Chapter Text
Bridget stutters. She’s never known why. And never known how. But she does. From time to time. And it’s critically embarrassing. Her mother had largely proclaimed her disapproval of such a thing. Siting that queens need to be able to be clear and effortlessly when speaking to peers and kingdom. And maybe, Bridget would have felt comforted knowing it was fixable. Something she could work on. But this stutter wasn’t a normal one. She could easily pronounce any word perfectly when asked. But then she’d have these… episodes is all she could call them. Times where no matter how much she tried, the words wouldn’t come out correct. She could sit and read kiddie books for hours, go over the words recommended by a speech therapist for days. But it was useless. It never was the root of the problem. Something till this day she couldn’t figure out.
The first instance she could remember was around age 7. She could never think of any time where she stuttered before this. It had come out of no where. Seemingly. And it had taken both her and her mother by surprise.
She had been ordered to report to her mother before breakfast. A long lengthy speech in her head prepared, filled with endless apologies and detriments to her behavior the previous day.
Bridget and her Mummy had been baking, trying to make a pastry just right. Bridget had been childish, had pouted and gotten angry every time she messed it up.
Eventually it got to the point where in her the midst of her tantrum, she impulsively reached into the oven to take out the tray, forgetting the oven mitt in the process. Her arm jerked away the moment her finger brushed the hot interior. Barely a pinch of pain. But her Mum had been furious. Turning cold and impassive.
She had scolded Bridget like never before. An entirely different person in the form of her normally sweet and loving mother.
She’d gone on about how Bridget had let her negative emotions get the best of her. And how this was near unforgivable. That negative emotions were disturbing. That consequences had actions.
Bridget had heard this phrase before. But she hadn’t fully understood till now.
Wordlessly her mother put on the glove. Yanked out the tray, and placed it on the countertop. Clearing a good sized space from the sheet.
She’d been confused, wondering what her mom could possibly be doing.
That was of course, until Eleusis had taken Bridget’s small hand, still pudgy with the remnants of baby fat, and placed it flat on the burning surface.
Bridget had shrieked. Twisting and turning, begging to be let go. But her mom refused, holding her palm down on the hot try. Something cold in her eyes.
She had repeated the phrase. Consequences have actions. Had told Bridget to say it back to her.
In her tears, she managed to force out the words. And was only let go when she finished. Clutching her mangled hand to her chest. Sobs wracking her little form.
Her Mum had scooped her up immediately, offering comfort. Praising her for taking her punishment so well. She mechanically and efficiently treated Bridget’s burn, running it under cold water till most of the pain had subsided. Then applying a thin layer of some weird looking jelly. She kissed her palm after wrapping it in a dry sterile bandage. Once again praising her strength.
“It’s just a second degree burn,” Mum had cooed, “You’ll be healed In about a week’s time. This is why we don’t let those nasty little emotions control us. They did this love. You understand?”
She’d nodded. Had leaned into her mom’s embrace. Letting her take care of her. Even finishing the pastries and giving Bridget one before tucking her into bed. She’d told her that she expected a report the next day about what happened. About what Bridget had learned. And Bridget nodded, lulled to sleep by her Mums soft voice.
Her sleep had been somewhat restless. Tossing and turning. Waking up an hour before she normally did. In the end it was helpful, she was able to craft the world’s best apology in her mind. Filled with tons of ‘very very sorry’s’ and some deep souls searching. Well, as much soul searching as a 7 year old could really do.
Which lead her up to now, somewhat nervously approaching her mother’s room. Which, for safety purposes, was just down the hall from hers. Mummy had always said she’d rather be close to her than far, that if anything were to happen to her precious daughter, she should be there to help.
Still. Bridget was somewhat jittery approaching the door. Injured hand cradled awkwardly to her chest. It still stung. Which was good, if remembering correctly. This was her fault after all. Her fault she let those bad feelings affect her. Stupid Bridget. She should have just been happy that they were making dessert in the first place. She deserved that burn. ‘Baking scars’ Mummy had idly called it as she’d wrapped her hand with gentle fingers.
She knocked on the door with her good hand. Waiting for the obligatory ‘Come in’ before prying the handle open.
Eleusis had been waiting for her. Sitting on the edge of her royal bed, eyebrow peaked and eyes scrutinizing.
“Well Bridget,” she had hummed superficially, “Don’t you have something to say to me lovely?”
And Bridget did! She had carefully practiced and memorize her apology. Ready to beg her mother for forgiveness. For her wrongs to be righted and for her wound to heal, casting out any yucky emotions with each stitch of skin regenerated.
But when she opened her mouth. It came out all wrong.
