Yet the certainty that she's only getting close to Anna just to push her away again...

“And... Why would I want to be her friend?”

…

The emotional pain from those words feels distant. Anna's too tired to deal with it.

She makes a beeline for her changing room leaning against the wall as casually as she can. She can only hope it won't get attention. It's the last time she's ever touching this musty wall.

'Good.'

The studio won't be missed in the slightest. If only all the dreadful memories and heinous comments that have been shared between its walls could remain locked within.

As Anna rounds the corner, someone leaves the corridor on the other side, to the ladies' room's hallway. Anna sighs. If it's Bessie again... If it's Bessie again, Anna will take it. That's all she can do. Any hatred Bessie or Kathryn send her way... It's well deserved.

A good friend wouldn't have failed them. She can't stay mad at either. Isn't that why she's let Bessie get away with everything?

Anna steadies herself against the door as the floor beneath her seems to shift. Her stomach is screaming in pain. Fine, fine. She'll have dinner. Maybe she should have eaten lunch, too, instead of hiding in this cursed room so Kathryn wouldn't breathe down her neck at the makeshift cafeteria.

...Maybe Kathryn's legitimately worried. Perhaps her feelings towards Anna are as messy and confusing as Anna's are for her.

Anna pushes the handle open. It doesn't matter. The point is she lost Kathryn and it was her fault.

She closes the door as voices come down the hallway. Apparently Jane stole Anne's sling when Anne took it off to stretch her contracted elbow. Bessie caught Jane about to throw it in the toilet.

What's gotten into Jane, seriously? She was almost giddy at being found guilty. She deals with hell from Edward at home, if things with him remain remotely as they were upon reincarnation; but is she petty enough to lash out at people entirely unrelated to her inability to raise her son?

None of these problems are Anna's, anyway. All she has to do is get in a cab with Kathryn and hope and pray she'll be quiet on the ride back home. If their time together turns into interrogation hours 2.0 Anna might as well jump out of the taxi.

She takes one sweeping look at the changing room. The velved-painted yet peeling walls, the matted grey carpet, the stained vanities with malfunctioning, dying lights... No, there isn't an inch of this cursed place she'll miss. The theater is bound to be inhabitable, at least.

This studio has really lowered her standards.

She gathers her bag, coat, and pulls out her gloves from the coat's pocket--

She doesn't own blue gloves. These must be Catherine's.

So Bessie isn't sufficiently entertained by tormenting Anna anymore? She's upped her game to straight out incriminating her for things she hasn't done? To stir shit with Catherine, of all people?

The ball of rage burns brighter, but the low levels of energy Anna's running on right now render her feelings muted. She tosses Catherine's gloves at her vanity and misses by a foot. Oh well, bending over to pick them up won't hurt Catherine. Unlike Catherine herself; who hurt amd broke Lizzie beyond repair.

And unlike Anna, too, who's never good enough to keep anyone she cares about safe. How much innocent blood is on her hands?

She leaves the changing room for good; no need to turn around and cast one final wistful glance. She'll be more than happy to be gone for good. She locks the door and heads to the front desk. Honestly, being rid of Karina will be welcome, too. Anna just needs to hand her keys in at the desk, politely thank Karina for her patience, and say goodbye.

The end at last. Or, well, an ending at least. There's still the theater and then the actual show to survive.

'Lovely.'

...Why... Just why are panicked voices coming from the entrance? Why today? Can't they even part with this crappy studio in peace? Anna could leave through the service door; but there's a high likelihood that door is locked now. And anyway, having a shelf fall on her is the worst way Anna can think of starting her weekend.

She'll just have to pretend to be okay and stable in front of an audience instead of just Karina. Is it that bad? She's going to be acting in front of larger crowds that she cares for the people outside during “Six” in every show. Ah, those days in which they all still held hopes for mending their tattered bonds and thought that found family song was a good note to end the musical on...

Back when Kathryn still loved her.

“...from the beginning, calm down” Catalina says sternly; but for a change not aggressively.

As Anna rounds the corner the gathering comes into view. Everyone, even Karina, Daphne and Steve, are in a circle around a very overwhelmed and stressed-looking Catherine. Even Anne is there.

Anna's stomach drops. For Anne to tolerate Catherine and not lynch her on sight, the matter must be grave.

Kathryn looks at Anna and gestures for her to join the group. Kathryn's frowning and wide-eyed. She looks terrified.

As Anna makes to go with her, she stumbles on the air between her feet. Kathryn's expression shifts to concern; but she says nothing when Anna stands beside her.

“I-I couldn't find my house keys” Catherine says. She's pale and holding a piece of paper so tightly it creases around her fingers. “Before assuming they'd been stolen I decided to look everywhere I'd been. The-The bathroom, and the second floor...”

Steve shakes his head disapprovingly at that.

“And it was there I found this” Catherine points, with a trembling hand, to the paper in her hands. “Do I-Do I read it again?”

“Yes” say several people at once. Anna's heart is slowly picking up its pace, making her dizziness worse. At intervals, her vision clouds. What could be so terrible so as to make Anne tolerate Catherine, and Jane behave?

“Bessie,

“Thank you for not mentioning my last note” Catherine reads, her voice wavering. “However, I must insist you reply. Even if it's just to say you have no idea what I'm talking about.

“Whatever's happening is a serious problem. I need all the help I can get to settle this without anyone getting hurt like Anne again. Do you understand?

“Has it tried to contact you again? Has it threatened you at all for reading my last letter? Did it reach you?

“Listen: whoever is setting this game up hasn't punished me at all for reaching out to you last week. Do you really think the entity, if it really were back, wouldn't have punished me? I haven't been punished because whoever set up this shitshow is mortal like you and me. It's not all-knowing and all-seeing. It's limited. I think that's why every task we're given is bound to have public repercussions: hanging a choker from a stage light, locking someone inside, throwing pills into sinks, slashing tires...

“All of those actions become public knowledge if accomplished. If it really were the entity it wouldn't need visible proof. I think that's what's been bugging me most about this whole affair. The entity wouldn't need visible proof; it'd just know whether we do things or not.

“It has to be one of the others. I need you to help me to stop future bad things from happening. Somebody's going to get seriously hurt. Anne already did.

“We need to stop this. Please reconsider talking to me. I'll let you know where we can drop off notes in the theater when I find a safe spot. The entity would have punished us both for my last letter. It didn't because nobody knows I gave it to you.

“We're being played. It needs to stop. Help me,

“An unlikely ally.”

Anna's empty stomach is ready to expel bile if it must. What... What? How come...?

“Why was that letter addressed to you?” María asks Bessie in a poorly controlled voice.

Bessie takes a step back, breathing heavily. “I-I have no idea what that's about” she whispers. “Someone wants to frame me for something, I swear.”

“...Are we all going to ignore the implication that it's back?” Anne says grimly. “And that it made someone push a shelf on me?”

Joan holds her face with her free hand. “This can't be happening...” she says. Her voice is strangled. Maggie rubs her back sympathetically. “Not again, please.”

“I... I think...” Catherine pipes up, scanning over the letter. “...It's even worse. The implications are that one of us is pretending to be it again to get the rest of us to hurt each other...”

Breathing in a room without oxygen may potentially be easier than doing it in this room. Too hot, it's too hot. Anna unbuttons her coat. Who--?

“Who would do such a thing?” Jane asks. For once, she sounds genuine. “Who would purposefully fuck with us like that?” her voice rises with panic. She looks around with a paranoid expression. “Which one of you--?!”

“There's no proof anyone is actually pretending to be the entity, though” Anne says. “Just a letter that claims that every way we've been shitty to each other recently is actually product of some greater scheme...” she looks at Bessie. “Who hates you enough to address this piece of bullocks to you? Someone clearly wanted to frame you.”

“...It could have been Catherine herself” Kathryn says quietly, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. “I mean, did anyone see her finding that piece of paper? She could've brought it from home, had it on her all day long.”

Catherine shrinks into herself. “Why would I do that to Bessie?” she says, pulling on the hem of her sweater anxiously.

“Right” Anne says, putting her uninjured hand on her hip. “Bessie isn't a little girl; you only get them young.”

Catherine gasps, but more as in she too is struggling to breathe than in an offended way. She's going to tear a hole through her sweater at this rate.

“Anna could have done it to Bessie” Lina says, coldly ignoring Anne's biting words. “Bessie's been busy harassing her; hasn't she? And Kathryn also hates Bessie enough.”

“Oh” Kathryn says, taking a deep breath. “At least I had an actual argument with her. Unlike you, my distaste for Bessie is based on something. You just can't handle the guilt of having let--” Kathryn puts a hand against her forehead, then looks at Catalina shooting daggers through her eyes. “Maybe it was you! If you get rid of Bessie you don't have to confront your guilt anymore, right?!”

Catalina's jaw drops, then she shakes her head. “Why, you insolent, obnoxious, little--”

“Enough!!” Karina screams. She's crying, holding tightly onto her uncle's arm. “That's it!! We all know how this goes; you all blame each other back and forth and don't get anywhere!! This is just like any other prank taken too far; like whoever wrote that lie about María last week!!”

She takes a shuddering breath, wiping her tears with such strength her skin reddens. “What I want to know is what entity you're all talking about.”

Daphne nods. “Y'all are very keen to discuss 'it's' return” she points out, making air-quotes. “What the hell are you on about?”

...With every passing second, Anna's more lightheaded. The entity? Bessie could have been coerced into hurting her? And Anne with the shelf? So then, María's harassment last week... And Jane's change in demeanor--

“Sorry, you all deserve an explanation...” Kathryn says. “Okay, first of all there's no ghost. It all started...”

Her eyes flick from side to side as she considers options.

“...When we all met” Joan finishes. She's grasping her cane with such force her knuckles have turned white. Or, whiter. “Four years ago. We had a friend--”

“Yes” María says, nodding vigorously. “Another friend who we cut contact with. Because...”

“...she wouldn't stop making up stories about hauntings” Kathryn continues, nodding. “And when we were sharing a flat, she'd do things like...”

“...like the shit going on here” Anne concludes. “And it scared the living daylights out of us. Turns out she was a hacker; she knew more about us than we did.”

“So we kicked her out and planned the musical without her” Lina says.

“The band was originally going to have five members” Maggie adds. “But she had to go.”

Their quick thinking may just barely perhaps be enough to sway outsiders; but everything inside Anna is screaming in fear. What if it is back? Her vision clouds in sync with her pounding heart now, making her instability worse. What if--?

“You were all talking about an entity, though; not a person” Steve says, putting a comforting arm around Karina's shoulders.

“'The Entity' was her hacker name” María says.

Daphne frowns. “You referred to her as an 'it', though.”

“Neopronouns!” Jane says. “She/it, you know? With a heavy 'it' preference.”

Anna can't be the only one feeling like hell cooled over. Everyone is one shade or another of distressed. Daphne shakes her head and sighs.

“I have no idea what you lot have going on; but I want to part in it” she says, flipping her red hair over her shoulder as she walks to the door. “If you could prank each other and bring up the past far away from the theater I'd be more comfortable. I'm out; see you Monday.”

Cold air fills the entrance as the doors slide open.

Steve nods vigorously. “You are losing your touch” he says. “A few petty quarrels I can understand; been working with performers my whole life. But this...” he says, gesturing at the letter. “And what you did to María last week is unacceptable. Reconsider your actions. If the culprit is caught, the consequences will be drastic.”

Catalina's phone rings. A few people, Anna included, jump at the sudden Toreador's March.

“Mary” Catalina says. “I... Sorry, my daughter's waiting for me. I suppose this discussion can wait until Monday.”

They all mutter their agreement, but... Could it really be back? They have to get to the bottom of this now. Have people actually been receiving threatening messages? And, if not, what sort of person thought this would be funny? Anna's about to be sick, Joan's crying, Anne is complaining about a headache...

Is this fun? Is one of them really twisted enough to enjoy this?

Or... No, best not to think about it.

Or is it really back?

Steve sends a distressed Karina to gather her things, patting his niece reassuringly on the back. He takes her place behind the counter and retrieves everyone's keys. He doesn't even bid them a good weekend. He looks as exhausted as Anna feels.

Someone rubs Anna's arm softly, making her jump. She turns around. It's Kathryn, looking at her with a warm yet concerned gaze. “We need to get a cab. Are you ready?”

