Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's a quiet evening at Nevermore, and I sit at a table in the Quad across from a very talkative ghost that doesn’t seem to notice I don't want to talk. Ghosts are quite loud since they are not used to being seen or listened to. I’m the only one who can see them.
Clairvoyants are closely related to psychics, though we can only see and talk to ghosts and spirits. Our ability is also ‘on’ all the time, which is why I sometimes have to wear headphones.

My ability is how I know that poor Wednesday is being haunted by a way less-than-friendly Weems ghost. She was always kind to me, but I guess not anymore. I can see why after last year. I’ve been sort of friends with Wednesday for a few weeks since I tackled her out of the way of a falling piano. She somehow knew that I was a Clairvoyant, and I tried to help her regain her abilities for a while.

The voices - human and ghost - are getting a bit too loud. I slip on my headphones and throw my book into my messenger bag which I put on over my head before standing from my picnic table and beginning to walk inside. I begin the familiar path to the music room - whether to hide or to play, I don’t know yet. I taught myself to play violin last year, and I’m working with Mrs. Capri privately this year to get better and to learn piano. I do kind of like her. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother. My real one abused and neglected me, then dumped me here a few years ago and never came back. I’ve always had a hard time trusting and even liking people because of her. I was a mistake, and she was alone. She hated me because I’m an outcast and a burden. I never made any friends since I hopped around normie schools so often, because I got expelled from all of them because they said I was insane and a pathological liar. Basically, I’m used to having no one.

Now because of her, I always feel like a burden to everyone. I don’t want to ask for or say yes to anything because I feel greedy, and I won’t ever say no to anything because I feel rude. I don’t like confrontation, conflict, or complaining. I hate loud noises and being yelled at. But Mrs. Capri is better than that. She’s never made me feel like a burden. Never pressured me. Never yelled or gotten angry. I hate that I don’t hate her. Curse me and my stupid mommy issues that make me get attached to the first person ever to show me kindness.

Before I know it, I’m at the music room doors. I slowly push them open and peer inside. Mrs. Capri isn’t here. I quietly close them behind me and walk past the bird cage to sit on the sunlit floor under the window behind a pillar half wall. I grab my violin and bow and raise it to my shoulder. I draw the bow across the strings and wrap my fingers around the neck. I press down, making the notes go lower and higher. I play the song I’ve been practicing recently - Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. Wednesday taught me. We played together once. I play music to let out my emotions that I can’t any other way. The notes are soft and smooth, a gentle melody that fills the room.

My hands and arms ache but I keep going. The music is better at speaking than I am. The anger and sadness mostly, but under it is the loneliness and longing for stability and love and comfort and care. I care so much and so deeply and just want that reciprocated. My bow slips from my hands and I glare at it like it personally offended me. I quietly put my violin back in its case and leave the music room to go back to my dorm.

⭐⭐⭐

I open the door to me and Agnes‘ room and throw my bag on my desk chair. She’s probably in here already lurking in a corner, or off following Wednesday around. I pull out my laptop and lay on my stomach with it on my bed to work some more on my second book. Clara Valentine, brilliant child author. Maybe that’s why I like Mrs. Capri. She’s another ‘Child Prodigy’. She gets it. It’s not that I hate it, I do love writing. And the money helps pay for my tuition and everything else here. It's just that, for me at least, it kind of feels like it defines your whole life, and you're so desperate for the praise and satisfaction that you’ll continue doing it even when it feels like you're choking, like it’s being shoved down your throat. But she makes me feel wanted without feeling trapped or pressured. She makes me feel like I’m good enough, like maybe I can do it.

Oh. I’ve written multiple pages that are starting to sound a little bit too familiar. I leave them be. Maybe they could be good.

My legs wobble as I shut my laptop and stand. I slide down to the floor and curl my knees to my chest, grabbing my phone from my navy blue comforter. Habitually, I click my messages app, and click the name I hate most. I hate that I do this. It only makes it worse. But maybe if it’s bad enough, I’ll have a reason to feel the way I do. I scroll through the old messages like maybe she’ll send a new one. Maybe she’ll change. She never will. Maybe she’ll say she loves me. She doesn’t. I would rather hear nothing than lies.

