Chapter Text
The calm music emerging from the small, reddish brown box covered in a floral design caused Lisa to lightly move her head around as a small smile rested on her face. Her dull, green eyes observed the moving statuette inside the small box, the nostalgic melody flowing through her ears to her brain.
Her last memory of her father, of the good times.
A last memory she could replay as many times as she could, a memory she could hold in her arms as she slept. The small box warming her heart with the lack of the blanket that always ends up on the floor or anywhere but on her.
Her fingertips lightly grazed the music box, as if it was a delicate, porcelain tea cup. It didn't play as well as before, but Lisa paid no mind to it.
It's still the same thing.
A memory that brings warmth, the same warmth she got from the burning match she held in her hand.
The "flowy", pink dress of the ballerina matched well with the purple and pink flowers decorating the outer of the reddish brown wood. Her hands raised high in the air, one of her legs in the air as well, the left leg ending up being the one holding all of the small weight of the statuette. Her eyes closed, as if she slept for the entire time Lisa had her.
The dreams of becoming a ballerina, to dance through the dark nights and despair always came crashing down as the reality hit Lisa. However, her eyes never stopped looking at each dancing person with curiosity.
She found dancing beautiful.
Beautiful like belladonna.
Before Lisa could daydream even more, the small, "warm" music box got torn away from her arms. The once relaxed, calm eyes now looked up with annoyance, slight fear even.
"You're messed up," the adult said, shaking their head as they roughly held the music box. "You're sick, I can't believe that police officer even thought about adopting you."
...
The police officer?
How could she forget?
Lisa's eyes stared up at the adult, at one of the people that hurt her heart so much. The thought of someone adopting someone like her never failed to make her smile, but now? She felt like she did something wrong.
"As a punishment," the adult continued. "You're going to be isolated yet again. Are you happy with what you've done?"
Lisa stayed quiet, her eyes focused on the music box in the adults arms.
"You're not getting this back."
Her last memory of her father, of the happy times.
Another adult showed up in the already open door of the room filled with other children looking forward to getting "adopted". Lisa knew the truth however. Adoption is a distant dream of hers and everyone else, perhaps she ruined her chances already.
Her thoughts, again, interrupted by the other adult harshly grabbing her frail arm, causing her to stand up due to the slight pain in her arm. Lisa didn't understand, or maybe she did. She didn't know anymore, she didn't want to be here anymore.
"What will you do with that music box?" The other adult asked, still gripping Lisa's arm.
"It's just trash," the adult replied, looking at the floral design and the slowly rotating statuette. "It's already kind of broken, the music is just... ugh."
"Let's just get this finished."
Lisa soon found herself dragged through the endless corridors of the asylum, the hallways seemed so similar to each other, as if she was in a maze with no exit. The familiar scenery didn't please her whatsoever, her need for adventure, for something new, filled her heart.
Some tea time with others wouldn't hurt.
Lisa likes making tea, it makes everyone so sleepy and they never wake up.
She warms them up, the matches she found while attempting to escape always helped her.
But people don't like that.
They never like what Lisa does.
Especially when she gets a phone.
Lisa likes calling people, but she wants out. The police officers never reply, they never do anything.
Lisa coughs as the adult finally let's go off her arm, but ends up throwing Lisa onto the ground in the small room. Lisa watched the adult close the door, locking it, their footsteps starting to disappear before Lisa completely stops hearing them.
This room always drove her insane.
It's so lonely.
Her frail, little body surrounded by cold, bare, white walls with stains on them. Sometimes red stains, other times brownish or yellowish stains. The ground she sat on was far away from clean, the dust clumped itself on her already dirty clothes.
No windows here.
Oh, how she would do anything to spare a glance at the outside. At the flowers growing outside, perhaps make some more tea as well. This time, she wouldn't mind offering it to that adult who took her music box.
Lisa's mind clouded by the daydreaming, by the memories that never happened, by the promises no one ever kept.
The police officer, Mr. Woods.
Was he the reason why they took her music box, why they took her to this dreaded room awaiting her fate like a prisoner on death row?
All he did was taste the tea made from the gorgeous belladonna, from the flowers that reminded Lisa of home.
He looked funny in that chair.
Lisa's face suddenly brightened up, the image of the police officer cramped in the broken, toy chair for small children imbedded in her head.
What were they talking about?
Lisa's smile disappears, the words that came out of the police officer's mouth were far from the words she expected. Her excitement to finally have a place she could call home withered as soon as Mr. Woods said he needed to leave her for work.
"[...] Mr. Woods, if you're my dad and I'm your daughter, what would you name me?"
The question she asked rang through her head, his answer soon replaying.
"Emma, you are now called Emma Woods."
Emma.
She liked that name.
It was pretty, pretty like the ballerina that spun around in the music box.
Pretty like the flowers that grew here.
Pretty like the music playing from the small box.
Pretty like the fire that surrounded the body of Mr. Woods, pretty like the memories of burning scarecrows together with her father.
The name "Lisa" sounded like a stranger, a distant dream surrounded by other distant dreams.
Emma Woods.
That's her.
That's always been her.