“More than ever” she says. Her entire skin is scratchy as if bugs were crawling all over it with their sticky little legs.

She cannot leave the studio fast enough.

Anna and Kathryn are the last out. Anne's rounding the corner as they walk out the studio's main entrance for the last time. The cold air is, for once, a bit of a blessing. It jerks Anna out of her daze if only a little. Yet whichever clarity she could gain from having her nausea and vertigo alleviated is foiled by the raging thoughts bouncing against each other in her head. The entity, Anne and the shelf, the letter, threats--

She lurches to the side as soon as they begin to walk towards the avenue, catching herself on the cool stone wall of a random house.

“Anna--”

“Do you think it's really back?” she asks, stopping to lean against the wall. “The entity. Is it?”

She can't make much of Kathryn's features out with the flickering streetlights as back light, but her posture stiffens. “No, it's not back” she says calmly, then turns to look at the sky. The streetlight shines off her illuminated eye. “I don't know if there's a game going on, but whoever wrote that letter's right about one thing” she says. “If there is, most everything that's happened lately has been public. Last time... Firstly, it was open about its existence; it didn't try to hide behind games. And if it did target one of us, specifically, it didn't require any proof or anything. It just knew.”

Kathryn returns her gaze to Anna. “Even what you told me about Bessie, and how you've caught her several times... Those things happened in your changing room; Catalina found out, right? Not even the most private of things has been a total secret, Anna. So no. I don't think it's back. I think someone's trying to have fun. But...”

She twidles her hands together, then sighs. “...How about we talk about this at home?”

...She hasn't said anything that's bad, inherently. It's a simple statement. But something about her tone revives the ball of rage brewing in Anna's stomach.

It came across as condescending.

“Why?” she asks rather aggressively.

Kathryn cocks her head and points at the sky. “...Because it's about to rain? Why are you asking like you want to murder me?”

Something clicks, a dam breaks, the ball bursts, Anna snaps. She's had enough.

“Why are you acting like you care all of a sudden?”

She shouldn't lash out at Kathryn. She has no right to--

“'All of a sudden'?” Kathryn says, then chuckles humorlessly. “I didn't push me away four years ago, Anna. If we haven't had a rosy-sweet friendship it's because--”

Don't finish that sentence don't finish that sentence don't finish--

“You haven't made it particularly easy” Anna interrupts.

...Who knew lies, or half-truths, taste so bitter?

Frustrated, Kathryn groans. “Maybe I haven't” she says, crossing her arms. “Maybe I've become the total bitch everyone thinks I am. Who's fault was it?”

“You can't blame me for that.”

“But I can blame you for the distance between us.”

A drop falls on Anna's face. Then another, and then many. The rain pours steadily, but neither her nor Kathryn move a muscle.

“...I was trying to protect you.”

The truth.

“You overstepped every goddamn boundary!!” Kathryn says, taking a step closer, wiping a lock of hair from her cheek. “Every last one!! And you never even fucking apologized!! Then you acted all surprised I wanted to put as much distance as I could between you and me!!”

...Another truth.

She's wanted to apologize. Really, she has. But the words never come. They're rather pointless. Words can't take away the pain she scarred into Kathryn's heart.

“You were the only person I trusted” Kathryn says, her pitch rising with distress. “But some times love isn't enough” her voice cracks. “I can't even hate you no matter how hard I try. And trust me; I do!! I've tried for four years!!”

It's unclear whether she's drying raindrops or tears from her eyes. “So don't you dare ask if I care. I do. And you're not eating; I'm not fucking stupid. So even if I wish I could hate you with every fiber of my being I'm not going to ignore that and pray it'll go away on its own.”

...It's... It's not even rage anymore Anna's feeling. There's anger mostly at herself, grief, confusion, fear, past mistakes, entities...

Too much. Her head is too crowded and her body too weak for this mess. It has to stop. Her stomach is so upset it's dizzying even with the shivering, teeth-chattering cold of the loud rain.

Apologize. Just apologize, just say “I'm sorry.”

“Let's get that cab” she chokes out.

It seems she cut Kathryn half-way through a sentence. Kat walks up to her and grabs her by the arm. “Let me bring one here” she says. “You're in no condition to walk like this and we left the house in such a rush we both forgot umbrellas.”

But... But she doesn't need Kathryn to take care of her. She doesn't want Kathryn to take care of her she only wants Kathryn to hate her; that would be fair. Anna weakly struggles her way out of Kathryn's grip. “I'm just fine.”

“You are not.”

“I am” Anna says. She takes a step towards the avenue--

Time slows as she free-falls off the curb to the concrete of the road. Falling, falling... Did she get dizzy or did she slip? Maybe both? She extends an arm to stop herself.

She shuts her eyes at the the painful glare of sudden bright lights. What--? A lorry honks deafeningly loud; she still hasn't hit the ground--

“ANNA!!”

Then she's hit with so much force--

...Why... does Kathryn sound... so afraid? Anna... can't feel anything... She's so... so... cold... She's...

...Just...

…

…

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…

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…

…

“I am” Anna says. She takes a step towards the avenue--

Time slows as she free-falls off the curb to the concrete of the road. Falling, falling... Did she get dizzy or did she slip? Maybe both? She extends an arm to stop herself.

She closes her eyes at the the burn of sudden bright lights. What--? A lorry honks deafeningly loud; she still hasn't hit the ground--

“ANNA!!”

Then she's hit with so much force--

...Why... does Kathryn sound... so afraid? Anna... can't feel...

…

…

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…

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…

…

“I--”

A wave of nausea hits her, making her lean against the wall again, but she pushes forwards. She's fine, really--

“Anna, stop!!” Kathryn says, holding her arm. How annoying; Anna shakes her off. Kathryn's foot lands in a puddle and she slips towards the road--

As she falls, her body is illuminated by a lorry turning the corner. Anna reaches out to grab her, screaming her name--

…

…

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…

…

“I--”

A wave of nausea and a mild headache hit her hard, making her lean against the wall again, but she pushes forwards. She's fine, really--

“Anna, stop!!” Kathryn says, holding her arm. How annoying; Anna shakes her off. Kathryn's foot lands in a puddle. For some reason, panic seizes Anna's senses. She cannot let Kathryn fall.

Anna grabs Kathryn's arm, but the girl can't find footing. As she tightens her grasp around Anna's arm, her shoes slide on the slippery sidewalk once, twice--

As Kathryn falls she pulls Anna with her, her dizziness contributing to the loss of balance. Her stomach drops as they both plummet to the road. Anna closes her eyes at the the burn of sudden bright lights. What--? A lorry honks deafeningly loud; they still haven't hit the ground. Kathryn screams--

…

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“I--”

Anna falls to her knees with a blinding headache. Her ears ring so loudly it's painful. She cant do anything to stop this, just breathe. She can only focus on breathing, that's all.

In... Out...

In...

Out...

Little by little, as if she were slowly floating towards the surface after nearly drowning, Kathryn's concerned voice comes through. She has knelt before Anna, holding her by the arms. The blinding lights of a lorry render Kathryn's face too shadowy to see. Anna struggles to keep her eyes open, blinking through the painful light and the piercing pangs it sends to her still achy head.

...What happened?

She... She can almost hear... a voice? No... Why--?

“Anna!!” Kathryn says. Her voice is almost squeaky with worry. “Are you okay?!”

The street plunges back to mild lighting when the lorry drives by. Anna opens her eyes all the way--

“Your nose is bleeding” she says feebly, pointing at Kathryn with a shaky hand.

She's even struggling to breathe. What in the name of—?”

“What?!” Kathryn says. Anna winces at her shrill tone. Kathryn brings her fingers to her nose, frown deepening when she sees the blood She looks at Anna, pale and horrified. “...Yours is too.”

...What? Anna coordinates her hand to touch her face with much more difficulty and exhaustion than the gesture should entail. Her fingers are stained sticky red.

...How can both their noses--?

Kathryn grabs her shoulders so roughly she slams Anna into the wall behind her. It sends a dull ache across her back.

“You're not going to die on me” Kathryn says firmly, although her chin quivers. “You're going to see a doctor. You're going to eat. Look at what just happened!!”

...She's terrified. She's afraid of losing Anna despite all the pain she's been subjected to. That knowledge, that certainty, pushes everything else to the back of Anna's mind. The edge of terror in Kathryn's voice, the way her shoulders wrack with irate sobs...

'...You're just as conflicted as I am; but you don't hate me for some reason .'

If she had to provide an answer as to what compels her to lean forwards and cut Kathryn's angry rant off with a hug, Anna could not. She has to. She simply must.

Something... She remembered something before that headache. But what was it?

Kathryn gasps, tensing at first. Then she's punching Anna's shoulder, crying harder. “Why did you have to ruin this?” she says. She's shivering. “Why did you have to make me lose trust in you?!”

What little impulse she had she loses after a few more blows. With a shuddering sob, she remains limp in Anna's hold.

And then she returns the embrace.

“I won't let you hurt yourself, Anna” she says. Her tone is so full of rage “No matter how much I want to hate you.”

It's as if the world had stopped turning. Anna gives Kathryn a gentle squeeze. Far from pulling away, Kitty cries into her shoulder. Anna lets her head fall against Kathryn's.

“I'm so sorry” she says at last. “For everything, sweetheart.”

...Everything else can wait. For the first time in four years, Anna feels like she can breathe again.

*

María rolls off her, breathing heavily, and turns to hug her. Maggie feels in heaven, loved, her chest ready to burst. She drapes an arm around her beloved, feeling her skin, her warmth... María kisses her.

“I missed this” she says, curling into Maggie's side. “I missed you.”

“Me too, love” Maggie replies, kissing her girlfriend's head.

Exhaustion soon lulls her beautiful, dearest María to sleep. Maggie observes every detail of her adorable face. How her eyelashes rest against her plump cheeks, the shape of her full lips...

...Maggie never thought the day would come she would rest beside María again. There isn't anything she's unwilling to do to preserve their love; to never lose her again.

To keep María safe.

...No cost is too great to keep her out of harm's way. María's hair smells lovely. Maggie smiles.

She will always, always protect her. No matter the consequences.

...No matter how many messages she has to write on the walls, or what tasks the entity demands of her. As long as María's being threatened, Maggie will comply.

'I won't let it hurt you. That is a promise.'

Chapter Text

(December 17^th, Monday)

A new life started for Jane the moment the entity contacted her. A life as dark as the sky is, as stormy as the weather and as bone-chillingly cold as the morning frost seeping into her very bones.

Kathryn's suggestion last week that it hasn't returned was downright ridiculous; as is the notion that the entity is inherently an evil being. An evil creature wouldn't have brought them back to life. An evil creature wouldn't have returned to Jane her will to live, her ability to breathe.

The entity, its game, is the sole motive Jane feels vibrantly, vividly and even painfully alive again. Without it she would have remained the meek, meager mother trailing pathetically after her son. Trying to fulfill his every last whim to get him to throw some scraps of affection her way, crying every night... That's over. It really is time to rise above.

Perhaps if this charade were a burden to her, if it weighed down heavily in her heart, she would be terrified of its return as her former family co-workers are. And of course, there is a bit of fear pumping through her veins today, keeping her heart at a moderate pace as it beats strongly.

The entity is strangely adamant about refusing to answer questions this time round. When they first woke up it was eager to reply to most any query. Its answers were always mocking, playful and generally unhelpful; but it did communicate. If anything, that's the only thing that made Jane hesitate for a second about the true identity of the person behind her Facebook DMs.

But... the only logical conclusion, whatever anyone has to say, is that it really is back.

Jane needs this game more than she needs water. It has to be real, it has to be real; it just has to be.

It would be an irrefutable point if Jane could find a fool-proof way to contrast whether the others are playing or just being insufferable. Is Catalina on Anna's case 24/7 because she's an ass or because she's being forced to? Did Kathryn lock Anne in their changing room out of spite or necessity?

Jane twists her neck to relieve some pressure. Who knows? Everyone hates each other so much after they crashed and burnt that it's entirely plausible Jane's the only person the entity has contacted for now.

The streets are packed on her way to the theater. After a loud group of high-schoolers take a left, the mass of people parts enough to show a glimpse of the resplendent building.

...Underwhelming.