I look at all the old messages. Threats if I did not submit to her every whim, small fights while I hid in the school bathroom, big fights when I wouldn't come out of my room to be screamed at in person. At least over the phone, I couldn't get physically hurt. I could hear the vases breaking, but did not feel the glass shards. Each of her words were like glass shards anyways.

Silent tears stream down my face without my permission. They taste salty as they drip off my chin and into my mouth. I quickly wipe them away. I hate this feeling. I can’t cry. I have no reason to. I have food, clothes, and a roof over my head. What more do I want? I’m just selfish and greedy. I drop my phone and scramble to my feet. My hands and whole body shake uncontrollably. Deep breaths. I can’t remember the last time I breathed. The sudden sharp breath stings my throat and lungs like I’m inhaling fire. I run to my bathroom and grip the edge of the sink, glaring at myself in the mirror. I wipe away the tears and continue breathing until it doesn’t physically hurt. I look at my phone. 8:22. Almost time for my lesson. I wipe away more tears that aren’t even there because I swear I can still feel them. I can still see them. Even though they’re gone, I can see the trails on my face. Stained in. I’ll just have to hope Mrs. Capri doesn’t notice.

I walk back into the main part of my dorm, locking my knees and refusing to fall down. Agnes is still not here. Good. I shove my phone into my bag and put it on my shoulder like nothing happened. I’ll just have to pretend that it didn't. I look in the mirror once more. My face is red and puffy. I pull my long brown hair in front of it, hoping she won’t get a glimpse of what is underneath. Or maybe I hope she does. Maybe I do want to be comforted. No I don’t. That’s selfish. I can’t want that. If I get comforted, it will be like I don’t deserve to feel like this. I already don’t. I can't allow myself to. I have everything anyone could want. I’m just being spoiled and needy. I grab my violin case and start the walk.

She won’t ask what’s wrong anyways, even if I wanted her to. She doesn’t care about me. No one does. She’s just being nice. She’s going to get tired of me. I just need to play and not think about it. I take the longest I possibly can walking to the music room. Extra hallways, extra stairwells. But I finally get there. I stand in front of the big doors for the second time today. I dreadfully push them open. I’m surprised I don’t have a black cloud over my head, making all the plants around me wilt. Mrs. Capri sits at the piano, looking through her papers.

She looks at me with a soft smile and I feel horrible for not having the energy to smile back. I just tug my hair closer to my face. I sit next to her on the piano bench and pull my violin out of its case. I’m supposed to play it, but I can’t bring myself to. I hold it in my shaking hands and look at it, willing it to move on its own.

Of course, she notices it all. She always does. Mrs. Capri lightly sets her hand on mine and I flinch. “We don’t have to play. We can just sit here if you need,” she says softly. I avoid her gaze, trying my absolute hardest not to cry. My vision blurs - with tears or just general dissociating, I can’t tell. But her touch grounds me. I hate that it helps. I don’t deserve to be fine. I would almost rather the yelling. The silence hurts more.

“Clara,” she tries again.

I flinch again. I’m not used to my name meaning anything other than trouble. I hate that my voice gets smaller the more I want to speak.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, just barely loud enough to hear. Seemingly without thinking about it, she pulls me into a hug. Every nerve screams at me to pull away, but my body betrays me, leaning in anyway. But just as quickly as it started, it's over.

I grab my violin and bow, somehow feeling worse. I bring it to my shoulder and drag the bow across the strings, coaxing out the notes. I continue for a minute, doing surprisingly well. But inevitably, my hands start shaking once again. A note cracks and the bow slips from my grasp. The music falls apart once again, just like how I’m falling apart inside. Ironic, considering music is how I speak when I cannot through my mouth. The hot tears sting my eyes and I pick up my bow as I bite down on my lip hard enough to taste blood, warm and metallic.

“It’s okay. You can stop.” She attempts to comfort me.

“No. I can do it. It’s fine.” The most I have spoken all day.

