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person4Title: Fairy Stories
Fandom: Silent Hill 3
Character: Heather
Notes: For June Fic-a-Day. With only four days left after this I'm going to try finishing the month up in spite of everything.
A mirror caught Heather's eye when she finally realized that she couldn't leave Douglas waiting any longer and dragged herself away from saying her good-byes to leave the apartment, and what she saw in it made her stop in her tracks.
She's managed to keep herself clean all the way home, though all the monster fights, and the sewers, and everything else that had happened. The only thing she'd been able to avoid was getting sewer gunk whose origins she didn't want to think about plastered on her boots, but she'd stopped at the hose outside of the apartment before coming in and it had rinsed right off the rubber surprisingly easily. She'd been very careful to stay as neat as she could because she knew her dad. She knew how overprotective he'd been ever since they'd had to change their names and leave Portland. He'd freak out if she came in with a scraped knee because she'd accidentally tripped on the sidewalk. If she'd reached the apartment looking like she'd spent the whole evening fighting for her life against monsters and he'd seen her like that he'd have been so upset that she wouldn't even have had a chance to tell him what happened. She'd wanted him to have a clear head when she talked with him about everything going on, not be too panicked to give her advice.
Now her vest was splotched and streaked with bright red where it had rested against his knees while she'd cried in his lap, the blood still so fresh that it hadn't even had time to darken on the fabric.
Her first instinct was to yank off the vest and throw it as far away from herself as she could, but she hesitated with her hand on the zipper.
She'd always been a fan of fairy tales as a kid. Her dad had gotten her a big complete Brother's Grimm collection when she was little, bound in leather and stuffed with illustrations. She'd loved that book, poured over it until the pages came loose and then tacked some of her favorite pictures up on her walls after they fell out.
And suddenly she remembered the story of the princess whose mother's blood on a handkerchief had protected her right up until it was lost. Even though things turned out well for her in the end, they were a lot worse for her than they would have been if she'd kept that protection. And even if she ended up okay, a friend died who never should have.
She ran her fingers across one of the stains and almost thought she could feel him in it, feel the life that had flowed out of him with the blood.
She zipped her zipped her vest back up again and closed her eyes. "Protect me, Daddy," she whispered, before she walked out the door.
Fandom: Silent Hill 3
Character: Heather
Notes: For June Fic-a-Day. With only four days left after this I'm going to try finishing the month up in spite of everything.
A mirror caught Heather's eye when she finally realized that she couldn't leave Douglas waiting any longer and dragged herself away from saying her good-byes to leave the apartment, and what she saw in it made her stop in her tracks.
She's managed to keep herself clean all the way home, though all the monster fights, and the sewers, and everything else that had happened. The only thing she'd been able to avoid was getting sewer gunk whose origins she didn't want to think about plastered on her boots, but she'd stopped at the hose outside of the apartment before coming in and it had rinsed right off the rubber surprisingly easily. She'd been very careful to stay as neat as she could because she knew her dad. She knew how overprotective he'd been ever since they'd had to change their names and leave Portland. He'd freak out if she came in with a scraped knee because she'd accidentally tripped on the sidewalk. If she'd reached the apartment looking like she'd spent the whole evening fighting for her life against monsters and he'd seen her like that he'd have been so upset that she wouldn't even have had a chance to tell him what happened. She'd wanted him to have a clear head when she talked with him about everything going on, not be too panicked to give her advice.
Now her vest was splotched and streaked with bright red where it had rested against his knees while she'd cried in his lap, the blood still so fresh that it hadn't even had time to darken on the fabric.
Her first instinct was to yank off the vest and throw it as far away from herself as she could, but she hesitated with her hand on the zipper.
She'd always been a fan of fairy tales as a kid. Her dad had gotten her a big complete Brother's Grimm collection when she was little, bound in leather and stuffed with illustrations. She'd loved that book, poured over it until the pages came loose and then tacked some of her favorite pictures up on her walls after they fell out.
And suddenly she remembered the story of the princess whose mother's blood on a handkerchief had protected her right up until it was lost. Even though things turned out well for her in the end, they were a lot worse for her than they would have been if she'd kept that protection. And even if she ended up okay, a friend died who never should have.
She ran her fingers across one of the stains and almost thought she could feel him in it, feel the life that had flowed out of him with the blood.
She zipped her zipped her vest back up again and closed her eyes. "Protect me, Daddy," she whispered, before she walked out the door.