For four years Jane has refused to look up a single image of this place. She has purposefully avoided this street. All for the sole purpose of having this moment right now be breathtaking. But it isn't. It's a red brick building with red-rimmed windows. There isn't a trace of the black marble riveted in gold Jane has dreamt of for so long. No red carpets at the entrance, no fancy banisters or columns.

'...That's it? Seriously?'

It's... That's so... Just... Oh well--

Someone bumps into her, sending a jolt of pain from her shoulder to her elbow. The man walks by, holding his briefcase and screaming angrily into his phone to make himself heard in the busy street, without as much as apologizing.

...Huh. She doesn't even feel anything at this point.

Books and authors generally have a very creative way of describing sadness, depression, and all those complex feelings Jane struggles to label. Her heart pounds when she reads about them (or, listens, considering audio books). Fictional feelings are so colourful, so fulfilling, so...

...So the opposite of this hollowness within her stomach. So much better than the cold void she feels when people ignore her.

Her steps are much less springy as she resumes her march through the crowd. Maybe it's because the destination is disappointing. Maybe it's because of how invisible she is. Perhaps both.

Watching paint dry strikes her as more exciting than the numbness slowly coursing through her body. ...Look, another stranger who didn't see her. Another person who ignored her. How strange, right?

...No, not really. Ignoring Jane is all people do. Always. In every life.

She slows down involuntarily. This... This is how it always goes. After the pain, after the numbness, all the vacant space within her gets filled up with thoughts. They're never nice or comforting. They're more like puss.

But... But ultimately, they're right. About everything. Jane is the sort of person ten total strangers think they've met before because her appearance is so generic. The kind of person who never leaves a mark, who is never remembered. Not in her reign, not in her second life. People pay more attention to a sudden chill than they do to her.

And is it their fault? Can she really hold them accountable? She did nothing but nod to all of Henry's desires even the ones she hated; especially the ones she hated and bear a son. A son who was never king, who died before he could be relevant or remembered. She perished for the footnote of history books, for the honourable mention in the list of Henry's children.

Catalina is remembered for her cunning, her many strengths, her horrible daughter. Anne is remembered for her intelligence and wit, her talents, her brilliant girl. Cathy is remembered for her intellect and her career. Kathryn is remembered for having a body count higher than she's tall. A horrid thing to be remembered for a disgusting thing; she was a child, but at least it's something she did.

The only person remotely in Jane's situation is Anna. She didn't do anything to leave a mark in history. She got lucky and escaped best of them all. But even so people recall her apparently remarkable job as a step-mother.

'Step'. Just 'step'. Jane is Edward's mother; not Anna or Catherine or Joan. Only Jane.

The reason Jane's name didn't fade away with so many of her contemporaries is that she delivered a baby of the correct sex. A baby who never made it into adulthood. A baby who was raised by many people and none of them his mother.

A baby who hates her. Who doesn't want her.

Open-heart surgery without anaesthesia may hurt less than that. Jane was a ghost for the people around her. Her parents didn't care what she wanted. Her siblings didn't care. She was a good to be traded with, an object to be exchanged for power.

Even Henry didn't love her.

When she first woke up, she thought it was another chance. An opportunity to do something meaningful, to have all eyes on her. To matter for once. Even if the only person she mattered to was only Edward. Even if to everyone else she was as noticeable as the rustling of leaves.

But Jane's the sort of person who doesn't mean much. The one who nobody will remember two hours after speaking to her. The one who isn't memorable in any way. The one who's name everyone always forgets.

Which just attests to how pointless her reign was. She can't even be remembered as “that woman who shares a name with a dead Tudor queen”. She is, and always has been, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Things that are forgotten over, and over, and over such as herself are bound to snap and break. Bent the wrong way one time too many, pushed too far, discarded often... It's hardly her fault she's enjoying the game. Now everybody has to see her. Everybody's talking about her. Nobody will forget her.

She hopes Karina has nightmares about her. It brings her immense joy to imagine Catalina panicking about her heart medication; picturing her in her house making sure to pack an extra set of pills out of fear.

How does the saying go? If you can't be loved, being feared's the next best thing? Eh, it's something like that.

If the entity hadn't reached out, if it hadn't offered the opportunity to make herself be seen, where would Jane be now? Would she have gotten up from the floor where she collapsed like a pathetic mannequin after Edward told her she was better off dead? Or would she still be laying there, moss growing over her as her son walked over her like he would a rug?

She gets so much attention now without even having to ask. It's like having been reborn within resurrection. Now everyone must see. Even when they don't know it's her, the consequences of her actions follow the people she haunts closer than their own shadows. She's finally leaving her mark. They didn't want to look when she was kind. Well, life's a bitch. Now they don't get the chance to look away. All she needed--

“Jane” Bessie says curtly, walking past her and into the theater. She's gone before Jane has the chance to say 'hello'.

Maybe Bessie's afraid of Jane. Isn't that what Jane wants?

...Standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring at the plain theater like an idiot won't solve her current conundrum. She has to go in and get ready for whatever may come.

As she makes to take the first step, her chest tightens. Yes, she's in for major punishment. But...

It's so hard to breathe.

She pulls her phone out of her purse and goes through her final conversation with the entity. Before she steps foot in the theater she has to be sure she's understood correctly.

“Jane,

“While I do appreciate your enthusiasm, what I do not enjoy is your blatant disobedience. I believe I told you to torment Catalina specifically. Not Anne. Not anyone else. You are attacking people I never asked you to. You are causing problems.

“You're eager to cause pain. That's good. That benefits us both; even if you can't see how now. But you have to listen to my rules or suffer the consequences.

“I have no tasks for you next week. At least not until you get proportionately punished for your misbehaviour.

“If you try something stupid like not coming to the theater, calling in sick or anything in that vein, I will find you. You do not want me to find you. Do not make me find you. You may be my favourite pawn; it would be a shame to lose you.

“Are we clear? I would hope so.

“Have a nice weekend. I'm looking forward to seeing you on Monday. I believe you'll find what I have in store for you to be most thrilling :)”

Her chest continues to tighten as if it wished to juice her heart and lungs. It's a crushing brand of fear just a bit less than her son hating her forever; although she's given up on that front, one that's suffocating.

...But she will endure. All she needs is to turn her heart to stone.

It was what she needed to survive her parents.

What she needed to survive her siblings.

What she needed to survive Henry.

What she needed to survive the others turning against her it was partly her fault.

What she needed to survive her son hating her.

And it was what she needs to survive now.

Deep breaths, heart of stone. A heart of stone will not crack due to words. A heart of stone will not crack from heartache. A heart of stone cannot feel the emotions that were threatening to kill her.

A heart of stone will not crumble from fear.

A heart of stone cannot feel regret for her actions... right?

In so many ways, Jane has died twice. Back then, when she brought Edward into the world; and every day of the past four years, seeing him hate her and everyone else ignore her. But now she is back. She has risen from her grave, crawled her way out of hell, and she is prepared to dish out the pain she was subjected to tenfold. They hurt her, did they not? Ignored her she just wanted to help, discarded her she just wanted her son and left her to rot she just wanted to be loved; actually loved.

Mercy's over. If they're hurting now, it's just fair retribution.

Her emotions sizzle and die as she envisions her heart solidifying into stone. With a deep breath, she makes her way inside.

She will deal with any consequences she must. But she will not obey. She refuses to obey. The entity planted wings on her hunched back when it recruited her for its game. Now that she can walk straight once more, her spine will not bend. The entity will not clip her wings.

Jane will never obey again. Obedience gets her forgotten and ignored. Obedience gave her this heart of stone.

The bustle of the street quietens behind her the deeper she walks into the theater's entrance. While she is unwilling to risk losing her participation in the game, she is doubly so to kneel before anyone.

Not even the demon itself. If she must fight Satan himself, then so be it. For hearts of stone cannot feel.

They are incapable of feeling even the fear of God breathing down their necks.

-

...It would seem fear derived from phobias operates differently. Even Jane's dead heart shudders with fright up here. She can't breathe. The edges of her vision are fuzzy. Everyone sounds... distant, off.

The spot of the floor beneath her seat is black. That's all there is to it, but if Jane looks anywhere remotely away from her grey shoes she will potentially die of cardiac arrest.

The box seats aren't even that high up, damn it. Why is she like this? She wasn't an acrophobe in her last life.

That said, she wasn't dyslexic, either.

And she wasn't a monster as she is now. Well, maybe she was. She loved Henry, after all. Henry the child abuser. Maybe a monster's all she's ever been and all she can be.

If the others catch a whiff of her existential horror right now she will never live it down. So she has to think about... about anything else, please. Oh, God. Anything. Any thought is welcome, her brain's gone fuzzy with panic. Please--

'Edward'.

Yes, yes. Edward. She just needs to think about Eddie. Her boy. She loves him. She loves him even if he wound up being as irrelevant as she was. In the greater scheme of things, nobody matters much anyway, right?

Not even her. She's just leaving her mark on the world before--

Anyway, Eddie!! Lately... The happier she is, the more she enjoys being seen, the... sadder, might be the word, he becomes. And why? Did he enjoy torturing her? Well, it could be something else. Hah, what else would it be? No, seriously. What else? Eddie hates her because she's a bad mother, he's devastated that she barely reacts to his fuckery anymore.

That's... That's all there really is to it. There can't be anything else. It's not like Eddie cares about her and why would he? Why would he care about someone who separated him from--

“Jane, you're up” Kathryn says, shoving the pen into her hands before walking out.

Jane's heart clenches as she gasps. It's simple: she'll walk over to... what was her name? Steve mentioned it along with a flurry of other names from the large staff they'll be working with at the theater. Jane stopped registering them as soon as she heard “box seats”, though.

Anyway, she just has to make it over to the PR lady. She'll go there, sign her consent for pictures of her to be taken for promotional purposes, and leave. She won't look at the drop at all. She won't turn her head towards the edge.

Simple and easy. Deep breaths. Go.

If the PR lady wonders why Jane walks up to her with her right eye closed she's sensible enough not to mention it. She looks dreadful herself.

'And you won't be working with us often; you just had to deal with a short line while we signed.'

Curse Catherine. If she hadn't insisted on reading the entirety of the terms and conditions they wouldn't have been delayed ten minutes. And fine, Jane could have asked to go first. But then everyone would have seen how clumsy she is with a pen between her fingers they mock her non-existent sense of direction enough.

“Good-Good morning” she says. The PR lady is kind of frozen, brown eyes staring off into oblivion with a light frown shrowding them. She's pale as a ghost.

“Are you- feeling well?” Jane asks. In the nose, out the mouth... She needs to keep her voice steady.

The PR lady stands so abrubptly she bumps into Jane. She's holding her mouth and dashes towards the door. She says something; but the only thing Jane can make out clearly is “morning sickness”. ...Yeah, that's fair. Morning sickness is the worst.

Not quite as bad as living to see your son hate you, though.

One thing's for sure: Jane isn't waiting for her to recover and return. She grabs the discarded clipboard and pen from the seat with her back turned to the balcony and signs. If she signed the wrong spot, or it's too illegible, or she needed to sign something else, she'll fix it later. Her hands are shaking enough as is from being up here.

As Jane leaves the clipboard on the PR lady's seat, her phone makes a soft ding. Her heart drops. That's a Facebook DM.

She heads out, closing her left eye this time to avoid seeing the fall not that it helps; just knowing the drop is there is enough for her to enter fight or flight. She pulls her phone out of her purse--

The area before her darkens as the door is slammed shut. No, no no no no--

Click.

She can't breathe. She can't breathe, she can't--

Jane runs to the door, unable to stop herself before slamming into it. She presses the handle once, twice, until her wrists hurt and she's sobbing.

Someone locked her in. She's trapped. She's trapped. In the box seats. She's--

'The crew. The crew's down there.'

A reason was given as to why the PR lady had set up shop in the box seats, of all places. The crew was on-stage fixing some last minute lighting problems; and then there was something about Steve not trusting the queens to not have set up pranks in their changing rooms already and not wanting the poor PR lady to be caught up in their foolery.

Which means the crew--

...It's... so quiet.

Where are they? They were there a moment ago; Jane heard them! They were talking while she was waiting; she could hear them far off and distorted along with the queens' voices, but they were there right?

Where are they?

She makes to speak, but words do not come. She swallows, but only emits a pathetic whine. Tears cloud her vision. Her blood rushes loudly by her ears in sync with her pounding heart. Her heart of flesh that suffers immensely at this predicament.