She reaches up towards my face to brush away my hair, and I flinch again like she’s about to hit me. Maybe she is. I’m not good enough. She’s just wasting her time. I have to be better. I have to get my shit together or she’s going to leave me too.

I try again, holding the bow against the violin before pulling it across the strings. I breathe, trying to keep my mind off everything, to get lost in the music so my hands will stop shaking. So I can play properly. Perfectly. Make her proud of me. Of course it’s not perfect though. I mess up a note, but she doesn’t say anything. Just a small look that seems to say, ‘There's no rush to be perfect.’

I keep going and trying, yet my fingers tremble on the strings again.

“It’s okay. Just slow down. Music is about feeling, not speed.” Her voice grounds me, the calm in the storm. I keep playing and she hums along, a simple melody for me. I manage to go a few more minutes without dropping the bow or bursting into tears. “Music doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be honest.” she tells me.

I finish the song and breathe, noticing that she’s sitting a bit closer than before. “You can stay here for as long as you need,” she says, even though the lesson is technically over. I sit there for just a second, unmoving, barely blinking. I snap out of it and quietly pack my things, and finish putting my violin in its case before standing. I fidget with the latch and mumble, “Sorry for wasting your time.” quietly.

“Don’t apologize. Everyone has hard days.”

I nod, wanting to believe it, but not. I walk towards the door and push it open. She watches me from the piano, and calls out one last time before I walk away,

“You didn’t waste my time. You never have and never will.”

My voice is not working, so I nod one last time before practically running out, tears blurring my vision. I fast walk back to my dorm and try not to worry that Agnes isn't there. I throw on my pajamas, hoping that everything will be fine and normal in the morning.

I kneel and look in my case one last time to make sure my sheets are all together, and I notice a small sticky note tucked in. I take it in my hands and stare at it. I read it once, then again and again.

'You’re doing better than you think. You’re not alone.'

My eyes burn once again and I quietly close the violin case. I stick the note in my favorite book, then I pull myself up on the edge of my bed and grab my laptop. I open it and quickly write one last sentence in the chapter.

'She always knew she was broken. She just didn't know how to ask for the help she needed. But when she got it, it felt like home, and not just the house she always knew.'

Chapter Text

The cool breeze flows through my hair as I lay on the roof above my dorm. My music blasts through my headphones and I look up at the moon. Agnes climbs the ladder onto the roof and plops down beside me, sprawling out like a starfish.

“Boo.” She hands me a blue envelope. “This was on your bed.”

I open it and pull out the card.

Iago Tower
10PM
With the Nightshade Society label.

That’s not ominous at all. Especially since Dort (I refuse to call him Principal) disbanded it.

“Can I take that to show Wednesday?” She asks me.

I shrug and give it to her.

I guess I’ll be doing something tonight after all.

I hop off the roof and climb through the window back into my room. I open up my closet and pull out my old Nightshade cloak and mask. Didn’t think I’d ever get to use them again. I change out of my Nevermore uniform into something a bit more comfortable - a black long sleeve top, my denim mini shorts over tights, and slouchy white socks over my converse. I also pull my long hair into a loose side braid.

I poke my head out the door and look both ways in the hall. No one. Perfect. I sneak down to the music room like I do every night, but for a different reason. I envy Agnes’ ability to vanish whenever. It would certainly make a lot of things easier for me. I open the door, and quickly head inside when I don’t see Mrs. Capri. I play the same four keys on the organ like I do when I’m ditching - D E A D. The passageway opens and I duck inside. But before I can close it behind me, I hear a voice.

“Clara?”

Fuck. It’s Mrs. Capri. I really need to find a better way to get in.

I turn in horror.

“What are you doing? Is that a secret passageway?” She questions.

I look up at her. “No.”

“Do you feel like telling me what’s going on?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Not really.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably.”

She stares at me for a second.

“You should know that you’re going to be telling me about this tomorrow. You’re lucky I have things to do and can’t follow you right now.”

“Fine.”

That was close. I move through the passages and climb up the metal stairs once I reach the tower. I get to the top near all the gears and machinery and step into a square meeting point with three others.

