Work Text:
Ann Tiye had almost forgotten what a peaceful day was. It had been, admittedly, a very long time since her mind had let her rest, despite her constant reassurances to her cats she was perfectly fine. It was reasonable, she rationed with herself, with being undead and all that had led her to her current predicament, that she’d be a little skittish. Some delusions and paranoia was expected, she rationed. Why should she trust these people? For all she knew, they were out to get her. With a heavy sigh, she realized how tired her legs had become from her pacing around her small room. Her two cats peered at her from her bed, and their gaze seemed to breech that part of her mind she worked so hard to lock away.
Ann had two wonderful parents. Sure they may not have had much, but they had each other and they were happy. Even more so when Ann came along, a happy and healthy baby girl. No matter how hard she tried, Ann couldn’t remember her mother’s face. What she could remember, however, was her father’s bloodied hands tearing at her open wound, trying to claw “something evil” from her chest. Whatever he saw that night, she would never know. She went back for him, for both of them after she woke up. She didn’t even notice what she had done until her restless mind cleared up and all she could see was the blood around her. She frowned, that familiar itching under skin creeping up on her, and she knew it would be another restless night. She stood up again and resumed her pacing as her mind flashed incomplete and broken images. Images of her father and mother dancing in the dimly lit kitchen, images of their first move when she was inconsolable and her father came home with two new kittens, which she promptly named Alara and Anippe. One for her mother, the other for her father. Images of her first diagnosis, and the looks her parents gave. Flashes of her mother sick, of her funeral.
It was hard to breathe suddenly, every movement seeming to squeeze the little air she had from her lungs. She felt his eyes on her. In the shadows and dark corners of her room, he was watching. Waiting. With that damn stake in his hand, and a glint of something horrible in his eyes. She would not allow him near again, she would not allow him to invite his devil inside her again. The first thing to be thrown against the wall was her stake. One of the many cruel jokes this manor played on her. Next was her books, her dresser drawers, and then suddenly the mirror was cracked and she was left with nothing but a broke image of herself. Of who she once was. Despite all of it, he was still staring. She collapsed back onto her bed, breathing ragged and body shaking, as the first few notes rang out in the quiet hallway.
Antonio. She seemed to have forgotten he practices his music in the late hours of the evening. She wiped her eyes, and willed her shaking body still as she listened to him play his haunting melody. It was dark, but it was beautiful, and in times like these she can’t help but feel a small pull towards him. Not to say they were friends, of course, she’s not so brazen. Just to say she sees that anger in him that she feels in herself. It’s comforting. It’s horrifying. As the notes rang out, she felt him fade from the shadows and from those dark corners. She could breathe, her body had stilled. Her mind had cleared once again. It seemed his music was her only cure. Another cruel joke of this manor she thought. Still, she was sad as the notes faded off, and she was left in silence once again.
Ann had forgotten what peace was, and she was unsure she would ever feel it again, but his music brought her a sense of comfort she so desperately craved. She did not trust him. He had a devil in her just like her, and she knew she was not to be trusted.