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A little tightening of a bolt, exactly twenty-three degrees clockwise, and the machine was complete. It was perfect, perfectly created in build and design. Donella didn’t have time for anything that wasn’t perfection, not if she was going to put her name on it. Her clients would be excited about this one, they were criminals but why did she care? She didn’t, there was that answer. She spent so long caring, she spent too long caring, caring for a world that would never care for her back. And hey, maybe it was a tad selfish of her to act in this way, just like the Iron Kingdom snobs who didn’t worry about where their actions led. Maybe that made her selfish, but Donella never claimed to be perfect, she never tried to be, she never could be.
Waving a slightly dirty cloth in the air to dust it out, she looked around at her work table. It was dirty and smudged, she hated that, though at least it wasn’t her writing desk. Her work table was strewn with scratches and dents from projects, it was well worn, well used. It was useful, as it should be. Just as her hands, her carefully precise hands that were able to carry machinery with such care, were about to slip underneath the structure, a quiet little scratching noise came from her door. The door to the living space, not the outside. She jumped, Donella cursed her jumpy nature, and was simply glad when the invention just lifted a half a centimeter and was set back down. Running a hand through the top of her braid, she pulled herself together and unintentionally stiffened. Her shoulders tensed, her hands clasped, her eyes hardened and her lips pulled into a frown. Was it wrong that she could so clearly define where the facade ended and where her ‘true self’ whatever the hell that meant, began? Was it a coward’s move to hide behind a mask? Maybe it was, but Donella never claimed to be perfect, she was far from it.
“What do you need?” Her tone was harsh, standoffish, the kind of tone that would push everyone away with just the first syllable. The kind of tone that did push everyone away all throughout her life, the kind of tone that protected her from getting hurt by those around her, the kind of tone that worked, that fulfilled its use for all but one. And that one- she was further proof of just how imperfect Donella was, how imperfection was disastrous.
The door handle jiggled against the lock, stupid child, he wasn’t getting in- the door creaked open and a toddler with messy blonde hair and a scattering of freckles stumbled in with flat feet and a stupidly curious grin on his face. Donella’s nose wrinkled. “How did you-”
She glanced back at the open door to see what looked like a quill jammed into the lock on the other side. She thought her lab was baby-proof after Ulla, but apparently not. “Okay, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.”
Donella was many things, many terrible things, but she wasn’t a liar. Watching as the boy made his way around the lab while dragging a small blanket behind him, she made sure those little bare feet weren’t going to step on anything dangerous. Her lab was always spotless, so at least that was good for the child. A child she decided to bring home from the street- a child she wondered if would have been better off without her. With her, he was clothed and fed and warm, but he wasn’t loved. He couldn’t be. There was something wrong with her, everyone she loved suffered. She was defective, damaged, imperfect. And she was going to hurt this poor child if she got too close. And she would be the one to diminish that light in his eyes. And she- she would be the one to make him imperfect alongside her.
The thing- Hugo was his name, pattered around a bit. She watched as grubby hands clasped around the leg of her writing desk for stability before he was off again. Stability was a funny thing, you spent so long looking for it, and then when you had it, it was almost like they didn’t want it anymore. Or they didn’t want her. She didn’t want her. They always wanted someone else, after Donella gave them ev-
Tiny hands pulled at her pants leg, Donella tilted her head slightly in confusion. “What do you need?” They always needed something or wanted something from her. No one ever really associated with her if there wasn’t another motive. In fact, she was willing to bet money that if she wasn’t as talented as she was there would be no one in this town who wanted to associate with her. Even Cyrus, who claimed that he enjoyed the work.
The child pointed up at her work desk, he mimicked how she tilted her head in confusion. Donella raised an eyebrow, was her toxicity already wearing off on him? “Well, you wouldn’t be interested in that. It’s far too confusing.”
The toddler cooed, Donella stiffened. He was old enough to speak, but language developed through listening and exposure, she learned that with Varian when the kid’s first words were ‘alchemy’ followed suit by ‘mama’ ‘dada’ and oddly enough ‘Don-Don’. Oh, she loathed that nickname he picked up from listening to his mother say ‘Don’. But at least it taught her to never baby talk a toddler. Baby talk was disgusting, degrading even. This child was getting none of that if he was going to develop. Why did she care again?