We flip our hoods back. Bianca, Ajax, and Kent.

“Who called this meeting?” Bianca asks. We all look at her and I lightly shrug.

“I did.” I would recognize that voice anywhere. It’s Enid. She joins us in the square, her new ‘boyfriend’ Bruno trailing close behind. “Low turnout.”

Ajax glares at her. “Enid, you were never officially inducted into the Nightshades.” Pretty rude for someone who’s supposed to be her actual boyfriend.

“Only because Dort dissolved the society before I could join,” She snaps back. He continues glaring with a look in between confused and annoyed. Maybe both. “You’re the one who nominated me, remember?”

“It doesn’t give you the authority to call a meeting-“

“Ajax. Easy.” Bianca cuts him off before he can make it any worse.

“Tyler Galphin wants to kill me. Isn’t that reason enough?” She says. It’s a good point.

“How do you know?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Because he told me.” Ajax moves aside to reveal a pig tailed goth girl that was not there before.

Enid sighs and walks closer to Wednesday, everyone else moving behind her. “I’m guessing your little see-through suck-up told you about this rendezvous. I’m not backing down, Wednesday.” Interesting. Lovers quarrel. (I will never understand how Enid can choose dumb boys over her best friend who she clearly has a crush on.)

Wednesday pauses. “Fine. I think Tyler’s making his move tonight at the remembrance procession. But I have a plan,” She says, with much certainty.

“To kill him?” Enid asks.

“To control him.” Wednesday replies. If she wasn’t herself, she would be smiling right now.

“I hope you’re not thinking about doing what I think you’re thinking about doing.” I speak for the first time since arriving here.

“Perhaps.” She looks sort of amused. “I need Enid to lure him away from the procession where the rest of you will be waiting, and get him to transform. Then I will inject him with a potion that I learned from Thornhill’s notes to become his new master.”

“You can’t be serious.” Bianca says, like this isn’t totally something Wednesday would do.

“The remembrance procession begins in an hour and a half. Meet me outside the gates, in the cemetery. He will chase Enid into the stone hut, and it is the job of all of you to get him to transform. Once he is in his Hyde form, I will be ready with the potion shot.” Wednesday dumps the information, expecting us to remember it all, before disappearing once more into the shadows.

⭐⭐⭐

“You’re absolutely sure that this will work?” I ask for the millionth time. One thing I can’t decide if I hate or love about Wednesday is how determined she is. I don’t want Enid or anyone to get hurt because she got an idea in her head and wouldn’t let it go.

“This will work. Tyler can’t resist a chance to kill Enid and myself at one time.” Wednesday seems a lot more confident than the rest of us.

“What if Tyler’s a no-show?” Enid asks, which is really what I was asking. Wednesday doesn’t answer her. After a few minutes, Thing gives the thumbs up.

“He’s here. Stick to the plan. I need Tyler to transform into a Hyde. No improvising.”

We all run to the stone hut and hide in the shadows, while Enid waits just inside the gate for him. After another minute, Enid runs in and grabs her sword. Tyler follows soon after and she points it at him.

“Wheres Wednesday? I know you’re not alone,” He says, quite out of breath. He’s very pitiful looking now. Not so scary anymore.

“You’re right. She isn’t.” The rest of us emerge out of the shadows with our own swords. Me, Bianca, Kent, Ajax, and Bruno. We stand behind her.

“Hm. Swords are cute. They’re no match for a Hyde. Too bad the moon isn’t full tonight,” Tyler rasps. He steps closer and appears to be attempting to transform, and having trouble.

“What’s wrong, Tyler?” Enid provokes. We have to make him upset to transform.

“Yeah, you’re looking a little rough,” Ajax adds.

“Is it because you killed your master? You don’t have much time left,” Enid continues.

“Shut up!

“You’re a joke.” “You’re an idiot.” “You’re not scary.”

“STOP!” He yells. I see Wednesday begin to stalk up behind him as his eyes start to grow bigger and his skin turns ashy and gray. He grows to twice his normal size and starts balding like an eighty year old white man, which he might as well be. He looks like The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but without the nose. Although I suppose the size of his eyes makes up for it.

