Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This Book will be made for Entertainment Purposes (specifically mine) and All Characters and Properties besides my Original Content rightfully belong to Vivziepop and I do not own them (Despite me not agreeing with what she's done as a person I will not claim what isn't mine). I will not tolerate discrimination for what I write whether that be racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. for what I see fit for the characters in this story. This will also all be written in first and maybe second POV since that's all I know how to write.

Also while I'd love to post the edits I make on here... ao3 is being weird so you'll have to go to my characterhub account (dw it's linked in my bio).

If you've made it this far please enjoy the story and edits I made and possibly give a kudos!!

Chapter Text

They had said when I arrived in the hospital, that I had been missing for weeks and everyone was surprised to find me the way I was.

My body was drenched in blood that wasn't mine, incoherent speech, and screams for help. I had rope burns on my body from being tied up and worse of all, a tattoo had been put on my shoulders, a pair of batlike wings with a heart in the center.

When I first woke up, the only thing I could feel was confusion. Cards and flowers surrounded me on the tables and chairs in the room. I turned my head to see a curly pink-haired nurse who looked shocked to see me. Before I could try to speak, she ran off and out the door, leaving me alone.

I lay in the bed for a bit more before she arrived with a doctor who then grabbed the clipboard at the end of my bed. He skimmed through the paperwork before turning to speak to me.

"Mrs. Reid, do you know why you're here?"

I furrowed my brows and shook my head, looking down at my lap.

The red-haired man bit his lip before delivering the news to me.

"You were found in the woods in a house, where the police have presumed to be a cult had kidnapped you and kept you prisoner."

Before I could even react to the information given to me, more was provided.

"While at here when trying to help... you had flatlined and came back, however, we assumed you'd gone into a coma when you hadn't woken up for the past month."

He continued speaking, but his words seemed to drone on endlessly despite my greatest efforts to pay attention. Eventually, I noticed him and the nurse smiled at me before they walked out the door.

“We’ll make sure to call your family to make sure they know you’re awake and well.”

I muttered a small thanks, watching them both leave before I looked towards the window in the room and finally made a conclusion, I barely remember anything.

Which was true; I didn’t even if I tried, which I did. The most I could remember before waking up (and not hurting my head) was maybe about getting the mysterious tattoo I had gotten but I remember getting it done in a parlor. 

Then I mentioned it to a different nurse who was on shift later when he returned with food for me, he had suggested that my brain may have been trying to create a coherent solution through dissociation.

It made sense but it didn't help when I saw my friends and family when they visited.

While I recognized their names, faces, and voices, everything felt off to me, like it was how it should be but it wasn’t. I tried to ignore it whenever my Dad would hug me or my Mom would kiss my forehead even when a friend would make a joke, but I tried to chalk it up to me not having seen them in so long.

After a couple more weeks, I was able to get discharged from the hospital and go back home to my everyday life.

“We ordered a taxi for you, so you don’t have to worry about transportation.” 

The blue-haired nurse smiled at me when he handed me the paperwork I needed to sign before I left.

I smiled and thanked him yet again for taking care of me during my stay here after getting it done before walking out, getting into the taxi, and telling the driver where I wanted to go.

Despite everything in my life feeling weird, I still knew where I lived (thankfully) and unlocked the door of my townhouse. Nadia, one of my friends, had a key to my place and had been taking care of things in my absence. She even replaced my locks after I had gone missing for my safety.

“I didn’t wanna focus on you being gone and I didn't like hearing everyone talking, so I wanted to take care of your stuff like I was housesitting or something.”

I stumbled over to the couch, lay down, stared at the ceiling, and thought about how everything still felt surreal.

How despite being where I should feel the most comfortable I couldn't and it upset me to know people might've been bad-mouthing me.

I grimaced, bringing my arm to my face and letting out a groan. 

I knew everyone telling me a cult kidnapped me and that was the real reason I wasn’t right still, I couldn’t fully believe it because there were too many inconsistencies in the story and gaps in my memory.

I remember getting my tattoo done but when searching for the place it’s gone or how a majority of the cult was found dead when police found my body and even worse of all, how Hollywood was now Holly’s Wood.

The last one could be attributed to the Mandela Effect, or I was still experiencing dissociation from all the stress, but I wasn’t sure.

I took my arm off my face before digging into my pants to grab my phone and research about the cult again. They had named themselves the Asmodefreaks, a pretty unoriginal name all things considered but they were known to kidnap young women and brand them before sacrificing them to Asmodeus for fertility for their wives.

When the media were questioning the leftover members of the cult, they stated that the women they would kidnap were from a reality similar to ours for "better chances" for their wives but were cut off by the police pushing them into their vehicles.

I rolled my eyes at the absurd things they said to get out of a worse sentence before scrolling on my phone to look for something to order for dinner.

"Hopefully eating something good will make me feel better."

While it was a nice sentiment, indulging in good food only gave me temporary relief. Despite the time passing since the events, I had chosen to ignore the unsettling feeling that stayed and tried to focus.

For a bit, I managed to distract myself. I had lost my job during my absence when I was “out” so I went looking for work at Relic Haven, a small shop that suited me well because of my love for vintage things.

I even purchased a cute portable player and started a vinyl collection at home, with albums like Parallel Lines, Don’t Be Cruel, Off the Wall, Lush, and Duality becoming my favorites.

Unfortunately, I also found myself succumbing to unhealthy habits, such as indulging in the sin of lust—not directly, but through a small shrine I had created. 

Honestly, it seemed like a coping mechanism, a response to the trauma I had experienced

Either way, I had at some point dedicated a spot to my devotion at my vanity dresser in my room.

Some crystals, aromantic candles, fake red roses, an anatomically correct heart bottle of alcohol (I would pour shots from it as an offering), and a few other things that I thought fit the vibe and couldn’t fit on the side of the dresser I used.

Everything was fine until a strange woman appeared at my job.