She falls to her knees again; how pathetic, tears dripping off her cheek. The crew... Are they really done already? Were they ever there or did she imagine them? Maybe...

...No, they'll be back. And if not them, the other queens and the ladies will have to go on stage at some point. But... But she has to breathe and keep calm. If she doesn't... If she doesn't, they'll see how weak scared she is.

They'll see her for the coward she is. The coward that couldn't even stand up to Henry when he killed her cousin. Jane is a murderer, too. There's blood on her hands no matter how many times she washes them.

Her stomach lurches as if she were in a vehicle that took a sharp turn. Struggling to breathe, Jane unlocks her phone. Maybe she should text someone. Does she still have their numbers? Or did she delete them all after--?

...Oh. Oh, right. Oh no. The entity. It wrote.

Jane wheezes as she tries to breathe. She uselessly dries tears from her eyes that are promptly replaced by others. She blinks, and reads as fast as she can which isn't saying much before the next batch of terrified tears comes.

“Dearest Jane,

“Your punishment has just begun. You can scream and ask for help. Your fear and humiliation are enough karma.

“For now, at least. I may change my mind. I can be volatile if it suits my needs. And right now I need to see you suffer. I need to feel your pain. I need to hear you beg for help from the same people you've been tormenting.

“Amuse me. Get on your knees and beg, worm. Or wait until you pass out.

“The choice is yours :)”

Jane hurls her phone to the seats before her, curling up into a ball, hiding her head between her knees. She can't breathe. Her lungs are being crushed.

But beg she will not. She will not.

*

First day in the theater. Hell, first hour in the theater, and there are already problems.

Does Kathryn feel particularly bad that someone thought they should lock Jane in the box seats? Not really. Does she feel bad for the poor staff who have done nothing wrong? Yes.

Anne and Joan are screaming at each other at the edge of the stage. It's another dumb game of “I said, she said”. Both are accusing the other as the person who locked Jane in. Apparently Jane tried to keep her act together, but when Matilda returned to the box seats after she overcame her morning sickness she found Jane shaking on the floor. Steve was merciful enough to give her a moment to collect herself. He then proposed they all start without Jane for the time being, probably trying to avoid the situation escalating, but...

“I saw you!! With my own two eyes!! You locked the door!!” Anne says, red in the face.

“Really?!” Joan says, fists balled at her sides. “Pray tell, how did I see Jane in the box seats?! How could I have known she was in there?!”

“I don't know; maybe you heard her!!”

“And how would I know it was her, dimwit?! I don't recognize people's fucking footsteps!!”

“Maybe she was talking!!”

Joan laughs angrily. “Look, Jane's insane I'll give you that. But she doesn't talk to herself!!”

Anne pauses for a second, frowning. “She could have been on the phone!!”

The back-and-forth continues. Steve is talking to the director, her assistant (who is ridiculously cute; is there any chance to get her number?), Matilda and a few other people who's names Kathryn will need to hear more often to remember. Steve was more bombarding them all with information on their way to the box seats than trying to inform them. Maybe he wants as little interaction with the queens as possible. If so, who can blame him?

Catherine is at the back of the stage, sitting on the floor, looking at something frantically on her phone. Catalina is talking to Daphne behind the curtains. María and Maggie are trying to pretend they're not staring at each other every three seconds. Fucking Bessie is conversing with the alts, profusely apologizing in advance for the hell they're going to endure.

Fucking Bessie is one of the worst people Kathryn knows in this life nowhere in Catalina, Jane or Catherine's league, though, but that is indeed a good idea. The alts seem nice and fun and like the audience will probably like them more than the queens. They actually have stage experience and know what they're doing.

They should be the main cast, really. Not that demons care much about show business, anyway.

Everyone is convinced it was Anne. The likelihood of Joan detecting Jane in the box seats is slim. And, while she has a huge bone to pick with Jane, Joan has actively tried to be the voice of reason since they started working together. Joan is aware that it isn't everyone else's fault that she was forcefully and traumatically separated from Edward by a jealous Jane.

Anne, on the other hand, has been a target of Jane's as much as anyone else. Last week Jane would have tried flushing her sling down the toilet if fucking Bessie hadn't caught her. Why Anne is taking it out on Joan is a mystery, though...

...If she's taking it out at all. Kathryn isn't so sure Joan's innocent. While she could be, her chances of leaving Jane trapped in the box seats go up exponentially if Joan's also part of the game.

It's too early to tell, but it's possible it was Joan after all.

It's quite strange to think of her cousin's innocence in any given matter. Normally Kathryn is happy to pin any blame on her. But, ever since last week--

Nothing happened nothing happened nothing happened.

Kathryn sighs. She's observed the on-goings of the theater long enough. She's seen its black seats and walls, the metallic lights above them and both stage exits. If this argument's going to go on (and by all means it seems it will), she might as well continue writing.

It's such a shame her letter for Bessie got intercepted by fucking Catherine.

But that won't deter Kathryn. She needs to reach out to the rest of the participants. She's assuming there are others, she could be wrong. Fucking Bessie has to be one; as there is no way in hell she would otherwise hurt Anna. She may be more annoying than a shrieking parrot on a sugar high; but fucking Bessie does love Anna. In a twisted, messed up way, but she does.

Other than her... it's hard to tell.

Jane could most certainly be a part of it. But she could also just be the bitch she is. Joan could be; but one questionable incident isn't proof enough for Kathryn.

She taps her pen against the open, blank page. What to do?

Whoever is running this hell show already knows that there are letters. Everyone was there last week when fucking Catherine felt the imperious urge to broadcast her discovery. And still, Kathryn is yet to be punished.

That's as reliable confirmation as she'll probably get that there's no entity hosting this mess. The entity would have known about her letters from the first one she sent to Bessie. The only reason it hasn't done something bad to Kathryn is that the ringmaster doesn't know it's her. And if it were the entity, it would certainly know.

But something did change last week. After Anna fell down--

Kathryn's heart picks up its pace. She starts doodling on her notebook. It's obvious she has no clue who to write to next. She hasn't had the time to figure out where to leave the letters, anyway.

...Might as well take this time to reflect. Pretending something bizarre didn't happen on Saturday is pointless.

Noses don't bleed spontaneously.

Anna's nose gets a very questionable pass, considering she's destroying her body with hunger. If she's been... Kathryn's throat tightens at the thought. If Anna's been purging, her nose could be affected. But Kathryn's?

She's tried reasoning with herself time and time again that her nose is extremely delicate. Blowing it too hard when she has a cold may make it bleed. But... nothing happened. She was afraid for Anna so terrified to lose her forever. But fear doesn't make a nose bleed.

It's kind of embarrassing that she went to the lengths of googling that just to be sure; but she did.

And even if their nosebleeds were just some sort of freak coincidence... Kathryn rubs her eyes, frustrated. She's barely slept since Saturday.

Something has changed within her. Whether she likes it or not. Something is different.

Her feelings for Anna are running wilder than ever. It could very well be because Anna finally apologized and then hugged her; but that just served to make things even more awkward and confusing between them. Anna and her have been unbearably uncomfortable about each other. It's obvious there's a conversation to be had; but neither know how to start it.

But... it goes deeper than that. Since the nosebleeds, every time Kathryn sees Anna, a song comes to mind. “You Are My Sunshine.” Why? Why does thinking about Anna and that stupid song Kathryn doesn't even like make her want to cry? Why does listening to it make her think of going on walks with Anna, or having sleepovers with her, or playing video games together?

That's the relationship they should have had. The one they would have had if fucking Bessie hadn't intervened.

If Kathryn and Anna weren't so dreadful at talking to each other. That would have helped a lot too.

And if that were the end of it, Kathryn wouldn't be so befuddled and almost sick. Theories wouldn't be swimming in her mind at all times of day, disorienting her and drowning out reality.

Anne's hair catches the light beautifully right now. There's something endearing about her cousin's features that makes Kathryn be less inclined to think poorly of her and also be almost fond of her. Why? Their last argument made them hate each other. She hasn't thought of her cousin with nostalgia once in four years. Why does Anne make her think of Finding Paradise?

What the hell happened on Saturday?

Whatever it was... it does imply something supernatural. But why? What caused the nosebleeds? What are these strange sensations Kathryn lives with now? They feel so new and yet so old; a vital part of herself that was ripped out--

Her phone buzzes. Just great.

Wondering if it'll be her friends is pointless. They all forgot about her when she left school. There's only one person entity? it can realistically be right now.

...And of course, it's a Twitter DM from yet another anonymous account. How quaint.

“Anne had a very good week last week. We mostly left her alone since she's injured.

“I think it's time we spice up her existence. She has pain medication, does she not? It would be a shame if if disappeared and she had to spend the rest of rehearsal in agony; don't you think?

“You have until first break. Have fun :)”

...No.

Just no. Kathryn isn't messing with anyone's medication. There are lines she refuses to cross. The ringmaster can get cross at her, reveal her shameful disgusting burdening past to the others or whatever they want to. But there is no way under the sky Kathryn is screwing with Anne's pills.

...Even if that entails getting Anne seriously hurt? What would that do to Lizzie? If her mother--

Kathryn's nauseous. Part of it is exhaustion; but it's mostly stress. Her strange feelings, the nosebleed, the supporting evidence for the entity both being back and not, Lizzie's well-being, Anne's--

Gasping for air, Kathryn stares headlong at her screaming cousin.

'Come on.'

…

'Just hate her. Like before. Just a little bit.'

Hating Anne would make her job much easier. Kathryn promised herself she wouldn't let Lizzie suffer.

…

Kathryn shuts her eyes so hard it hurts. Why can she only see damn paper airplanes when she looks at Anne? Why are tears threatening to brim over? What the hell happened when they left the studio on Saturday?!

“...Kit?” Anna says. “Uhh... You okay?”

...No. No, nothing's okay. Everything is wrong. To what extent is it moral to hurt someone to prevent them from getting hurt? Why does she even have to make this choice at all? Why?

Anna isn't looking directly at her, but she's frowning with concern. “Kitty, you're cry--”

“Don't call me that!!” Kathryn says, storming back to her changing room. “I hate it when you call me that!!”

...It's a half truth.

What she really hates is how close to Anna it makes her feel.

-

...She just can't.

Kathryn's hands are shaking. Tears drip from her chin and she's trembling with violent, high-pitched sobs. She needs to calm down, she just needs to. Otherwise she'll let the others know what she's going to do.

She has to be stealthy; not a crybaby damn it.

There's three minutes of break left on the clock. She has three minutes. That's it. Three minutes to hurt Anne.

This should be easier. Why can't she hate her cousin anymore?!

Her breaths come in choppy and fast. Anne is in a lot of pain; she broke an arm. Without her medication she's going to suffer considerably. But... But if Kathryn fails to do it...

She swallows. The message she received at the top of their break left no room for interpretation.

“Think, Kathryn: do you think Anne would recover from a stage light as easily as she did from a shelf? What's better: pain or death?”

...If it were the entity and it were omniscient, it would have threatened Kathryn with Lizzie, too. It would know she's worried about the sweet child. That it didn't just proves that there's no entity.

...But then what happened on Saturday?

...It's all too much. Her head is going to explode.

Is testing her theory that there's no entity worth potentially killing Anne risking condemning Lizzie to bury her mother?

...Fuck it. Kathryn can't do that. It wouldn't be fair. But is hurting Anne like this fair?

Is Kathryn a bad person? Is it true she only ever attracts bad people because she's rotten inside? Is she a villain? Does she deserve this second life at all?

Kathryn reaches into Anne's bag and grabs the bottle of pills. She'll just... She'll just leave them on top of the vanity. Anne won't see them there; but Kathryn will return them eventually. As soon as she passes her trial. Maybe she doesn't have to hurt Anne--

“Oh you fucking cunt!!”

...It's almost in slow-motion that Anne storms up to her, the changing room slamming shut behind her.

...How is Anne here? Kathryn... Kathryn locked the door. And she... she took Anne's keys to be sure she couldn't walk in... When Anne... They fell out of her pocket when she stood...

...What?

Anne is crying. Through her screams she's crying. Why... Why is Anne crying?

“...can't fucking take this anymore!!” she says, her voice breaking. “Why do you hate me so much?! Why?! Why are you like this?!”