Even Ajax looks a little scared as we all lower our swords. Wednesday grips the syringe with red liquid in it and steps closer. He growls and whips around, throwing Wednesday backwards with his abnormally long arms.

“Wednesday!” Enid screams.

“Hey! Over here!” Ajax begins to pull off his beanie to stone Tyler, but he gets thrown just like Wednesday.

Me, Bruno, and Kent get knocked over into a pile of wood. Enid falls backwards and Tyler turns to her, raising his arm to gut her. “Oh my god!” She shrieks.

Wednesday jumps up. “Tyler.” He turns and growls at her. “Enough. We both know I’m who you really want.”

“Enid! Over here!” I call her over to where me and the others are hiding behind more fallen wood beams.

“What if I lied about my feelings? You were right. I was attracted to you.” They both step closer to each other, their faces almost touching. “But you do know there's only one way we can truly be together. Say hello to your new master.”

She raises her arm with the syringe in it, and for a split second I think her plan might actually work. But just then, the window smashes, another Hyde jumping through. A taller and skinnier one with longer hair - still balding though.

Tyler’s eyes widen in horror before the other one knocks him out of the way and growls at Wednesday, knocking her back. It raises its arm and opens its claws, but before it can kill her, we hear another voice and look to the doorway.

“Francoise! We had a deal.” It’s Morticia Addams. Wednesday’s mom. She’s kind of hot.

The second Hyde, Francoise, looks at her, then back to Wednesday. She looks to Tyler and points out the window, growling at him. He jumps back out the smashed window, Francoise following.

“Wednesday. What were you thinking?” Morticia walks towards Wednesday.

“I had it under control,” Wednesday counters.

“One more word and I’m taking you out of Nevermore.”

“You just called that thing Francoise,” Wednesday retorts.

“Yes.”

“Is that Tyler’s mother?” asks Wednesday.

“Yes. You freed her from Willow Hill.” Morticia accuses her.

“What deal did you make with her?” Wednesday asks, knowing her mom all too well.

“Francoise gave me her word that she would control Tyler, and they would leave Jericho forever.” Morticia tells Wednesday.

“And you believe the words of a Hyde?” snaps Wednesday.

“I believe the word of a mother.”

⭐⭐⭐

I flop down on my bed face first.

“So?” Agnes looks at me expectantly.

“There’s two,” I groan, my voice muffled in my blankets.

"Hydes?" She asks, surprised.

"Mhm. I thought you were lurking there invisibly."

"Wednesday didn't want me there." Her voice is bitter. Is she... jealous?

I sit up on my bed. "You're not usually one to stay away from where you're not wanted. You go anyway. Maybe Wednesday would appreciate some confidence more than trying to please her." I have a bit softer of a tone than I mean to. I'm not usually one to give encouragement.

"Why is she friends with you anyways?" Agnes curls her knees to her chest and looks out the window from where she sits on the floor.

"I suppose she just thought I was useful at first. We don't really talk that much. She'll leave me soon, and she'll notice you eventually too, don't worry."

She doesn't say anything, but I see her faint smile in the reflection.

⭐⭐⭐

I sit alone in my usual spot - in the shade by a stone pillar in the Link. Writing this time instead of reading. Normally I might be with Wednesday or Enid, but they've both been acting really weird today. Agnes has decided to secretly follow Wednesday around using her ability. She stationed me here, and told me to tell her if I saw Wednesday. A voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and someone who I've been trying very hard to avoid sits down beside me. "Hey."

"So last night, hm? Am I wrong in suspecting that it had something to do with a particular pig-tailed goth girl?" Mrs. Capri looks at me with a tilted head.

"Doesn't everything have something to do with her?" I say, avoiding her gaze.

"True." She looks away. "Same incident as Enid?"

I nod. It technically was.

Speaking of Enid, she walks into the Link through a stone arch, dressed in the most black I've ever seen her wearing. With pigtails. She's definitely acting weird.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any weirder...

"Oh my god."