It’s not like this boy was an experiment, a machine, or an invention she knew how to perfect. He was a human child, he was uncharted territory, he was the unknown and he was terrifying. Well, to Donella at least. Few would be afraid of this boy who could barely babble out words but was surprisingly good at picking locks and pickpocketing. Well, he wasn’t perfect at it since Donella caught him, but he was good. At least she could help him perfect that skill.
He pointed again, with more enthusiasm this time, and pawed at her leg. “No, it’s too dangerous for you. Come on. Go back ins-” And then he was pulling that face she so often saw Varian do to his mother and the face that resembled how blue eyes would look at her when wanting something. A chill went up her spine as she looked away.
“Alright alright, fine! Just stop doing that!” Somehow the kid stopped, he was a smart boy, just needed a little help. Bending down, Donella groaned softly. She wasn’t as young as she used to be. Her hands, the ones so sure of themselves when handling cold metal, hesitated. “How do you want me to-”
Somehow the child knew, and he lifted his arms and jumped a little bit on his toes. “Upies!” Oh Demanitus, Donella rolled her eyes. Picking him up stiffly, she held him at arm's length underneath his armpits before hesitantly bringing him closer to her left side and resting him on her hip.
“It’s pronounced up, Hugo. You may have had to act all cute on the street, but there will be none of that here.” Her tone was stern as she shifted the kid in place, stiffening when he rested his tiny head against her shoulder. Her jaw clenched and she felt the scars on her right tug ever so slightly. Ugly scarred skin that was a little too shiny and a little too stiff. Her green eyes darted down when she saw a tiny hand reach across, she hated baby hands. They were too clammy and grabby and tiny for her liking. Her hand quickly swatted his away when she realized the path it was taking up to her right cheek. She didn’t hurt him, just enough to stop his movement and get him to retract his outstretched fingers.
“First rule of lab safety, keep your hands to yourself. Got it?” She looked over and those large green eyes twinkled for a moment before the boy nodded. “Second rule is always wear the proper safety, but I don’t have goggles your size yet. No like you’re working anyway.” Donella muttered those last few words under her breath before turning to the machine she had so proudly made perfect.
“Now, pay attention cuz I’ll only go over this once.” She looked over and saw the toddler sucking his thumb, his grubby thumb that was touching who knows what. Donella wrinkled her nose. “Thumb, out, now.” And to her surprise, he listened. Grabbing a clean rag, she quickly wiped off the child’s hand and shook her head.
“If you need to fidget with something I have toys you can play with that aren’t your own limbs.” Was a wrench a toy? She’d have to make him some more entertaining things to keep his mind busy, maybe some puzzles. “Ready?”
His arm wrapped around her neck, Donella sucked in a breath but didn’t push him away. Hugo nodded, “W-ready!” He pushed out with a little effort, Donella nodded and stepped closer to the machine, pointing with her sure hands as she explained her perfect invention to the boy she still couldn’t believe she took in.
And while she spoke Donella was left to wonder if this was the right choice or if she just made a huge mistake by allowing him to get this close. Turning her head, she bit her bottom lip in worry. Donella wasn’t one for promises, she wasn’t one for things made to be broken such as pinatas and herself. Donella wasn’t one for promises, but she could at the very least reassure herself that she could do whatever she could for this boy to make sure he grew up into someone good, someone unlike her, and she wouldn’t make the same mistake she had with Ulla.
Two months- two months had passed since she took the child in. Two months of agonizing her every action in vain to attempt to save him from a life like hers. Donella wasn’t even sure if it was working, she wasn’t sure what was right and what was a mistake. She couldn’t make a mistake with him. Hugo wasn’t a chemical solution, Hugo wasn’t a sheet of metal, Hugo wasn’t like her, he wasn’t expendable.
Sitting in her room, Donella sighed as she took down her hair for the night and rubbed her eyes. It was late, she assumed that Hugo was asleep. It was important that children get their recommended amount of sleep each night. Maybe he thought she was mean, but who didn’t. At least she knew she was taking care of him in the ways she could, even if that would never be enough.