She had thought maybe she was sick. Was maybe only saying it in her head. Maybe even speaking to silently, but no. Every time she tried, the words came out jolted. Broken. Her tongue refusing to cooperate.
“I-I-im sorry M-Mummy,” Bridget shook her head rapidly, clutching her hand to her throat in confused bewilderment, “I-I don’t, I shouldn’t h-have touched the, I-i don’t, I don’t understand, M-Mummy, I-“
“Bridget whatever is the matter?” Even the Queen was confused, “Do speak clearly. Are you unwell?”
Bridget had stomped her foot, vehemently denying any ill regarded status. But not matter what she tried the words continued to catch. Tongue thrusting forwards the wrong moments. Saliva pooling in her mouth till it awkwardly dribbled out the corners of her lips. She got so upset about it, she started to cry. Overwhelmed and unable to communicate just how sorry she was. The tears fell harder, only spurred on from the silent shame that came with experiencing these disgusting negative feelings once again.
However, the Queen seemed to have tracked this all to nerves. Bridget being hypothetically so overcome with guilt and remorse that she couldn’t make it through her apology without breaking. And for a 7 year old that was as honest of an apology as you were going to get.
Eleusis had scooped her up. Had soothed her and told her she was forgiven. That she accepted her apology and that together they could make sure none of these negative thoughts ever took over.
Bridget soaked up the comfort like a sponge. Burying her face into her Mums shoulder and letting her clothes soak up her tears. Still gasping and choking out words she wasn’t even sure had meaning.
Eventually she had cried so hard she’d exhausted herself. Mother had treated her with the upmost sympathy, laying down with her in the queens giant bed. Pressing kisses to her crown and soothing her to a state of relaxation.
“It’s Okay my sweet girl,” she soothed, “I know, those bad feelings must be so scary. So horrible to feel. Don’t worry. Mummy’s got you. Hush my dear, your forgiven. Oh, let me grab some more cream for your hand. You just rest and sleep a wink. Mummy will be back in a clock tick.”
Bridget had felt conflicted. Warmed from her mother’s touch. But alarmed at the way speech had failed her. It had never happened before. And she hoped with all her heart it was just a fluke. She didn’t like how it felt. Something that should have been natural, like breathing, ending up being a struggle. It was like she was a toddler again. Who had wet the bed and needed to make the walk of shame to her mother to help clean up. It wasn’t the same, but yet that feeling of shame clung to her like a second skin.
She would have pondered on it longer, but the need for sleep finally won over, her child body succumbing to a restless slumber.
———-
The next time it happened, it had been random.
She’d simply been playing with some of her toys, joyfully interacting with the plants growing around her. Spinning around and creating adventures in her head.
She had vaguely heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but had long grown used to the marching of guards. Being the sole heir often meant that she was carefully watched over while her Mummy attended ‘Royal grown up work’ as she called it. Something she mentioned Bridget would get the chance to do once she became of age.
She hadn’t been too interested at the the idea of more work, but reveled in the offer of responsibility. Of being seen as more mature and well liked by others.
“Bridget! My darling little flower!” The unassuming voice of her mother called out. Moments later turning the corner.
Bridget had been startled, not expecting her Mum to appear at this hour.
“M-Mum!” She called out, dropping her toy, scurrying to her feet.
Her Mother gazed at her with a warm smile, “Hello darling. What have you been up too?”
“I-I was just p-playing,” Bridget cheers, all tooth and smile, “M-Me and the dolls were dancing with the flowers and huh-having so m-much fun!”
Eleusis frowns, bending down so she was closer to her child, “Bridget, do try to speak more clearly? Are you cold? Do you hear yourself falter?”
“W-What do you M-mean?” She asks, but then she hears it herself, and blanks, gripping her dress nervously, “Oh, I-I didn’t huh-hear it, I-I guess. I don’t. I-I don’t know.”
Her mother’s frown deepens, “Please don’t jest my love. You’ve never done this before? Try again for me.”
“I-I I’m not! I’m not puh-pretending!” Bridget starts to panic a bit more. The same error in her speech returning, something she had assumed was a one time thing. Brought on by pain maybe. Delusionally she thinks it might be different. But even as she stands there and tries to restate her earlier activities, she can feel the eerily familiar ache in her jaw. The way her tongue feels but of led, controlled by an invisible switch. Thrusting forward without her permission, choking on her own saliva.
“Stop,” Mummy commands gently, brows pinched, lifting a hand to softly wipe the small dribble of spit that has trickled down her chin in her attempts to speak, “You’ll work yourself into a fit. Have you fallen recently my love? Hit your head anywhere?”