Mrs. Capri looks to where I'm looking. Up on the steps is Wednesday Addams, dressed head to toe in color, with colorful makeup and hair clips, dancing. I think I'm hallucinating. We watch in awe as she comes down the steps and hugs someone. She gets up on the rock and seems to be doing the BOOMBAYAH dance. Everyone is recording, and she bounces down to the ground and even picks up a phone to see herself. Her face is breaking out in hives and she drops the phone and keeps jumping around while maniacally itching herself, before collapsing on the ground.

Someone should probably do something about that, but neither I nor Mrs. Capri can seem to take our eyes off this sight that I cannot tell if is nightmare or a dream.

"Wow." Is all Mrs. Capri can seem to say. I share her sentiment.

Enid glares from across the courtyard like someone just murdered an animal, before stalking off towards her "boyfriend" on a balcony. Agnes goes invisible and, I assume, follows her.

"I guess she's finally gone insane." As if Wednesday wasn't insane already.

I finally look over at her. She's giving me her, 'I know you were and probably still are up to something' look.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

She hums. "Nothing." She glances at her phone. "Have you seen Enid?"

"I just saw her over there." I point to the stone archway with heavy wooden doors.

She hops up. "Sorry to leave so quick. I'll be back in time for our lesson tonight. I am expecting you to be there."

I don't have time to respond before she makes her way over to where I pointed.

⭐⭐⭐

I push open the doors to the music room and slip inside, cursing as my already ripped tights snag on a splinter. My bag weighs on my shoulder with notebooks and two letters I’ll never give.

I spent the afternoon writing those two letters - one to my biological mother, and one to Mrs. Capri.

I was originally going to only write one to my mother. But when I was writing it, I remembered something from when I was quite young. Younger than now at least. I was seven years old. I dropped a glass while doing the dishes. My mother dug her nails into my arm and slapped me as hard as she could across the face. I hid behind the table while she threw more dishes at me screaming about how I must like it. Once she ran out, she screamed at me about how I made her break all the dishes. She made me sit in my room in the dark with no food for two days.

I told my mother exactly what I want her to know. I said that I remember everything and I don’t forgive her. I said that she doesn’t get to control me anymore. And I said that I didn’t want her as a mother. That I found another.

If she heard all of this, she would laugh. She would say I’m an attention seeking brat that can’t be grateful for anything. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t change.

And I don’t blame her for that because none of it is really true. She could still control me because I’m not strong enough to stop her. It’s all I’ve ever known. And I would forgive her if she really wanted me to because I don’t deserve to be angry when it was my fault for not being enough.

And that is why I wrote a letter to Mrs. Capri. I told her all that, how I feel, the things I think, what my mother did to me. Because I know she would listen if I let her.

I said that I hate pretending to be fine. I said that I can’t accept kindness without expecting cruelty or feeling like a burden. I said I don’t want to disappoint her or make her hate me and that’s why I’ll never tell her any of this.

I also told her how I feel about her. I said that I wish she was my mom. I said I care about her and want her to care about me and that I feel selfish for wanting that. And I also said that I was afraid of her turning into my mother.

That’s what really scares me.

I’ll never give those two letters. But somehow it helps to have them.

I scan the room for Mrs. Capri and see her sitting in my spot by the window.

"I'm not going to bite. You can come in."

I look down at my boots as I walk over to her and sit down beside her, tucking my legs under me. She holds my violin in her hands and runs her fingers over the doodles Enid carved in the sides with her claws. The moon shines on her through the window, highlighting the curls in her hair and light patches of fur on her neck that I never noticed before.

"Enid made these, yes? I recognize her claw patterns. You’re friends with her?" She more states than asks as she hands me my violin. That's twice today she's brought up Enid. I wonder if there's something going on with her. I'll have to come to her dorm later to ask.

I nod and look down at it, noticing that there is now glitter and nail polish coating it as well. "She treats me like her little sister even though I'm a year older than her."

“She cares,” Mrs. Capri corrects me. “And I think that’s good for you.”

I fiddle with a fraying string on the edge of my black skirt instead of replying.

“You speak more in silence than words. Music is the opposite. That’s why I like it.”

