Chapter Text
With trembling s/c fingers, you crack open two large wooden doors. It’s a bit old-fashioned. Then again, your stepfather had this… taste for things of old. It may be the 20th century, but in his mind, he’s in charge. How dare a woman stand up to him? How your mother managed to marry him is… he isn’t very different from your father though. Ha, no not by a long shot. Though, at least your father never hit you. At least he never threatened to sell you out and act on it to “teach you a lesson.” If murder was as easy as it was in books and crime shows, or you thought you could do it, you might… well you could. Let's just say your father did die from natural circumstances. It’s not your fault he drank then, while drunk, had some drugs, and bit the dust! Certainly not your accidental-purposeful doing. Definitely didn’t mix something in with his stuff, definitely not. To be fair, you were eight and meant to make him sick is all.
However, had you known your mother would remarry tenfold worse, you wouldn’t have done it. You were through watching her protect you. Her face and arms were covered in bruises. Sometimes you’d catch signs of more than just that. Sexual signs of abuse. She tried her best to keep it from you.
Even now, she begs when you screw up. She begs and begs for her husband to keep his hands off of you. Why are you still here anyway? You’re 20…
Well, who can afford to live on their own these days? And what would happen to your mother? It’s not her fault she’s a mess. You blame her sometimes for marrying the wrong people. It’s not her fault. He had you fooled too. God, he was so sweet and gentle until they were two years married.
You step into the study, a place strictly off-limits. You can't imagine what may happen if you get caught in here. Still, curiosity has always been your downfall. You're sneaky and malicious, like a little fox. Lies are easy to thread on your lips, and you're, well, attractive. The doors swing shut behind you, and you exhale flipping on the lights.
Perhaps you will find something to get him arrested… or make easy work of murder. The thought is nice. Seeing him either arrested or lying in a pool of death. You walk to a chest, something that looks vintage and unused.
It’s not difficult to pick the lock, you’ve learned a lot of skills over the years living in this rotten hell. You pat the dust of your hands onto your dress. Knee-length and modest. Your stepfather did not permit anything else. He found pants, unless they were loose, to be a whores choice.
You rummage through his things. There are old dresses, hair accessories, and pictures. However, one thing stands out to you. An old dusty book. You take it out, then neatly put everything back. You flip through the pages, raising a brow.
It's madness! Absolute madness! You flip through either way. Who knew this bastard had a fancy for such odd things? There are all sorts of rituals and spells. The book was so dusty, you doubt he’ll notice if you take it, so you do.
You retreat to your room and sit in the armchair flipping through the pages. You find a particularly fun spell. Time travel. You snort, but interested you read it. “If I believed in demonic bs I would be all over this.” You hum reading every word.
You don’t believe in it.
You don’t.
But gods, to escape this world. Even if just a fantasy, you might as well indulge in something to keep your mind from dying in this house.
To entertain the thought, you gather a bag of your things and rush to go through your mother's spices. She has everything you need. Again, you laugh to yourself. “I can’t believe I'm doing this!” You talk to yourself, thinking you must have finally really lost it. You were a murderer at eight, and the sick thoughts still plague you, but you’ve never been like this with others.
No! You are the type to give a little money to a stranger, help a grandma cross the street, glare at injustice, you made one mistake. You had just meant to make him sick. How were you supposed to know it would kill him? You act cruel and cold, but in truth, you could never hurt a bunny!
You sit in the center of your room and do everything the book says.
Of course, nothing happens.
You don’t know why you were hoping for anything. You must really be losing your sanity. Fuck it’s embarrassing.
You sneak back and return the book to the bastard's study, and bolt just as you hear the door open. You run to the kitchen trying to get things out. Shit, shit, shit you were not watching the clock. “Y/n? I don’t smell dinner going!”
Struggling, you toss the chicken in the crockpot, turning it up. You’re agile and quick, so rushing all around the kitchen to make a decent scene isn't too hard. It looks like you’ve been cooking for at least a good half-hour. “Sorry! I am so sorry! Th-the chicken took longer to thaw. I… well it’s chilly and I didn’t want to mess with the thermostat! I…I tried to hurry it up by placing it in some warm water and made a bit of a mess. I just. I’m working on it! Shouldn’t be more than an hour. Chicken is marinating in the sauce!” You holler through the house, dropping spices in with the chicken and some broth.
You look to your mother and then down to your feet. There’s a new bruise on her face. You step back as your stepfather touches the inside of the crockpot. “Odd, it’s still cold.”
Your heart thuds. You go to try and cook a lie up when your mother sighs. She gracefully finds her way to the fridge, placing her hands on her cheeks. “Oh my! I must have forgotten to tell our dear there was thawing fish in the fridge! I know you wanted my chicken dish, but in case she couldn’t do it, I had a backup. I must have forgotten about it! My bad. Here, dear, why don’t you let me help?”
Your mother has a good sleight of hand. She unplugs the crockpot and gasps. “Haha, you’re using the wrong crockpot! See, I know you’re used to using the battery-powered pot, but this one has to be plugged in at all times! No wonder it wasn’t getting very warm!” She’s saving your skin again. She pats you on the head.