Bridget doesn’t trust herself to speak. So she shakes her head no.
The queen nods to herself, “Well. I’m sure it’s nothing. You probably just played harder than your body could handle. We’ll call a doctor, just to be sure.”
Bridget whimpers at the thought, “A doctor? Do I h-have too?”
Mum presses a kiss to her crown, picking her up and carrying her back inside, “Be strong little one. Mummy will be there for you.”
Assured, Bridget lets her Mother bring her inside for dinner. Trusting that everything will be okay.
———-
“Well, she doesn’t seem to be injured.” The doctor reported, sitting back after peering at her eyes.
Her mom shifted next to her, sitting on the chair next to the examining table, “Well what does that mean then? Clearly something’s happened?”
The doctor made Bridget repeat letters back to him, in different patterns and sequences. He nodded and made a small mark on a chart.
“Well your grace, I’ve just analyzed her. She hasn’t suffered a concussion. And there are no signs of any infections or illnesses.”
Something flickered in her Mums eye, “Well there must be something, she wouldn’t just be talking like that for no reason?”
He considered Bridget, before looking back to the Queen, “Your Highness, have you ever heard of something called a stutter?”
“A stutter ?” Her Mum says this queerly, head tilting, “But that would’ve been there sense birth.?”
“Well not all of them start at infancy. The mind of a child is ever growing. Delays can happen at any moment in time. Small parts of the brain glitching, switching tactics.”
“But something would need to cause that? Right?”
The Doctor shrugged, “Well technically everything is an effect of something.”
Her Mother nodded. Seemingly accepting something that Bridget didn’t understand, “How do we fix it?”
“Well I can certainly recommend some speech therapists, if you think it’s that progressed, they can-“
“Therapists?! My daughter is not delayed!”
“No, no of course not,” the doctor paled, unused to the Queens ire, Bridget was too, finding herself shrinking in on herself, “These are just, just helpers! They um, they can help locate the specific parts of speech Bridget might have trouble with. And work with her to train and hopefully eradicate the stutter entirely.”
“Would this fix her?” Eleusis has quickly moved on from her anger, entirely focused on curing her daughter as soon as possible.
“W-Well, a stutter is a complex problem, theirs no guarantee of nullification, but with time and effort it’s quite possible she’ll learn to speak without any trouble.”
Her Mother hums once again. Considering the doctor in front of her. Bridget doesn’t like how they talk like she’s not in the room. Fingers scrunching her dress nervously. She finds herself wanting to suck her thumb. A habit she hadn’t indulged in since she was a toddler. It was odd. Random. It made her feel worse about her situation. Even more ashamed then she’d been at the beginning of the appointment.
The Queen leans in, eyeing the doctor with precision, “I trust we shall keep this between us doctor. Word can’t get out that Bridget suffers from… such an impediment.”
“Oh of course your majesty, I’ll make sure anyone hired will be under the strictest of secrecy, let me go grab some recommendations.” The man stands up, heading out the door to the nearby office.
Bridget risks the effort of speaking, desperate for some clarity, “M-Mum, am I-I okay?”
Her voice is not her own. Breaking against her wishes. When just hours ago she had spoken just fine. It makes her stomach twist with nerves.
“Your stuttering,” Eleusis states, not unkindly, just reserved, “It’s the emotions my love. They corrupted you. Trying to sabotage you. The crown. You mustn’t let them win baby girl. You’re gonna go to a nice doctor. And they’re gonna teach you how to speak correctly again. And if you go, and try your very best. Your brain will soon realize how silly it’s being, and any influence your emotions might have will flee once they see just how good of a person you are. My lovely little girl.”
Bridget does not feel assured by this. Feels like she’s being put under a microscope. Like theirs some hidden thing she can’t see, controlling her like a puppet. Forcing her mouth to move differently than she wants. Against all her wishes.
But then her mom is picking her up and setting her on her lap, and she can ignore all the scary thoughts and just bury herself into her beloved Moms embrace. Because Mummy is smart. Mummy will protect her. Mummy knows how to fix things. If Bridget needs to see a doctor and be a good girl for her wrongness to go away. Then she swears she’ll be the best girl wonderlands ever seen! Mummy doesn’t lie. This would work.
“Oh my little flower.” Mummy pets her hair gently, pressing a kiss to her crown, “I won’t let those nasty feelings get to you. This will all end soon, you’ll see. We can fix this.”
Bridget held on, and hoped her Mother was right. She had never been wrong before. Surely, this would be the same.
Bridget could be fixed.
Bridget could be good.
If only she tried hard enough.