In Capri language, that means we should start.

I wish I could tell her everything. I really do. But I can’t risk ruining what I have already.

I take my violin from my lap and bring it to my shoulder. I turn the knobs and play the strings with my fingers until they sound right.

“Maybe you should try guitar. You might better play an instrument that uses your hands than a stick,” Mrs. Capri says to me.

I say nothing and after a second she adds, “But I think you choose violin because it is precise. Controlled. And that’s what you need. And I think the guitar would feel too messy to you.”

I look at her with a look that I hope says, ‘What the fuck are you going on about?’ Which is honestly what I’m always wondering. But she is right though. She’s always spot on because she notices everything.

“You think silence protects you, but it cages you.”

I tug at my tights, ripping open the holes further and ignoring Mrs. Capri. Maybe she has a point about the silence thing. “If I told you anything, you would leave.” When I can’t rip any more holes, I start to pick my skin. Mostly reopening scars. Some from clumsiness, some self made. But Mrs. Capri grabs my hand, and I pride myself for not flinching.

“Stop that.” She jerks my wrist and pulls me into a tight hug. “I don’t know what you’ve been taught to think, but I won’t leave you for opening up.”

After a second I whisper, “Let go.” But it comes out thin and shaky, not convincing. I don’t mean for it to be. Because I really don’t want her to.

“Not until you stop hurting yourself.” I flinch and she draws circles on my back with her nails.

But soon she pulls away and I already find myself missing it. She brushes my hair away from my face and looks into my eyes.

”Looks like someone's been having fun without me."

That voice immediately makes my breath hitch and my eyes start to tear up.

I turn in horror towards the doorway, and look at the very person who ruined me.

Lorelai. My mother.

Chapter Text

I sit on the ground by a window. I look down at the glitter and nail polish coating Clara’s violin and the doodles covering the sides. I know that it’s all from Enid. The little pup. Little alpha. What am I going to do with her?

I hear the doors open immediately. I don’t have to look up to know that it’s Clara. I also hear her mutter, “Shit..!” under her breath. She stands there for a second and looks around.

“I’m not going to bite. You can come in.”

I look up at her as she walks over to sit beside me. I notice how her tights are ripped where her knees are scraped, and how her thighs are covered in scars. Self made. I would know. I have my own.

My hand brushes against hers as I hand her the violin, and I tap the doodles with my finger. “Enid made these, yes? I recognize her claw patterns. You’re friends with her?”

Normally I don’t like to bring up others when with Clara, but I can’t seem to get Enid off my mind. She’ll need her friends with her through all this alpha stuff, and it would be a good thing if she was friends with Clara especially. She’s a good kid. She’s kind, caring, and would always be there for Enid.

Everything I wish I had in a daughter.

Clara nods. “She treats me like her little sister even though I’m a year older than her.”

“She cares. And I think that’s good for you.” She needs more care.

Clara doesn’t reply. Just fidgets with the edge of her skirt.

“You speak more in silence than words. Music is the opposite. That’s why I like it.”

Music helps people speak when they can't. It always has a way of making the truth come out.

She starts to tune her violin with her fingers, not even needing a tool anymore. She’s come very far with her music. She makes me proud.

“Maybe you should try guitar. You might better play an instrument that uses your hands than a stick,” I tell her. She’s great at violin, but I think she should try some new things. She might find something that fits her more. “But I think you choose violin because it is precise. Controlled. And that’s what you need. And I think the guitar would feel too messy to you.”

She looks at me quite confused. She says nothing and pretends to continue tuning her violin.

“You think silence protects you, but it cages you.”

Clara just keeps ignoring me and starts to widen the rips in her tights. “If I told you anything, you would leave.”

Is that really what she thinks? That I’m just going to leave her?

I grab her hand when she starts to pick at her scars. “Stop that.” I pull her wrist and wrap my arms around her in a tight hug. “I don’t know what you’ve been taught, but I won’t leave you for opening up.”

She flinches at first, but seems to melt into it. “Let go,” she whispers weakly, but I don’t.