She's pacing the room like a caged lion, tearing strands of hair out with frustration. Something breaks inside Kathryn. She pinches her wrist to keep from weeping in front of her cousin.

“I don't get it” Anne says, letting herself fall against the wall and sliding to the floor. “I don't get why everyone hates me. No matter what I do or say. Nobody... No one is going to love me, right?”

...She sounds so broken, so defeated. Even when Anne's angry, or hurt, or scared, she's loud and brash. Not quiet. Not a sniveling mess.

What has Kathryn done? She's a monster.

“Is it because of Jane Rochford?” Anne says, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes are shiny with tears, catching all the light of their fancy changing room. “I know you loved that woman. And I know you're pissed that I said she was better off dead.”

Kathryn's gut twists. Her dearest lady--

“...I lost it with that argument” Anne says, pulling a black ring from her middle finger repeatedly. “I know I did. And so did you; and then we all moved out and we never talked about it again. I know the last thing I said was that I hated you. I know the last thing you told me was that you wouldn't miss me. We said some pretty horrible things to each other, didn't we?” Anne laughs without an ounce of humor. “We're both stubborn. But tell me, Kat...”

She turns her head to look at Kathryn. She averts her gaze the second Anne's green, hurt eyes land on hers. It's too much, too much--

“...Do I really deserve this?”

...Just three days ago the answer would have been a cocky “Yes” accompanied by a hair flip. But that's wrong. Anne... She doesn't deserve it. If only Kathryn could tell her why she's being so cruel--

Anne stands. “Don't answer. You're always going to hate me. I get it” Anne says, stretching. She wipes the last of her tears away. “It's fine. If you hate me, I can tell you one thing without remorse” Anne stops to take a deep breath.

“Kathryn, I regret the day we met. I regret that you fooled me into loving you. I regret that I've spent my time these past four years hoping you were okay despite the shit you told me. I regret that I almost felt bad about you. I regret that you exist, that you were born.

“You're a monster. And you should be dead if all you're going to do is cause pain.”

…

…

Anne shoves by Kathryn and recovers her meds, walking out without another word.

“You're a monster. And you should be dead if all you're going to do is cause pain.”

“You're a monster. And you should be dead if all you're going to do is cause pain.”

“You're a monster. And you should be dead if all you're going to do is cause pain.”

“You're a monster. And you should be dead if all you're going to do is cause pain.”

…

...Is... that... Is it true...?

Slut bitch tease you wanted it, didn't you? Asking for it, you betrayed the king, your country, your family. You're a blight in this family. You shouldn't have been born--

“Kit-- Kathryn!!”

...Anna walks in. She's... she's saying Kathryn looks pale... that she should sit down, but...

...Is Anne right?

Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. You're human waste.

“Kathryn... what happened?”

She's always known flowers wilt between her fingers. She's always known she only ruins everything.

“Kitty... Kitty, you're freaking me out. Can you hear me?”

...Does... Does that mean... she can't call Lizzie anymore...? After... she promised Liz...

She only brings misfortune. Lizzie's probably better off without her.

“Kathryn...”

...But that's not... what hurts the most is...

“Kathryn, please!”

...Anne hates her. And... And Kathryn hurt her so much... It... It was to keep her safe, but...

She's a monster. A monster a monster a monster she doesn't deserve good things. She deserved to lose her head. She's a slut, a homewrecker, an embarrassment, and a cruel, soulless void.

“Kathryn!! Stop it!!”

...Why does it hurt so much to hurt Anne? Before... Before she could do it without remorse... Why... Why can't she stop thinking about... paper airplanes? What...?

She wants Anne to hold her, to apologize, to say she loves her, to try being her friend again. Why does she want that? Doesn't she hate Anne?

...What happened on Satur--

Her arm is wrenched violently to the side. Someone's grabbing her wrist.

“You're hurting yourself!!” Anna says, wide-eyed. “You can't hurt yourself!!”

...She is? She glances at the hand Anna is grasping. There's a bruise starting to form on her wrist. Did she do that? How--?

“Kathryn!! What happened?!” Anna says.

Anna. Right, Anna. Anna is holding her. Immobilizing her. Immobi--

“Let go of me!!” Kathryn says, wrenching her injured wrist from Anna's grasp, stepping back. “What are you doing?!”

People grab her for one thing and one thing only. Was Anna going to--?

“You... You bruised yourself!!” Anna says, horrified, pointing at Kathryn's hand. “What's happening?!”

Don't worry about me I don't deserve it I'm a monster I'll destroy you again.

...Is she? Is she really bad for trying to save Anne's life? Granted, she hurt her cousin a lot. She broke Anne. But--

...But nothing. She broke Anne. Maybe... Maybe if Kathryn were better, or smarter, she could have found a way to--

“Kathryn, please talk to me.”

Why does she care so much about Anne? Anne just told her she should be dead.

And is Anne wrong? Isn't being alive the bane of Kathryn's existence and that of all those around her? Didn't she get people murdered because she couldn't keep her legs closed?

...It's all too much.

“Kathryn!!”

Go away don't leave me go away don't leave me go away--

“Don't leave me.”

...Anna stops mid-sentence. Kathryn... She said that out loud, didn't she...? ...Why? She's... Anna... Anna and her--

“Never. Never again, sweetheart” Anna says. She turns to the door. There's someone there, asking something, but... Everything hurts. Anne, Anna, the entity, the game, her actions her cursed past...

...It's too much...

...So much so she doesn't say a word when Anna pulls her into a tight embrace. She can't speak at all. She just sits there and takes it.

Does Kathryn deserve affection? Is she a monster? Is Anne the cruel one? Is the entity back? Is Kathryn wrong? Is she right? Would everyone be better off without her? Would she be better off without them?

Paper airplanes flood her mind. There's something written in them. What is it? She needs to know why does she need to know?

...Does she deserve to be alive at all?

*

...It hurts. It hurts in her chest. All over.

Lizzie lands face-first into her pastel pink bed, letting herself fall.

She knows better than to be in the living room when her mother comes back home. If Lizzie's in her room there's a higher chance her mother will leave her alone. If she's busy, or studying, mum won't come bother her.

'Why did I have to ask her about her day today?'

Lizzie can't even describe what happened in the living room. Her mother was out of control. Crying, saying things that made no sense...

...Then she said Lizzie isn't allowed to talk to Kat or Anna anymore. She curls up into a ball.

Kat and Anna are her only real life friends. Her mother doesn't let her have friends.

Anyone could hurt you, Lizzie. I promise nobody's going to hurt you this time round, my princess. Mamma will keep you safe.

Safe? More like she'll keep Lizzie in a glass cage until she's gasping for air.

Her mother doesn't want a daughter. She wants a doll she can keep on a shelf. Lizzie can't talk to strangers, make friends, have extra-curricular activities, her social media is monitored...

Kat and Anna are her lifeline. Lizzie isn't even allowed to talk to her siblings. Her mother is so fucking paranoid with keeping her 'safe' she doesn't realize she's the one killing Liz.

It doesn't help that her mother is unbearably and painfully lonely. Whatever happened at the theatre today wrecked her; she was in agony when she came back. Crying, sobbing... The whole lot. But stil...

...Liz is done. It's not her job to be her mother's emotional damage control. It's not her job to remain sheltered forever for her mother's comfort.

She pulls out her phone. Wonders of the internet, private tabs. Her mother can't see logs of activity that isn't registered. She could put one of those abusive spyware apps on Lizzie's phone; but it would seem her lucky stars are aligned. The idea hasn't come to her mother yet.

Lizzie logs into Tumblr and smiles, her heart easing a bit. Another DM from Ringmaster. Whoever hides behind that account is the only person Lizzie can count on. Without Anna and Kat, Ringmaster is her only friend.

So you're curious about my username?

Yeah! Why Ringmaster?

Simple

I like to organize games

Interesting!! So much more interesting than Lizzie's suffocating life and her mother's draining need for love and safety.

Neat! What sorts of games??

Oh, you know... Fun ones :)

Can i be part of your games one day??

Dear Lizzie, who knows...?

Maybe you already are :)

Chapter Text

(December 22^nd, Friday)

Christmas cheer can go die.

'...I like Christmas.'

Bessie sighs. The air before her fogs up. Alright, one extra loud volume coming up. She presses down on the volume button until the lady walking beside her gives her a concerned look. The music must be blasting out of her headphones. No wonder; it hurts.

Just take it, just take it; it hurts less than hearing voices.

Her ears ring as she returns to a normal listening volume. Or, normal for her. Everyone has their own normal and it's fine--

“Our normal is--”

--Absolutely nothing because there's no 'we'. Bessie cranks it up again, wincing. Deep breaths... Deep breaths... And back down. She's going to wind up hating Failure Girl more than she despises hearing whatever it is that lurks in her subconscious popping up every three seconds.

She hurries through the crowded streets, deaf to people's obnoxious chattering thanks to her headphones. Every display from every single shop is decorated with flashing lights very unfriendly to people with sensory issues or epilepsy. And there's Santa Clauses everywhere (seriously: do people not know Santa's supposed to be evil towards children?). Occasionally an establishment will have Christmas carols playing so loudly a fragment of Jingle Bells or White Christmas manages to temporarily tarnish Bessie's music.

The garlands that shed shiny plastic everywhere. The mistletoe. And all for what?

'...Celebrating family. You don't hate Christmas, Bessie. You just miss your children.'

…

She grasps the straps of her bass case some forsaken part of her brain giggles and repeats “bass case” several times like it's the best joke ever and walks faster. Fine, she misses her little ones. So? There are many other reasons to dislike Christmas. Like the blatant consumerism disguised as ~unity and love~ and all that bullshit.

Her face stings from the cold. Shielding the bottom half with her scarf doesn't help much. The studio, terrible as it was, at the very least was right next to a subway station. None of the lines that stop near the Theater are even remotely close to Bessie's house. Walking twenty minutes from her station to the Theater really subtracts from the appeal leaving the cursed studio originally had; but it could always get worse.

Still, the giant Santa Clause statue outside a toy shop with so many garlands they're reflecting light from every angle like a disco ball make her grind her teeth. She still doesn't have plans for Christmas and it's just three days away. A horror movie marathon sounded great; but she checked the reviews for Split and Hide And Seek on the subway and she can't watch them anymore. She somehow managed to pick out two movies that apparently gang up on and vilify the exact same disorder.

The last thing Bessie wants to be reminded of is mental health. Least of all to shit all over it. She's dealing with enough as is.

Going back home could be an option, but... It's so strange? She woke up four years ago in a foreign body in a foreign timeline. It only makes sense that she also has a different family. The others have some relatives; but for the most part they've never met; like Jane's estranged cousin who was apparently Edward's father at some point before them waking up.

Bessie's the only one with a full family that she's apparently close to. But... they're not her parents. She tries to be nice, but... Her cousins, or the people who are her cousins who she doesn't really know, will be there with their kids.

It's unappealing.

Henry. Elizabeth. George. Robert. Bridget. Katherine. Margaret. Why do the queens get their children back and she doesn't? Why are Henry's brats so special? Mae isn't even Henry's.

...Another toy shop. Bessie walks faster. She can't tolerate children in this life. Dogs should be allowed in more public spaces than children--

'You don't hate children. Pretending you do won't make you miss yours less.'

Bessie's thumb hovers over the volume button, but what will she achieve by hurting herself? It's obviously not helping. The harder she tries to avoid these damn voices the louder they get. And this one's sort of bearable, in a way it'd be nicer if it didn't bring her children up, though. But the other one--

'Christmas is great!! Can-Can we stop by the toy shop?? Please??'

...Oh, for crying out loud--

'Why not? Bessie, what do you say?'

She doesn't say anything. She turns the volume up until her eyes water.

What's happening to her?

-

For once, Steve's late. The queens and alts have already started warm-ups with Joan. María and Maggie are pretending to be totally not texting each other; even though they're both holding their phones behind their music stands, giggling, and blushing.

Which leaves Bessie casually sitting here, with little to do other than regard the walls and seats. That the band gets to be on stage is pretty cool; most shows don't do that. But the concerns of one of the queens' ungodly large and heavy shoes flying off during choreography and taking one of the ladies off the census is also very valid. The first draft of the costumes (or whatever the costume designer -Marcel? Marco?- called them) is equal parts badass and public health hazard.

