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Language:
English
Series:
Part 29 of TS Album One-Shots
Stats:
Published:
2025-06-13
Completed:
2025-06-13
Words:
2,375
Chapters:
2/2
Comments:
11
Kudos:
8
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67

Folklore

Summary:

Short Folklore and Evermore backstory series, both parts angst.

Notes:

Part 1 ('Folklore') is from Feb 2025, Part 2 is June. I would say the writing styles are near drastically different.

Chapter 1: Folklore

Chapter Text

Folklore lined up her paperclips on her desk, making sure to arrange them in size order down to a tee with her ruler. She had zoned out the rest of the class long ago, the subject of the lesson already memorised and easy enough for her to answer any questions if need be.

Her fellow pupils were rowdy, always chattering or laughing with no sympathy or thought of the students who had any care for their learning. It was a wonder she had ever learned to block them out.

Lunchtime rolled around, as it always did. The timetable was another reason why she enjoyed school: deadlines and a precise schedule for her to follow. Folklore was never late to a class, and always managed to arrive exactly on the minute she was supposed to be in the room.

As much as she loved learning, studying, and working her absolute hardest on any tests or assignments, the one aspect of school that she could only barely handle was the people around her. Hundreds of students, whether they were younger or older, managed to annoy her or create discomfort in some way.

Talking over the top of a teacher, vandalising school property, there was always something that gave each individual a bad rep in her mind. As much as their behaviour ground at her gears, she never said anything. That was something she learned long ago, during her first day of middle school. She'd stumbled across a group of year twelve seniors, who were celebrating the beginning of the end with a paper bag filled with weed.

Her eyebrows had raised, and she'd approached them.

"That's against the school rules, did you know?" Folklore readjusted her books in her arms and made eye contact with the boy sharing the herb. The girl, so young at the time, had come to the conclusion that the group was simply confused, or weren't aware of the rules.

The boy, who was a couple feet taller than Folklore, snickered. "Want some, kid?"

Her eyes widened. "No! I think you should put it away before a teacher sees; you might get a detention, or worse! I'm not sure what bringing drugs onto the school premises amounts to, but surely it's something bad. Perhaps you'll face—"

"Do you ever shut up?"

Folklore froze, mouth snapping shut. She'd heard those words before. Many times. She never meant to ramble, it was just the odd scenario where she was talking about something she knew a lot about or was passionate in.

The students at her school were always cruel. Having been sent to a cheap public high school meant there wasn't a lot of care about the students, nor the learning.

The older boy rolled his eyes and tossed the paper bag to another boy who had called his name, passing over the weed before turning back to the 12-year-old in front of him.

"You should probably get out of here, kid. Unless you wanna smell like crack for a couple days," he bent down in front of her condescendingly.

Folklore stepped back, holding her books close to her chest. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to alert a member of staff about this," she brushed a lock of stray curl behind her ear, her confidence wavering slightly.

There was a loud crack as skin collided with her face, knocking into her nose. Folklore yelped, lifting a hand to where blood began to pour.

"No, the fuck you won't, kid. If you do, I'll know. And next time I'll break it," the boy threatened before walking away, sauntering back to his peers and taking back the paper bag.

Folklore turned and fled, walking quickly as tears started to stream down her face. Not looking where she was going, eyes hazy and mind focused only on getting to the bathroom, she bumped into someone.

Slightly panicked, she attempted to sidestep, embarrassment overwhelming her mind.

"Lorie?"

Folklore looked up and came face to face with none other than her older sister. Evermore was on her way to class also, and thank god it had been her. Upon making eye contact with her sister, Folklore burst into tears, blood dripping down her arms.

Evermore, who had never been one for feelings, communication, empathy, anything of the sort, was slightly bewildered by the sight of her sister, sobbing and covered in her own blood. Blinking, she grasped Folklore's hand and led her to the nearest bathroom, helping her past the occasional person.

Once inside, she gathered a few pieces of paper towel, passing them to the younger girl and helping clean her up.

"First day, Folklore," she sighed, taking Folklore's things from her and placing them on the bench. "What happened?"