“Not until you stop hurting yourself.” I won’t let her go through what I did. I won’t let her be alone like I was. I start to lightly draw circles on her back with one hand and squeeze hers in my other.

But I pull back to look at her. I brush her long hair away from her eyes and look at her face.

A voice cuts through the room from the doorway. “Looks like someone's been having fun without me.”

Clara’s eyes instantly get shimmery and she stops breathing.

We both look over to the doorway and see a woman standing there. She has dark hair like Clara’s, and is wearing designer clothes.

“Three years, and this is how you greet me? Not even a hug? It’s no wonder no one wants you.” She puts her hands on her hips.

Clara looks down at her feet and stays in place, not moving, not breathing.

“You look worse than when I left you here. But you’ve finally amounted to something with that dramatic writing of yours. At least you’re finally good for something.”

I glare at her. I don’t know this woman, but no one is allowed to speak to one of my pups like this.

Clara finally looks up to her. “What are you doing here, Lorelai?”

“Oh, so you’re doing that. Am I not good enough for ‘Mom’?” The woman - Lorelai - glares and taps her foot against the stone floor.

So this is Clara’s mother.

I’ve had a pretty good idea of this woman for a while. And she still seems worse. She doesn’t deserve Clara.

“If you must know, I’m here for you.” She tilts her head and smiles with a sour sweetness.

Clara looks at her for a second. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t know how to manage the money you’ve made from your pathetic little books. So I am pulling you from Nevermore to help you.”

Clara looks shaken. I take her hand and she doesn’t even flinch. “You dumped me here with no contact for years. You don’t get to make those decisions.”

“Don’t speak back to me. I am your mother. You belong to me.” Lorelai steps closer to us until she is towering over Clara with her arms crossed.

Clara looks down and doesn’t snap back.

“I will stay here tonight. I expect you to sleep off this rebellion and cooperate in the morning. We shall talk then.”

Clara’s violin clatters to the floor as she jumps up. I see her tears start to fall as she runs past her mother, out the door.

Lorelai scoffs, and turns back to me. “Always so dramatic. Clearly she can’t handle herself. It’s best to take her home where she belongs.”

My gaze follows her as she walks out of the music room. Once she is out of sight, I let out a low growl I didn’t know I was holding in. My claws slip out and slice my palms. Blood drips out of my clenched fists onto the floor and I pull down my sleeves to stop the blood. The scent of Lorelai’s perfume lingers - sharp and cloying. The room feels colder, like she drained all the warmth out of it.

I grab Clara’s violin and softly set it in its place. I gather her bag that she left behind and set it on the chair she usually sits in. But a notebook falls out of it, and from that notebook, two letters. As I go to pick them up, I see my name on one and my breath hitches. The other letter is addressed to Lorelai.

I tell myself to put them away. That she’ll give it to me if she wants to.

I exhale slowly, muttering to myself, “Forgive me, little pup.” And I slowly open the letter to myself.

“I don’t know why I’m writing this. I’ll never give it to you. But it helps to have. I wish I could tell you all this. I wish I could trust you. But if I do, you’ll leave.

My mom hurt me a lot. Outside and inside. For small things, or for nothing at all. I learned to hide, to be quiet, to not matter. I still feel like I deserve it all now. Like it’s my fault for not being good enough. And I feel like if I’m not good enough for her, I’m not good enough for you.”

Tears prick my eyes. “No, pup. Not your fault. Never your fault,” I mutter into the empty room. “You will always be good enough for me.”

“I wish you were my mom.”

I read the line over and over, letting the words sink in.

I wish I was too, little pup.

“But I’m scared of you turning into her. I care about you, and I want you to care about me too. But I feel selfish for wanting that. And I don’t know how to accept care anyways. So I’ll keep pushing you away. I don’t want to. It’s just all I know how to do. I can’t accept kindness without expecting cruelty or feeling like a burden.

I don’t want to disappoint you, or make you hate me. But I probably will. And I’m sorry. I know I’m not enough.”

I close my eyes and press the letter to my chest, like I’m hugging Clara herself.

You are enough. And I promise I won’t leave.