Catalina looks like she hasn't slept in weeks. Whatever's going on at home with Mary has far surpassed her ability to cope. Ever since Anne left her and her cousins' changing room crying on Monday she has the appearance of a ghost (Maggie has cruelly dubbed her 'The Phantom of the Theater'; but considering the shit Anne put Maggie through is it really cruel? 1/3 voices in Bessie's head say 'no'). Anna is painfully awkward and tentative around Kathryn since she had a breakdown after Anne left their changing room crying and Kathryn is doing her best to pretend nobody exists. It hurts to watch.

Although it would be a lie to say that there isn't a part of Bessie that's giddy with excitement about this.

It's not like Bessie's fond of Catherine, under any circumstances, but even she looks distressed. Not in her usual “rocking-back-and-forth” way; just... lost? Maybe? It's irrelevant either way.

And ever since the box seat incident Jane has gone feral. She's not even remotely subtle about her bullshit, no longer trying to pin it on others. Even now she stands tall, shoulders drawn back, with a cold smile. Heh, maybe Bessie should reconsider her Christmas day plan. Why bother watching a horror movie marathon when she gets first-row tickets to see Jane six days out of every week?

'Jane's so mean.'

'Downright dreadful, Astrid.'

...Alright, where's the lie? No part of Bessie should be addressing anyone called Astrid; but at least it's a spot-on observation.

Does Jane like grey so much because she's part-raccoon? It's common knowledge that a raccoon would fight God Himself for half a slice of bread. Considering that Jane seems to have foregone even the slightest attempts at basic human decency and started stirring shit left and right...

'Bessie I'm concerned about how bored you are right now.'

Fair. But Bessie's more concerned about the fact that there's a part of her addressing her by her first name. Focusing on Jane's potential genetic relationship to raccoons is far less distressing.

And anyway, it's warm-ups. Even if María and Maggie weren't currently preoccupied with being the absolute worst secret couple ever Bessie would rather stab her eye with a cactus than talk to either of them.

'But I want to talk to María!!'

Yes and Bessie wants Christmas to be over before it starts; life isn't fair.

'...You're being a bit cold to Astrid.'

Bessie sighs. Should she tell her therapist about this? She can't envision 'Hi I hear voices' ending very well; so probably not. 'I consistently forget every minor and major detail of my life; ranging from what pieces I have to prepare for my job to how old I am' doesn't have a nice ring, either.

'...Bessie we're shaking.'

Yes, yes, she's shaking. She herself. No need to pluralize that. She just has a strange internal monologue, that's all. She wouldn't be trembling if none of this were happening. If her brain would just shut up, if she hadn't spent the entire morning holding an impolite conversation with herself and using music to torture her mind into silence.

Why does a part of herself crave to be held so deeply it hurts? Why can Bessie feel this in her very bones when she does not want it?

But then who does?

This is probably just stress right?, it'll pass. She just needs to stop thinking about it--

'...You're aware we aren't going anywhere even if you try to ignore us, correct?'

Every muscle in her body is tense. Yes, yes, yes!! She knows!! The harder she tries to ignore this problem the worse it gets!! But what can she do?! It's a weird side-effect of reincarnation for all she knows!!

She wants to run and scream.

Tears have the audacity of prickling out of her eyes why on God's Earth is she hearing childish sobbing in her head? Is this 'Astrid' thing a manifestation of her poor children who have remained dead? She just needs a deep breath... and she'll be fine the more she repeats it the more it sounds like a lie.

It comes out like a sharp inhale instead. And then she's just numb. Like being under water, in a way. The theater is there, before her eyes, but... it's like looking at it through... a lens, maybe? Or... a tube. She's breathing... That's good, generally speaking breathing is a good sign. It would be a bad sign if a corpse started breathing... Wait, is Bessie technically a zombie?

Part of her thinks that's neat. Bessie nods. It is.

Much neater if her children were here, but--

“Bessie?”

Everything snaps into focus so fast she has to blink several times, the lights are too bright. What--?

“Bess?”

...Only Anna calls her 'Bess'. Something stirs inside her.

'Anna!! It's Anna!! Be nice!! Please!!'

And why wouldn't she be? After all, what happened was her fau-- wait, what?

...That line of thought isn't Bessie's. She doesn't hate Anna, but she doesn't want to be nice to her, either.

“Yes?” they say. Their heart pounds.

Anna is standing over them them?, scratching the back of her neck awkwardly, looking up towards the stage lights. “You... You were pale, that's all. You've been pale for a while. You okay there?”

...Why is Anna being so nice to th-- her? Bessie has... has... has...? Done something to Anna? A few pranks? That's odd. Why would they prank Anna?

...Wait, the entity. Damn.

How the hell has she forgotten that?! She knows about the entity. What?

“Uh, yeah” she says at last. “Just tired, that's all. And you? How have you been?”

...She doesn't want to ask that. How is any of this happening?

Anna shrugs, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Good days and bad days, Bess. That's all...” she stands there, looks down at them and smiles. It's awkward at best and dreadfully uncomfortable at worst. “I... I was just checking up on you. That's all. Uhh... Take care, alright?”

She walks away before Bessie can confirm or deny. “You too!” she says regardless.

What... an odd, exchange? Someone something; not someone within Bessie giggles. It's a sweet voice, in all honesty. Bessie just wants to protect it she does? She doesn't; she wants to be rid of it.

'Anna talked to us!! She's worried about us!! Maybe we're friends again!!'

Bessie smiles. Just maybe. No need to get anyone's hopes up.

Bessie is not getting her hopes up in any capacity; she doesn't want Anna anymore!!

Warm-ups are over? Dang, they've been out of it for a while... Generally the queens vocalize for half an hour... Hmm... It's not just that that's missing. Well, darn. They're missing more of today, aren't they?

...Maybe they should start journaling. Bessie pulls their her! Just hers! phone out, certainly there must be an app for this. ...Another message. Her heart beats stronger. Not faster; just stronger.

Signal takes its sweet time to load the conversation. Someone should really update this darn app. Bessie; Bessie should. Who else?!

“Dearest Bessie,

“Happy holidays!! I hope all of you have fun; especially little Astrid :)

“The gift I'm giving you before this lovely Christmas is a generous one: you have until the end of rehearsals today to perform whichever task you choose. The conditions are that it must be performed within the theater, to Anna, today, and it has to be classy. Don't do something that could be mistaken for misfortune. It has to be grand.

“Let's make sure Anna starts Christmas with a bang, alright? :)

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Bessie. Make it count :)”

...How... How does it know... about...?

She can't breathe.

It was so, so alluring to consider the sender of the mysterious letters could be correct. That the entity, somehow, really isn't back. That there was some strange way in which it was a living human orchestrating all this.

But goddamn, how would anyone know about Astrid?

It's hard to tell if it's scarier that this definitively proves it's back or that a part of her gives strong credibility to this Astrid thing.

'I'm not a thing!!'

Oh for crying out--

What...? Alright, alright... Time to think. With the quiet echoes of conversations filling the air it's a bit hard to focus, but she does her best to drown it out. Okay...

Up until two minutes ago, just before reading that, Bessie was ready to test the waters. They'd agreed to carry out whichever task was assigned but on Lina instead of Anna. Just to see what would happen.

She didn't agree to anything!! She came to a conclusion and whatever the hell it is that has taken over happened to agree!! Bessie dismissed it as an intrusive thought.

But now... is it really worth it? The claim that the entity isn't omniscient doesn't hold any water. They haven't told anyone about Astrid. The only people who know--

Is Bessie herself!! Christ!!

Ah, how annoying. If Bessie's in denial that doesn't magically eliminate Astrid's existence. That's--

...If Bessie's in denial, which implies...

...If Bessie's someone else...

I am not someone else!!

...Then who's in control now?

My sentiment's exactly!!

Not-Bessie blinks. Everything is muted again. The only sounds that reach her clearly are her heavy breathing and the blood rushing by her ears.

...Not Bessie, not Astrid...

Just a messed up part of me. That's all.

...Amethyst, then?

...The name Bessie does feel off right now... And Astrid's, like, five or six at most; so definitely not her...

Amethyst sighs. Alright. That clears it up.

That clears nothing up!!

...Anyway, if Bessie's in denial, that's her own problem to deal with. What they all have to consider is what the next step is. Do they continue with the original plan of hurting Lina instead of Anna she kind of deserves it more; or do they ditch that entirely?

'I still think we should hurt Kathryn. She took Anna away from us.'

No, she didn't. Kathryn's off the table. It's just Lina or Anna.

'I don't like Kathryn!'

Well, Astrid doesn't like anyone who Anna gets close to. It isn't that special.

'I just want to be Anna's friend!!'

Nope; Astrid wants someone to take care of her. Letting Astrid take over too much four years ago is what drove Anna away; she got overwhelmed. Same principle as trying to use their headache two weeks ago to make Anna worry about them. Astrid doesn't want a friend; she wants a parent.

Why is this happening? What even is happening?!

Amethyst rolls her eyes. That answer she doesn't have. But Bessie's continued denial of her existence is rather annoying. And right now, as of today, the answer isn't a priority. The most important thing to do is decide on what they're going to do now.

When Amethyst's gaze lands on Kathryn, Astrid's anger shines through. Astrid doesn't see Kathryn as anything beyond an obstacle for Anna's affection.

But that's ridiculous because Bessie's an adult and she does not want anything from Anna...

...Although it kind of felt like not-her four years ago when she lost Anna? No, that's stupid. She's in control.

Breaking: it felt like not-Bessie because it was Astrid being needy and demanding and pushing Anna away. But it's not like Astrid can help it; she only wants to be loved and she's tiny.

So... Lina or Anna?

'Kathryn.'

Absolutely not.

“Sorry for being late!” Steven -that's his name, right?- says, bursting through the right stage entrance. “Do you remember how I had to start working without an assistant?”

His face is red, did he run here? He shakes off a black jacket and haphazardly leaves it on Joan's keyboard. Her expression sours at his blatant rudeness.

Fair.

...Agreed. She has every right to be annoyed.

“My last assistant and I had a bitter parting” he says, catching his breath. “And I couldn't find a new one to my liking. But ladies, we're a month into production! We're half-way to opening night!”

He stands in the middle of the stage, beaming. He clasps his hands. “So I decided to give a budding talent a chance. Everyone welcome my most beloved niece back. Karina, sweetheart, come here!!”

Amethyst does not possess the abilities to feel the emotions others experience. She can barely process hers, or those of Astrid and Bessie. But in the two seconds it takes her to tear her gaze from Steven, hoping and praying that he's joking, and turn it towards the stage entrance, there is no doubt within her that every person in the room except for Steven is dismayed at this news.

...He's not kidding, though. There's Karina, in all her awkward glory. She waves shyly. Nobody waves back.

...Well, darn.

Fuck.

'Oh no.'

...Yeah, fair. All three are fair responses.

-

Bessie's gasping for breath. It wasn't supposed to go like that. It was not supposed to go like that!! She locks the bathroom door behind her. María's pounding on the other side.

“I don't know what's wrong, but let me in please! I-I don't know what got you so spooked, but let me talk to you!!”

Spooked? She's not spooked, she's terrified. She's choking on air.

María would never understand. She doesn't know. She can't know. Nobody can. Nobody can ever know.

The part within her that's crying can go die; as can the one comforting it.

...Bessie didn't do that. Just like Bessie doesn't want Anna, and just like Bessie doesn't like Christmas. Just like it wasn't Bessie amicably chatting with María and Joan during break. Just like Bessie doesn't hate Kathryn.

She doesn't. She doesn't have anything against her.

...So then why is it something within her strives to see the girl hurt?

'Not hurt... I don't think Astrid was trying to hurt anyone. It was meant to be a prank.'

Goddamn it!! Astrid this, Amethyst that. Bessie can't take it anymore!! She needs to make it stop, it has to stop, this can't go on anymore! What... What does she have on her? Not music. But--

Knock knock. “Bessie at least tell me you're okay in there. Please.”

Screw María. Where the fuck was she when Bessie was thirteen and Henry--

'I... I think she may be legitimately trying to help.'

Enough. Enough, enough!! It doesn't matter. What can Bessie do to just make them shut up?! She doesn't have headphones on her, she--

...The sink.

Bessie approaches the white marble sink and leans against it, turning the faucet on to the hottest setting. On the other side of the door María's still insisting on talking to her. Whatever she's five centuries too late to care about Bessie.