A quiet knock at the door, her door, Donella turned and looked over her shoulder. “It’s locked.” She replied, as it often was. Even before Hugo, Donella always locked her doors as if she were attempting to lock out the memories. How could she lock them away when they were in her own mind? When it was all in her head? But now locked doors were a way to drill the child in his new skill, Donella counted in her mind until the door clicked open and the toddler walked inside. She had fixed his awkward gait a while ago.
He walked up to her in his pajamas and rubbed at tired eyes. Donella had also got him to stop dragging blankets around and getting them dirty for no apparent reason. Hugo climbed up onto her chair and sat in her lap, something Donella feared she would never stop stiffening on instinct. “Two seconds slower than usual, Hugo.” She replied but glanced over at the boy who was leaning back against her chest and barely awake.
“But I can give you a pass since you’re obviously exhausted.” Tucking the hair elastics into their rightful place in her drawers, Donella shifted her attention to the boy. “Now, explain to me why you’re awake at this hour.”
Hugo blinked, his fat little toddler hands rubbed at his eyes and he huffed, mumbling something. Donella knew she had that habit as well, but that didn’t mean it was good, and Hugo had to be better than her. “What was that?”
She asked to coax out his words again. Hugo opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I had a dream-” He mumbled and leaned into her collarbone, Donella sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, counted to ten before nodding in a robotic manner.
“What did you dream about?” Sometimes Hugo needed a little push to keep talking, he let out a tiny huff and clenched his fists. Donella recognized that mannerism, it was like her. Like looking into a mirror, Donella hated mirrors. She glanced to the side at the handheld one propped on her desk, angled in a way to only catch her hair, and now this child’s face. She saw her own green eyes in his. A chill ran up her spine.
“My parents-” He muttered and Donella nodded. She never hid from him that she wasn’t his mother. He had called her mama once and the woman shut it down as soon as possible. After she cleaned up the powered iron she had spilled in her surprise.
“Would you call that a nightmare or a dream?” The boy wrinkled his nose slightly, another trait that was too much like her, before replying.
“Nightmare.” She was all too familiar with those, the ones that left her screaming in the middle of the night. Hugo’s room was far down the hall for this reason, and luckily soundproofing was something she wasn’t terrible at. Standing, she put the boy on her left hip and watched as he fiddled with his hands in his lap. Donella plucked a rubber ball from her desk and handed it to him wordlessly, the boy understanding that she offered it to him in order for him to fidget.
“What would make it better? You are not staying up ‘til morning, young man.” Hugo had tried that argument before, claiming that if she did it he should get to as well.
Oh, how stupid he was, to now understand that she deserved sleepless nights and he did nothing to deserve them. She knew one day he would learn why she had those scars on her face, the scars he never mentioned but she knew he saw. They were all anyone ever saw. She knew one day he would learn, and he would hate her like they all did. And she could only hope that when that day came she would have given him everything he needed to protect himself, to not just survive like herself, but to live. She could only hope that when he didn’t need her anymore, he would only need himself.
Hope, that was something she told herself she couldn’t rely on. She knew she couldn’t but the heart still hoped and wished and yearned. If only she could get it to stop if only she could truly be like her heartless facade.
“Story?” Hugo asked and pointed to her bookshelf, Donella rolled her eyes.
“You know very well that these aren’t stories, they’re completed research journals.” Once she wrote with Ulla, or alongside Ulla, or when Ulla was still around. And she kept them around because- she didn’t have an answer to that. Donella hated being without answers, hated being illogical.
“Can you read me one?” He asked and tilted his head.
“They’re boring, you wouldn’t like them.”
Hugo wrinkled his nose again, he seemed to do that when he was thinking. Demanitus it was like he was becoming a little her- she hoped it was only the few good traits she had. Donella hoped, what a foolish sentiment. “If they’re boring wouldn’t they help me sleep?”
She paused, a chuckle escaped her lips but she bit the rest of the laugh back. There was a glint in her eyes, a tiny spark. “You have a point, Kid.”
Donella just shook her head, and she knew in that moment Hugo would not be easy to raise. He could argue and he would bicker and he would raise points she would have a hard time defending against. But somehow she was okay with it. Somehow she was a little… proud. At least if he was going to defy authority, he might as well do it well.
“Take your pick.” Her bare feet stopped in front of the shelf, this was one for her proudest accomplishments, the rest were in her lab. Hugo hummed to himself before pointing to a large black one, Donella complied and brought both the book and the child back to his room down the hall.
