can you hear me - gunnar,lydia - 142 years ago Who: Lydia Drake, Gunnar Drake When: 142 years ago. Where: Sanguis, Drake Manor What: dealing with a traumatized kid Rating & Warnings: PG-13
Holy water hurt because vampires were damned. Holy water hurt because they were born without light inside. Holy water hurt because it turned your skin to blood and pain, and filled your head with white and dying. She had screamed until her voice stopped and blood was in her mouth, and then she had screamed in her head until she couldn't hear anything else. She remembered the Gunslinger's voice somewhere under it all, and the shifting light in the water, and not much more. Except when she went to sleep.
She'd spent a lot of time sleeping, trapped in the dreams because medicines wouldn't let her wake up. Sometimes it wasn't so bad though. Sometimes the dreams were nice, and there were dragons and flames but no fountains, and no white pain.
Lydia knew the bandages were hiding something ugly. It hurt and itched, but that was because it was healing. Slow healing. The doctors said they might have to cut her again to make it all go back faster. Cuts healed faster than holy water. Her face hurt the worst, she thought, but mostly everything was a big red haze on her right side.
She was in the nursery, a gold and glass music box in front of her, positioned so it caught the light that filtered through the window, playing a steady lilting waltz as it spun through its tune, the dancer inside twirling round and round. The noise was probably going to make someone come, but she didn't mind. She could hide in the wardrobe, or under the bed. They'd leave her alone if she stayed quiet. Ludo wouldn't, but Ludo didn't make her talk, so she didn't hide from him. Mother just looked at her bandages and looked sad and just looking at her looking sad made everything hurt worse, so you had to hide from that. Her sisters just kept trying to be cheerful at her, which she hated. The new governess had given up and just left cups of warmed-up blood by the wardrobe door. Father... she hadn't seen him. She didn't want to. He'd just look sad too and seeing him look sad would be worse.
Lydia had heard the doctors talking. They thought it hurt her brain, or might make her funny if she lived. She was pretty sure one of them thought the gunslinger and her parents should have let her die. She put a hand out and touched the dancer's skirts, letting the fabric slide along her finger as the figurine turned. The world faded away and she hummed along with the music.