'Maybe--'

Maybe nothing! That's it!! She puts her finger under the rushing water. Warm, but nowhere near hot enough.

Bessie gives a shuddering gasp. Ever since zoning out during warm-ups... something's been wrong. It was like sitting shotgun in her own body. She was there. She was present. But she was consistently dismissed by... a delusion? Her imagination?

...Hot, but not yet.

It's... Well, it's not the first time this happens. But it doesn't normally happen this often; or with different names and everything. 'Amethyst'. 'Astrid'. What are they? Manifestations of her fears or something? Has she given names to personality traits, or mood swings?

But, if that's the case... when did she do it? Why can't she remember?

Her entire body's on high alert, tense. When she tests the water this time she flinches. Perfect.

'Don't do this, please!! It was a very dumb prank; I didn't think--'

Anything, because she's-- it's not real. Bessie bends down.

'Maybe Kathryn didn't see us! Running away like this just makes us susp--'

Bullshit. Kathryn saw Bessie there; they made direct eye contact. She pushes her hair away from her face to the best of her ability without any pins or hair ties.

And Bessie can't shake Kathryn's gut-wrenching scream from her mind. It's in there, layered over her exhausting inner narrator.

It hurts. Bessie hisses. But... sure enough, it's just her in her head right now. She turns the faucet off and feels around for the paper towels. They finally graze her fingers and she tears out as many as she can, drying her sore face.

Her breathing is louder without the water's splashing to drown it out. She examines herself in the mirror, panting. Her skin's a bit red, but she hasn't actually hurt herself right?

...It's obviously her own reflection staring back at her. Her dark eyes, her tan skin, her smooth hair. It's her. But... It's almost like there's something wrong? Like something isn't quite right, but...

...What is it?

She's also felt this way before. It's like her body isn't hers in a way completely different from being with Henry yet equally horrifying.

'...Hurting us won't fix this. And it won't make us go away.'

Bessie sobs. It echoes off the tiled walls. Damn it. What will it take for this to end?! She goes to the far wall and leans against it, brushing her tears away with the backs of her hands.

...She just wants her brain to be quiet.

*

Well. That went terribly.

María returns to the stage. Whatever Bessie's dealing with is obviously not something she wants help with. She can be more useful here.

Kathryn's still holding an ice pack to her wrist. Anna is still standing next to her, worrying. And with every passing second Kathryn looks closer and closer to tearing off the ice pack and throwing it at Anna's face.

...When will Anna learn? Kathryn needs her space; not to feel pressured and coddled.

Then again, María's not one to talk. She doesn't know how to care for her friends, either.

Steve is talking to Li-- Catalina, but he's not really listening. He's looking around, bored. He beckons to María when they lock eyes. She approaches. When she walks by Maggie her heart flutters. Her girlfriend winks at her.

“ Is Miss Blount coming or should we continue without her?”

He doesn't even ask how she's doing. It's obvious something happened to her when Kathryn got injured. Maybe Bessie even saw who did it. Yet Steve doesn't care. Granted, neither the queens nor the ladies have themselves particularly likable, but...

“ We're not even going to bother trying to figure out who it was?”

The second she opens her mouth, Catalina leaves why why why? What did María do wrong? Steve shakes his head. “Miss Howard went to pick up her bag and the straps were caught under the chair. Her wrists are ridiculously weak and swelled up. Then she made a scene about it. I am not giving any of you the chance to start another screaming match over this.”

She crosses her arms. “Kat insisted she didn't leave the bag like that. And I don't think she 'made a scene' if her wrist is actually swollen; which it is. Someone put the straps under her chair while we were out on our break.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Miss Salinas... Please return to your seat.”

“ For once I agree with her” Jane says somewhere behind her. María's blood runs cold.

'What does she want here?'

“ I bet it was Anne” Jane says, much louder than she needs to. “She's paranoid and convinced our sweet Kathryn tried to kill her with a shelf. So--”

“ Oh, piss off!” Anne says. “It was probably you; you've been on everyone's case recently!”

Jane smirks when Anne replies. Because when Anne, impulsive as ever, is baited, Jane gets a chance to scream back. In turn, Anne gets up and marches over to Jane with her fists tight at her sides. Catherine puts her hands to her ears. Anna asks everyone to calm down. Jane insults her. Kathryn says something else that's lost to the cacophony. Anne flips her off.

Steve rubs his face tiredly. “Miss Salinas... Some battles are not worth starting” he says. “Miss Howard accidentally caught the straps of her bag under her chair. It happens. She somehow managed to injure herself because she didn't realize it and she grabbed her bag, lifting the chair and bending her wrist backwards with the unexpected weight.

“It is a very normal and plausible succession of events,” he says, gesturing to the ongoing screaming match, “that does not warrant starting that. And now, because of your intervention, I have to get them to calm down again. So please, Miss Salinas, go to your seat and make sure I do not hear from you for the rest of the day.”

He walks straight at Jane, who's got a hand on her hip, enjoying the chaos she started with a smug expression. For some reason, Anna and Catalina are the main cause of ruckus. Anne is occasionally jumping in, and Kathryn has given up on defending Anna.

The alts look horrified and are whispering among each other in the corner. They've only spent one week here; it's normal they're overwhelmed.

'This isn't even as bad as it gets; it gets so much worse.'

Which, since Jane decided to be the worst person ever tied with María herself , is saying a lot. The third, 'meek and subservient' wife is a force to be reckoned with powered solely by rage and hatred.

Daphne is telling Amanda and her assistant what faintly sounds like “Just roll with it”. The stage director is comprehensibly horrified, a frown covering her beautiful blue eyes.

...She's actually really pretty. Her hair looks fantastic in that messy bun. And the skirt she's wearing--

María’s phone buzzes. It's a message from Maggie.

“ What the hell are you looking at?”

María turns to look at her. Maggie's face is twisted into a scowl.

...She knows. Just like she knew last time.

To be honest, losing her wasn't even half painful. Maggie was actually, deeply in love with her. Doesn't it make María a monster to not care at all about her “girlfriend”'s feelings?

She puts on her best reassuring smile and texts back.

“ Our stage director has amazing taste in shoes :)”

As she returns her phone to her pocket it vibrates again. “ You weren't looking at her shoes don't treat me like i'm stupid. You promised me it wouldn't be like last time”

…

...Well, Maggie should know at this point María's incapable of keeping her word. Is it really her fault if Maggie was more than happy to believe her lies a second time?

Yes. Yes it is. She's irredeemable at this point.

But, in any case, María hasn't cheated on Maggie not yet. Maggie shouldn't be so possessive. Looking is fine. If Maggie wanted to ogle anyone, María wouldn't be on her case for it.

She opens their conversation again--

Someone's sobbing. It's barely audible, but with the screaming match dying down it's crystal clear. Who--?

Joan. She’s trying to be discreet about it, keeping her movements as restricted as possible, but she’s drying her eyes with a tissue.

...María’s a terrible girlfriend, but she’s at least a half-decent friend it’s the least she can do to not be complete and utter trash. Maggie’s correct assessment of the situation baseless hissy fit can wait a moment.

“ ...Joan?”

She jumps at hearing her name, snapping her head in María’s direction. There are still tears in her unfocused eyes.

“ Are you alright?” María asks.

Joan squeezes her eyes tight, gasping as if breathing alone hurts her. She mumbles something quietly beyond the point of comprehension. “Come again?”

Joan sighs. Her shoulders tremble. “I said ‘Why can’t we just be happy like before?’”

...Oh.

María rubs Joan’s back. Or the part of it she can reach from her standing position.

“ ...It’d be nice.”

-

When Maggie invited her to stay the night, María wasn’t expecting to be put in the girlfriend equivalent of the dog house: the Couch of Shame. She’s been given the softest, warmest blankets and the fluffiest pillows Maggie has. Like everything about her wonderful girlfriend, they’re frilly and sweet.

“We can’t solve all of our problems banging, María. You can’t fix all your problems banging.”

María has other coping skills and problem solving capabilities, though does she?

Normally she has no trouble falling asleep; but normally she has Maggie snuggled up to her in either of their flats. As nice as the scent of lavender detergent is, though, it’s not Maggie.

And maybe… maybe if it had been a regular argument and Maggie hadn’t looked so terrified and broken… perhaps María would have rolled her eyes and gone to sleep; waiting to talk it out in the morning.

She covers her head with a blanket. The entirety of today was odd. It started off like a decent day, but then it fell apart l ike their lives . It started going down the drain when Kathryn… Well, it’s hard to say what happened. She left her bag on her chair during break, then she returned and grabbed it, but the straps were caught under the chair’s legs. The weight somehow managed to sprain her wrist or something.

And that alone isn’t strange, of course. It’s that Bessie freaked out when Kathryn started screaming her long string of highly creative curses. Why? The only logical conclusion is that Bessie booby-trapped Kathryn’s chair and wasn’t expecting her to get actually hurt.

But would Bessie really do that? It’s so childish.

...Huh. Four years ago Bessie did have a bit of a jarringly childish side. Anna got the unfortunate brunt of it, but Bessie was hellbent to get Catalina’s attention and even María’s. And by itself it would still be circumstantial. But…

When Bessie returned from her inexplicable… panic attack? When she came back, Kathryn and her locked eyes for a few seconds. If anyone else noticed they didn’t say anything, but whatever was going on between them was intense.

And that, coupled with Kathryn’s insistence that it hadn’t been Jane… Well, Anne did get a bit aggressive with Jane (which she’s earned). Kathryn said that she was certain it wasn’t Jane because “It was a stupid prank; I don't think who did it actually wanted me to get hurt. Jane goes for max damage.” There’s a chance Kathryn just wanted to end the argument and move on to avoid Steve losing his patience faster than he already was. But why would she defend Jane?

It’s almost like she knew who it had been. But then why not expose Bessie? Kathryn and Bessie have a very messed up backstory. There’s no reason for Kathryn to cover for her.

And Joan. Poor Joan. It’s not like María and her are close; they just got to a truce a few weeks ago. But they were friends at some point. They aren’t anymore, but María doesn’t want her to feel so miserable, either.

“ Why can’t we just be happy like before?”

...Before.

María rolls onto her side. Back then… Back then everything was better. Yeah, Joan’s right. They were happy. It seems like joy has become a highly limited resource in these four years.

How did they ever manage to go from that to… whatever their current situation is?

Four years ago they woke up in a strange flat in an even stranger timeline. They woke up to a threatening message written on the wall. ‘Make a musical :)’, and a series of instructions laid out along with their personal documents on the kitchen table. They still had so many prejudices towards each other from their past lives…

...But they pushed through. Four years ago, Kathryn and Anna were so close everyone expected Anna to slap adoption papers in front of Kat any day. Four years ago, Anne and Kathryn had video game nights every weekend. Jane baked for the entire household. Bessie and Joan learnt I.T. and were working on programming a game together. The chaos cousins took after them and the four of them made a team.

Eddie, Lizzie and Mary’s relationship was tense; but they were taking the right steps to fix it while integrating Mae into their dynamics. Catherine and Anne didn’t get along very well; but it was only because Lizzie didn’t know how to feel about Catherine.

Four years ago, María melted every time Maggie looked at her. Four years ago, she dreamt of making it up to Bessie for not having protected her as if that were possible .

...Four years ago, María had Catalina. She had her best friend by her side. And although she greatly missed her beautiful daughter, the world was slightly more bearable with Catalina’s hands ready to catch her every time she fell.

And four years ago it all shattered.

The entity, the same one that the mysterious sender of Bessie’s strange letter insists hasn’t returned, pushed all the right buttons. Disclosed all the right information. Pitted the right people against each other. And they all crumbled under the pressure. So many cruel things were uttered. So many hurtful words were hurled in lieu of weapons.

“Why can’t we just be happy like before?”

...Because some times the damage dealt is too great. Some times 'I’m sorry' doesn’t cut it. Some times the people who love each other the most are the least suited to be together.

But… if they hadn’t been forced to tolerate each other in those horrific circumstances… If all their trauma hadn’t been exposed too early, before any of them were ready… would she have ever dated Maggie? Probably not.

‘That would have been better for her.’