The two were never awfully close, and at home it seemed they drifted further and further apart. Folklore was younger, more innocent, and yet facing the consequences of not always understanding why people acted the way they did. Evermore had lived more. She was the one thrown in the deep end, forced to grow up by their parents, despite only being 13.

Folklore wiped her eyes. "Some—some boys were smoking, and I told them they couldn't be—because it's against the rules, and I said I was going to tell a teacher, but one of them punched me."

Evermore rolled her eyes and cleaned dried blood off her sister's face with a wet paper towel. "Yeah, they do that every week, idiot. You didn't think everyone here was going to be perfect saints, did you?"

"Well... they're older; they should be wiser," she sniffed, eyes bloodshot. "I don't get it. It says in the school rules that you can't bring substances onto the school grounds. But they didn't look confused; they were acting fine. What if they got a detention? Wouldn't they be sad? Their grades might get dropped if they're caught, then they might not be allowed to-"

"Folklore!" Evermore cut her off. "Shut up, will you?"

Once again, shame bloomed inside the young girl, and she stopped talking. "Sorry," she whispered, looking down.

"You know, this is why you have no friends. You never know when to stop talking. You're insufferable. Just be quiet," Evermore snapped, words that seemed to be pent up inside her making an appearance. "All the time, and it's always just a whole load of stupid shit too. Nobody wants to hear about how you heard a rare breed of pygmy toad in the creek; nobody cares that you memorised every single colour of tulip."

Folklore's eyes welled with tears again, her sister's words ingraining themselves in her head.

"You need to grow up, Folklore. You need to get it in your head that people aren't saints. People do drugs; people hurt each other. The world isn't sunshine and rainbows, okay? The sooner you learn that, the better. And once you do learn about it, don't come tell me. I don't want to hear another word from that fucking annoying mouth of yours."

Folklore cried for days after that. Locked in her room, her mind plagued by the harsh words, the harsh realities. She hurt herself, mentally and physically. There wasn't a time in her life when she had hated herself more.

And from then on, she did as her sister had asked. She kept her mouth closed.

~~

Chapter 2: Evermore

Summary:

Requested, Pt.2 of Folklore, canon

Notes:

This chapter is set a few years after the first.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Now we have reached the heart. As you can see, the outer walls of the left aorta are worn down—"

Hazel eyes were wide, taking in every detail and absorbing the words of the surgeon, whose lightly pixelated hands prepared for the transplant.

Television whirred, DVD spinning, projecting the detailed procedure.

Evermore liked this episode most, out of her collection. Something about the spontaneous rupture in the patient, and how blood spurted onto clean scrubs. Doctors on screen would become pressured by intensity, and repetitive monitor beeps would surge into flatline. Evermore found the rush intoxicating, and found she held the ability to recite every spoken narration from the voiceover without fail.

Shoulders cracked beneath skin as muscles rolled back, spine straightening and repositioning.

Muffled shouts had subsided, only recently, though. Another grinding, long moment of discord eased, resulting in what was likely an empty house for the night.

Evermore's ability to block it out was uncanny, most days.

"There is something wrong with them. Both of them. You're in denial!"

Blade gleamed on screen, slicing through flesh, searching for interrupted flow of crucial fluid.

"You've lost your senses if you think I have any intention of sullying my name with something so pointless as a shrink. They're dramatic and spoiled, not any different to another child. I knew a firmer hand should have been inaugurated earlier on. Maybe it could have prevented this foolishness."

A creak, light pouring through cracked door. Stiffening, gaze swept away from blue-fitted surgeons on screen. Scampering pads of light footsteps retreated down hall, joints relaxing as presence was recognised.

Knees stretched out of long-seated position, bare feet finding hardwood, dodging musky rug that made her toes curl and skin prickle with discomfort. Steps were taken with intention, door handle grasped upon arrival, cool metal providing slight comfort.

Swinging, nothing apparent showed. A brief visit from her sister would never be without purpose, though.

Vision sweeping, head tilted at the new sight of a small, baked good placed on floorboard. White icing dripped onto paper towel, messy on top of dark, crumbling base. Careful hands lifted the muffin, manoeuvring it to clear the desktop.

Returning to doorframe, a pair of wide grey-blues caught Evermore's eyes before darting around the corner.

Unwillingness to leave safety of privacy behind was overridden by curiosity, and silently, the eldest moved down the hall.