“Gods, your kid's a fuckin useless whore!” You both flinch, but he leaves you both alone to go watch the Sunday game.
“Sorry…” You mumble and she hugs you, pecking your forehead.
“Hush dear, you did nothing wrong. We are back earlier than expected.” She starts to hum as she cooks. For the most part, you hand her things and do the cutting. This dish used to be your favorite. You let the chicken cook in her broth and spice bath, then when it’s tender, she shreds it perfectly. The shredded chicken is then mixed in with pasta, and she thickens the broth to make a sauce, adds some sorta sausage and whella! It’s honestly delicious.
Dinner is quite as it often is. You clean everything up and do some more chores before looking out the window. You want to watch the sunset, but setting foot outside the house so late will get you into trouble, and there is no way he’d allow for it so late at night. You approach your father with a curtsy… father… you’ve never thought of him as such, nor was your father thought of like your father.
“What do you need bitch?” He doesn’t so much as look in your direction.
“I’d like to go to bed for the night if you'd allow it.” To need permission for the simple things in life is so wrong. Women can fucking vote, work, and do all sorts of shit, and here you are asking if you are allowed to go to bed.
His gaze moves from the game to settle onto you. “You’ve done everything you have to do for the day?”
“Yes sir.” You keep your gaze on the floor.
“Look at me when you are speaking to me, ungrateful brat.”
You flinch, raising your head. “Sorry sir.”
“Better. If I find something unfinished, I will snuff the next two weeks from you. For your incompetence today. It’s so unlike you to make so many mistakes. Perhaps you’ve gone too long without any lessons or punishments, and you forget your place.” The threat on his tongue is all you need to flinch.
Your body runs cold, your body full of shivers at the unwanted thoughts. “I will do better, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” He waves you off and you scurry to your room.
You sit on your bed pulling your knees to your chest, and sob yourself to sleep holding the bag of your possessions, as if you may think of running when you have no chance at such a dumb thing. No, why would you run where there is nothing to run to? You have everything to run from, but nothing to head towards.
Suddenly you’re falling… you yelp, eyes widening as you hold your bag close to your chest. You hit a few branches, which help to break your fall before you drop to the ground. “FUCK!” You curse and cover your mouth, trying to find where you are. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Did that son of a bitch kick you out? Was this another test? You try to get to your feet, but yelp in pain.
You hear the rustle of something in the bushes and back up against a tree. You instinctively force your legs beneath you and reach to find your knife. Your bag. Shit where is it? You look up, seeing it dangle from a branch.
You shut your eyes when something starts to move from the bushes. “My, my! What is a dame like you doing alone at night at such an hour?”
That is definitely not the accent from where you’re from. Nor is this man dressed from your age, less he’s hella rich or something. Then again, you don’t judge. A lot of old stuff is making a comeback. You’ve seen a lot of different styles in your day.
He steps closer, and your experience with the things that Bastard has done leaves you searching. Not again… you will not go through that again.
“Oh! You look balled up my dear!” He takes in your bruised face and hostility. “Ah, poor dear.” He moves slower now. His eyes see the bag, and he raises a brow. “Would those be your assets?”
You hesitantly nod. He’s a gentleman, but you know not to trust anybody who comes off sweet like this. No, not with how your stepfather ruined that. He grabs the bag and your knife falls to the floor. It’s something you stole from your stepfather. An ornate little thing. The handle is delicate and pretty silver. It’s a dagger, a real and honest dagger, an expensive one at that.
For a moment, you just stare at it and him. “Oh my! What is a doll like you doing with such a thing?” He picks it up in his hand, examining it. “One of such exquisite worth!”
You can’t help but notice the blood he seems to have in places. “Drop it. That doesn’t belong to you, fucker.” You try to stand again, this time putting your weight on your right leg completely. You’re unstable for a moment, but you’ve learned how to adapt. You hop a bit and wobble again.
“Now, now, we wouldn’t want you to act like a sap!” The brunette man has such an odd cherry tone to his voice.
“I ain't gonna lie, you’re one weird bastard. The hell are you sayin?” You hiss. You're put off by his terms.
He laughs, tilting his head. “I am not a bastard! You speak oddly!” He blinks, pocketing the dangerous weapon and handing you the bag again. “However, did you fall like that?”
You snatch the bag, making sure nothing else was stolen. Your phone, charger, books, and clothes are all inside, be it no longer a neat selection as they had been. “I woke up here.”
“Were you on the run from somewhere, my dear?” He’s charming. That smile of his on that too-pretty face is hard to mistrust.
You stay silent, clenching your fists and leaning against the tree. “I… What year is it?”
“Why it’s July of 1921 dear.” He must see the way your eyes widen and you try to count the dates in your head. That’s, but that’s impossible.
You shake your head blinking a few times. “You shittin’ me?”
“Pardon?”
“Kidding me?”
“Ah-ha ‘fraid not!” His dramatic personality is certainly something.
You go to speak, only to taste copper in your mouth. Your hand flies to your abdomen in panic. Shit, you hit yourself several times goin through the trees. “Ha, no. Seriously? I get… and just to die?” You talk to yourself as you feel your legs buckle and vision dissipate.