“Alright.” With a quiet groan, Donella set the child down on the bed. Her lower back was now benefiting from those long nights. She was about to stand and read when Hugo patted the spot next to him on his bed that was admittingly a little large for his size, he’d grow into it. Donella raised an eyebrow.
“Sit,” Hugo replied and his tone nearly resembled hers. No, his tone resembled the one she would use on him. Donella blinked in surprise and sat down without a word. She watched the child adjust the blankets over her legs as well as his own and even move his pillow to fit behind her back. Donella bit back a small grin and rested the book against her knees.
“You comfy?” He nodded, Donella felt the movement against her shoulder, and just this once she allowed her shoulders to relax as she began to turn the pages of the leatherbound book brimming with notes and her handwriting.
Her voice, her throat actually, felt a little sore after speaking for so long. Donella wasn’t used to talking, she wasn’t used to having someone there who wanted to listen. But every time she would look over at the child, every time she thought she felt his little head get a little weightier, those green eyes would stare back at her and she would have to keep going. Sometimes he would even point and wait for her to finish speaking before asking a question. Interrupting, she taught him early on that behavior was unacceptable.
Eventually, she got to the last page and turned it, her sure hands hesitating for a moment. She hesitated, and those green eyes that weren’t Hugo’s were staring back at her. And it was like a mirror she hated. A photo, taped into the back cover, stared back at her. Ulla always insisted on taking pictures of the moment a journal was completed, to capture that little moment in time. Donella wished she had captured more of those little moments, she wished she had before they were all gone.
Her smile was real, it had been so long since she looked like that. It had been so long since her eyes glimmered, even in a still image she could see that spark in them. Her face was younger, a little less worn, a little less beaten and cold from the years. This was before she had learned how unlovable, how undesirable, how imperfect she really was. This was when she could still pretend. This was when she still had someone to hold onto.
Hugo’s hand pulled her back from her thoughts and she hadn’t realized how long she was staring. His fingers brushed against that woman in the picture’s cheek. Her unscarred skin. Of course, he would notice that it was about time he made the connection that Donella didn’t always look like this, that her cheek wasn’t always imperfect. She wasn’t always scarred, and he would ask why she was now, and she would tell him the truth. Donella was many terrible things, but she wasn’t a liar. Well, would she tell him the truth? Or would she stiffen and push him away like she had Quirin all those years ago? Either option, either choice, was a mistake. She seemed only capable of making mistakes.
“Is that you?” His quiet voice asked and Donella nodded. She watched as his gaze traveled from the page to her face. He was sitting on her left and had to lift his head to look at her right cheek. Donella sucked in a breath, she held it without realizing, and she waited for all this, her little piece of perfection, to come crashing down.
“You’re really pretty.” He eventually said, with perfect enunciation may she add. Donella faltered, she cleared her throat and shook her head.
“You were, Hugo. It’s you were.” She had grown used to correcting his grammar over the weeks, he wasn’t her son but she would not have her boy running around sounding like the hooligans who paid her handsomely.
The boy looked up at her, she saw that little glint in his green eyes. He shook his head. “No, I meant you are. You’re.”
Donella blinked in surprise again, she looked down at the photo, at the woman she could barely recognize. She looked happy, she looked whole. She looked like someone who hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life, someone who believed that she could be something close to perfect. And Hugo was saying she was like that girl?
A long silence fell, a long moment when she didn’t know how to respond. It had been so long. Her lips pulled into a small smile, she laughed softly, genuinely, and looked over at the boy. “Thank you.”
He was mistaken, he was foolish, she had tricked him. How stupid of her to think that her deceptive nature could be combatted, that she could hide that part of herself from him, for him. She was mistaken, she made a mistake. But taking in Hugo, that was a choice she made that didn’t feel so- wrong. It didn’t feel so imperfect. Donella felt herself put the book aside and pull the child closer. She turned her head and rested her chin on top of his head. He was her boy, and she was in far too deep to take it all back, to undo it all, to return to the past. He was her boy, and one day he would learn how imperfect she was, and he would leave her behind as they always do, and it would hurt so terribly and it might break her beyond repair but that was a chance she was willing to take, a mistake she was willing to make.
He was her boy, and he would be her perfect mistake.