Standing before white wood, Evermore let herself inside. At first, it appeared to be empty.

Bed sheets screwed up on thin mattress, light shut off, floor dirtied with duplicate rug shoved beneath the bed.

"Folklore."

Door was closed with a click behind her, hand lingering on doorknob as gaze travelled over seemingly vacant room.

Folklore had talent when it came to silence. Silence, and keeping out of sight. The room didn't offer much space for isolation, though. Tucking up between couches and walls was disrespectful; hiding was hurtful. Most furniture had been quickly removed once this obsession had been discovered, leaving the girl with few options.

"Folklore."

Barely ajar closet door caught attention of sharp gaze, Evermore's eyebrows twitching, bare feet dodging piles of clothes littering the floor as she stepped.

Her mind reignited another a memory; a screaming match, over keeping a tidy room. Evermore had listened from the room over, and had wondered why her mother had yelled, when Folklore's room tended to be spotless every other moment? Why she bore the punishment of having a month's worth of dirtied floor, when it had been one discarded outfit, only one time?

Fingertips reached polished wood, no hesitation appearing between movements as the closet was wrenched open, eliciting a quiet squeak of protest.

Tight, unworn dresses that held bad memories hung above, draping onto pale shoulders. Where bones were visible, tremble was too; fingertips clutched at bare legs, nails digging into flesh. Face remained tucked into knees, eye sockets pressed to patella.

"Why?"

The murmur was inquisitive, Evermore's curiosity never waning as no answer was voiced.

Coat hangers screeched as safety of enveloping coats and other attire was dragged away from the lean body that retreated further against hard wood, as though it might fall away and take her somewhere quieter.

Louder, the question was repeated. "Why, Folklore? Why?" Monotone expressed no softness. No calm in the storm.

There would be no rest until she spoke, of course, so Folklore spoke.

"Birthday." Hoarse mumble explained little.

Blinking, brows creased further. "Meaning what?" Bright hazel irises seemed to pierce the dark, suffocatingly safe blanket created in the room, effect unsettling.

"People get things on their birthdays." Saliva gulped, tongue darting out to wet lips, spittle thick, combining with silent tears gone unnoticed.

Evermore quickly corrected. "Some people. Not us. And you haven't answered my question."

"I thought you might like it!" Muffled speech cracked midway through escape, sobs swallowed, head aching.

"I don't." Evermore exhaled, releasing slight frustration. "And it was a foolish act."

Whispered apologies were chanted as Evermore turned and departed, leaving closet open behind her, and her sister alone to rock, silence her cries, and quiet her troubles. Troubles not worth hearing.

~~

The muffin tasted pleasant. It had stayed warm, and pieces of gooey dark chocolate — Evermore was unsure where they had come from — felt rich and satisfying as they coated enamel and stained her tongue. She would have to brush vigorously before sleep, but found the taste and respite in hunger made up for it.

Television remote was clicked, resuming gore shown on screen.

Sinking teeth into cake once more, a brief moment of piece was found. Light chill in the air allowed for heavy blanket to be pulled over and not overheat the girl, sweetness on her tongue elicited dopamine, and promise of bloody satisfaction made the pleasure concrete.

Evermore sent mental thanks to her sister, for providing her with the treat. For taking the risk. For benefitting her in such a rare way.

As credits finally rolled, an emotion not experienced often arose. Image of Folklore haunted, unwilling to be removed. How the tears had streaked down her cheeks and she'd had no comfort.

But, of course, that wasn't her business. "Focus on yourself, Evermore. Find a goal and focus on it. Find love in a wealthy man one day, and do what you wish. Do something useful for once, and don't look back. There is nothing for you here."

The story of human. Personal gain sat comfortably with her, and Evermore had not contemplated any alternative. There was no alternative to something as glorious as that.

No alternative, until the realisation that she had another in her life, a sister, one only few months younger. Who looked up to her, purposefully or not. Still, it was not her business to pry. Only to sit with and ignore the nauseating guilt that trickled in, little by little, eventually consuming. Confusing, and unclear.

Evermore had a sister, yes, but not a sibling. Not now.

~~

Notes:

First time writing something quite like this, hoping it's alright

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