María wasn’t ready for a committed relationship. She was barely starting to accept she had lost her most beloved friend for good Catalina started it; but María isn’t precisely proud of how she handled herself . Maggie provided good comfort, and she was in the exact same situation: she’d lost Anne, too.

...If María had known Maggie would fall in love with her, would she have still agreed to date her?

She destroyed Maggie. Maggie deserved better.

Maggie’s like a candle. She consumes herself to light up others. And four years ago, María didn’t even consider that she was tearing down Maggie for her own benefit. Maggie was so starved for affection after losing Anne she clung to María like a lifeline regardless of how much it hurt.

And María took advantage of it.

After all that happened, she couldn’t help but blame Maggie for losing Catalina. Unfair and uncalled for; but it was what she honestly thought.

...She promised herself she wouldn’t do the same thing now. She does have a crush on Maggie, like she did back then. But…

She sets her jaw. She will not cry regardless of the pressure building up in her chest.

Maggie is too good for her. Really. She doesn’t deserve getting a second chance, yet Maggie extended one without batting an eyelash. Without sparing a thought even. She’s still desperate for love. That craving hasn’t abandoned her in four years.

If she’s going to hurt Maggie… If María is really going to break her again… Why wait? It’s just a matter of time before she messes up again she’s got an angel by her side and she already tore her wings off once; why doesn’t Maggie hate her? The longer Maggie thinks there’s something worthwhile inside María, the more it will hurt when she realizes nothing has changed.

Maybe Maggie has carried over a destructive need for love for four years; but María has been haunted by hearing Maggie’s sobs and never forgiving herself for them.

...Why did she even agree to date Maggie again? Maggie doesn’t deserve this. That’s why María refuses to go public with their relationship. She’ll have more than enough scorn to deal with from Maggie when she inevitably ruins everything. The last thing she needs is everyone knowing about it too. Maggie may be too hopeful to realize it’s going to be exactly like last time, but María knows better.

She’ll just hurt her. It’s inevitable. Maggie is a candle and María is the one lighting the fire. Because the flame is beautiful and warm and everything María needs to feel better. But the candle will burn out.

...Thank goodness she cleaned her face before going to sleep. Otherwise her tears would stain Maggie’s cute pillows with mascara.

It’s… It’s almost 2 AM, for goodness’ sake. These musings won’t lead María anywhere but to a dark place full of misfortune.

She should really try to sleep.

*

(December 24th, Sunday)

The good part about being an author is that, unlike the others, Cathy didn't have to quit her job when the musical started. When life gets too overwhelming she can always escape, if only in her mind, to whichever world, characters or events she's writing about.

But lately reality has found a way to worm its way into her sole respite . No matter how hard she tries to focus on plot lines, wondrous far away lands and princesses rescuing dragons, stress has started to seep into every last corner. She hasn't been able to evade the harsh circumstances of her current situation if only for a second.

The 'entity', of course, is one of the main reasons. It's not back, that much is obvious. Whoever left Bessie the letter Cathy found back in the studio is onto something; the entity wouldn't need proof of anything. That's a dead giveaway.

...Yes, this strange game someone has started is concerning. Especially since whoever it is messaged her yesterday. Granted, there was no reason for Cathy to pay heed to a troll taking advantage of everyone's collective trauma, so she deleted it and moved on with her day. She hasn't been smitten on the spot yet, so her theory that it's a flesh-and-bone bleeding mortal weaving this twisted narrative together stands.

And though that stress has certainly trickled into her creative capabilities, it's been vastly overshadowed by--

“Mum, mum!! Mum, mum!! Mum!! Mum!!”

...Her little sweetheart.

Mae isn't looking up at her, she simply grasps her hand tighter as she continues to walk. She can't stop saying the word. It's like she's stuck, a broken record, repeating one syllable over and over and over.

“Hey, baby” Cathy says soothingly. Her daughter tilts her head upwards. She's frowning and her eyes are wide. Cathy stops and bends down. She'll carry her little princess for a while. Sometimes it helps.

Others it doesn't.

Mae hugs Cathy's neck with all the strength her tiny arms can muster. She nestles deeply into her mother's hold. Cathy gives her a little squeeze.

Her girl is far too young to have been to the number of doctors she's been to. All for them to wind up agreeing that yes, it's some sort of tic disorder and most likely Tourette's. Which was, frustratingly enough, the first diagnosis she was given.

“But it's so rare we should rule out other possibilities first.”

...Whether that protocol is accurate or not, Mae should not have been subjected to the medical torture she has been. How many times has Cathy had to promise Mae that 'she'd be fine' and 'it won't hurt' or 'this doctor's very nice'?

Mae sighs, relieved. She's finally stopped. She rests her head against Cathy's and litters her cheek with kisses. “Thanks mummy” she says. She sounds so tired.

But still, ever the fighter, she asks to be put down so she can resume running around Thames Path and marvelling at every pigeon she encounters.

Mae is lively and bright. Her curiosity and thirst for knowledge are infinite. She's bubbly and happy, in love with life and everything in it. Yet in the past year she has been so afraid “It hurts, mummy”, “I'm scared”, “Please make it stop” that seeing her take initiative to leave the house on her own has become a rarity.

That's the only reason Cathy and her are out at all. It's freezing, about to rain at any moment, and the park is, for those two very rational reasons, practically deserted. But when was the last time Mae sounded excited about something?

...There's a lot to fear. Cathy can read all she wants about how to support her daughter with a tic disorder, but when it comes to actually confronting it it's as terrifying and overwhelming for her as it is for Mae. Some times because all she wants to do is cry about her precious girl's distress. Others because Mae can be loud. Very loud.

It's very easy to think that a good mother would be able to keep a level head at all times. Then again, Cathy already knows she's not a good mother.

A good mother would have protected Lizzie better.

But Mae deserves the best. Nothing under that could ever be good enough. Maybe she'd be better off with another caretaker. Cathy can't protect any child; that much is obvious.

...Hm? Cathy's finger is sticky. What--? ...Of course.

She's wormed her hand into her sleeve and picked at the scar tissue on her arm again. Curses.

She has no self-control, does she? How could she ever be good enough for Mae?

…

...Perhaps if she could ask for professional help with this she'd do better. At handling herself without shredding her skin practically every day and at understanding her daughter. Well, at understanding everyone, really. But most of all Mae.

Cathy tightens her coat around her frame. She should put on gloves to avoid any other... accidents, in front of her baby girl. Weirdly enough, these gloves appeared on the changing room's floor her last day at the studio. Someone got them out of her coat's pocket and left them there. It's a very strange action to commit out of spite; she only had to bend down. It was such a minor inconvenience it's more likely someone was contributing to the supposedly 'haunted' aura of this production.

...In any case, she can't afford a therapist right now; she's been over this with herself countless times. Economically yes. But...

A shiver goes down her spine. If she's correct about her assumptions and she is on the ASD spectrum, what would that entail for Mae? She's adopted; her papers were the first that Cathy read upon waking up. In theory there are no reasons for which CPS would take her away if Cathy were formerly diagnosed. But in practice the general consensus is that the system and society are horrifically ableist. It's unlikely that anything bad would happen, but this is her daughter . Cathy isn't taking any chances.

Even if Mae weren't removed from her, she could still face medical discrimination, or reduced credibility when Cathy tells doctors about her daughter's symptoms. The risks are too great.

And that's assuming Cathy's ASD at all and not a fraud.

She crosses her arms, shivering. It was easier to cope when she could rely on fiction to escape. Now most every section of Cathy 's life is corrupted in some form or some other. Concern, trauma crushing guilt for not having been good enough for Lizzie, fear that she won't be good enough for Mae ...

There's very little left for Cathy to enjoy. The specifics of 'little', in this case, is 3 ft. 6. A little girl with bouncy, curly hair and the sweetest voice in the world.

Without Mae, Cathy has nothing. But is that fair for Mae? She'd be better off without Cathy.

Mae has crouched on the ground and is staring very intensely at something in a hole. Oh, great. Is this another beetle situation? Cathy doesn't feel like explaining that beetles don't make good pets again. But it's dead cold. If it's a beetle, it's most definitely its corpse. Is it? She doesn't know enough about beetles to make an accurate assessment of their durability in cold weather...

...And Mae's coat is brushing up against the still muddy dirt. Her rain boots will be fine, but restoring the coat to its original purple is going to be either hard or expensive; depending on whether Cathy can do it at home.

But that's a minor detail. Mae's smiling wide. She looks up at Cathy and gasps, elated. “Mummy, look!!”

...Alright, time to step into squishy mud and hope the squelching noise doesn't kill her. If it's for Mae, Cathy will prevail.

It sounds horrible, though.

“What is it, princess?”

Mae points inside the hole. “A funeral site!!”

...If whatever is in there is bones Cathy's going to have a long conversation with Mae about corpse germs sooner than she'd anticipated. And why is Mae so excited about--

Never mind. That's relieving. It's just a stuffed animal. It seems to be a guinea pig.

“Look!!” Mae says. Cathy tries her best not to cringe at her shrill tone. “Someone buried him!!”

Cathy nods. “So I noticed.”

Mae grips her coat and pulls on it, excited. “Can I keep him??”

'No. That thing is filthy.'

...But her expression is so bright and happy, like encountering this disease-riddled mud-caked thing is the highlight of her week... Cathy sighs. Maybe she's too soft, but it's just a stuffed animal. It can be washed and sprayed with disinfectant.

“Sure” she says, wincing when Mae starts squealing with glee. “ But , don't touch him until we get home.”

Mae pouts. “Why?”

Cathy hums. A smile is threatening to break through; Mae is too adorable. “You said it's a grave, right sweetheart?”

Mae nods at a speed hummingbirds' wings would be jealous of. Her curls bounce in front of her eyes.

“Then we have to make sure he doesn't have any corpse germs first” Cathy says. “So until he takes a shower we can't touch him.”

Mae cocks her head to the side. “Corpse germs?”

'Good.' Her plan worked. It's learning time for Mae. Just in case she ever does get awe-struck by an actual animal corpse; which wouldn't be far-fetched for her endless curiosity and enthusiasm.

Cathy pulls out a tissue and a ziplock bag out of her purse. She takes off her gloves, no need to stain them. Then she pulls out another tissue, because the mud can and will leak in through the first one and if she has to deal with that sensory input she might as well start pre-emptively crying.

It's... a beanie baby. Cathy considered getting this one instead of the penguin for Mae on her birthday. What was his name...?

Mae gets on her tiptoes to inspect the animal. She squeals again, beaming. “His name is Ghoul!!” she declares.

“I think he's like Waddles, princess” Cathy says, putting the filthy thing into the bag and sealing it. “You can call him Ghoul if you want; but I think he already has a name.”

Mae hums, pensively scratching her chin like the eighty year-old she actually is deep down. “Then Ghoul's his middle name. What's his first name??”

...It started with a T...

“I think it starts with a T, but I don't remember. We can look it up when we get home, okay?”

“And we'll also shower him when we get home??”

Cathy nods. Mae reaches up and grasps her hand firmly. “Then let's go!!”

Just for a moment, Cathy remains rooted to the spot, taking in how breath-taking her sweet girl is. Everything about Mae is perfect. The fact that she exists at all is a miracle. She's a little angel blessing the world with her mere presence.

And the amount of trust and love she has for Cathy, even if she isn't infallible, could make her tear up.

“Mummy?” Mae says, pulling on her arm. “Let's go!!”

Mae skips beside her, splattering small flecks of mud into the air. She's humming something, eyes trained on the bag that Cathy refuses to put in her purse. With her free hand, Mae reaches out. “Can I hold him please?? I'll be very, very careful with Mr. T-name Ghoul; I promise!!”

Mae is a very careful child. She cries every time something breaks. But if she has a tic...

...Worst case scenario the bag gets stained. Retrieving it won't be any grosser than sticking her fingers into that hole. Of course, Mae could drop him on the road. But that's easily fixed; Cathy can reclaim custody of Mr. T-name Ghoul at pedestrian crossings to avoid accidents. She nods, handing him to her precious little one. “But don't open the bag and give him to me when we cross the street, okay love?”

Mae puffs her cheeks out but grumbles “Fine” before resuming her close inspection of the guinea pig. “How do you think he died, mummy?”

'He didn't die, someone just abandoned him' would make Mae ugly cry from the emotional distress of empathizing with the discarded stuffie. If death and reanimation is less painful for her, so be it.