H&S: Story Of Dorothy Oneshots

Worth It

Sue wasn't a very remorseful person, which was quite strange for his age. In fact, nearly everything about him was strange, and he was punished for it in his mortal life by his own kin. Memories he would never forget, of his own father, Georg, locking him in a disgustingly filthy room in the sewers below their grand Victorian mansion. Harshly reprimanding him for his ‘arrogance’ before he shoved him inside every single time, and slamming the gray barred cell door shut and locking it. No matter how many decades flew by, Sue would never forget those cold brown eyes glaring at him from the other side of the door like he was some criminal for not putting on a perfect persona when meeting his parents’ friends and other ‘important’ strangers, like one puts on a mask. And his sweet mother, Maria, would stare sadly at him from behind the bulk of her stern husband, sympathy glimmering in her orange-tinted eyes. He'd try to explain himself - father, my intentions were not to offend our guests and ruin you and mother's evening - but his sentences would be chopped in two by a short-tempered Georg.   

Buried, negative emotions threatened to unearth themselves as Sue sat under a tall sycamore tree outside of the burned mansion, the anger and sorrow like bitter-sweet alcohol suddenly bursting from a bottle uncorked by a blithe party-goer. He was dressed like he always was, formally, in a white-button up, bow-tied collar, maroon blazer, matching shorts, shin-high socks, and black shoes. A stack of books from the library inside his former home sat next to him, full of glorious details about wondrous sections of the world. His back was pressed against bark, his striking purple eyes focused on the magnificent golden pocket watch in his pale hands, the one she gave him. Blank expression staying glued to his round face. Except, if you happened to be scrutinizing the young boy, you'd notice his thick black eyebrows were lowered over his eyes, which reflected his sadness through the gleam of vibrant violet. His reminiscing was happening long after the events of his father’s abuse and his mother's negligence to put an end to it, long after he was granted his freedom in exchange for the sacrifice of something dear to him.

Sue couldn't help but to let his lips curve into a slight smile, which betrayed the look in his eyes. That something dear to him was none other than Dorothy, his beautiful, loving, caring, but naïve sister. It hurt when he made the deal with demon royalty Priscilla, who promised him freedom, the power of knowledge, the ability to explore, as well as immortality, for his position as a guard, and everyone forgot his existence when they sealed the deal by shaking hands. It hurt when she specifically forgot him, and he ended up introducing himself and pretending that she was a stranger to him. He remembered how she was always there for him…

                                             ~ * ~

Dorothy had fought her fear for the darkness and traveled down to the sewers, wax candlestick in her hand lighting the stone walls and floor, the dampness and grime, ignoring the gut-wrenching smells permeating the stuffy air. There was a door in the corner of her bedroom that gave her access to an old stairwell that lead down there, and whenever she'd eavesdrop on their parents discussing their ways of disciplining Sue, she'd use it to come down and visit him. Not before discreetly swiping the key while Georg wasn't looking, of course. This time, Georg had punished the boy for winning numerous games of chess against his business partner, playing for the man’s possessions, subtly  mocking him whenever he lost the match and had to give something up, and absolutely refused to give his expensive watches and other valuable items back to him. Her brother was funny like that, she'd watch his wit and cleverness with admiration, occasionally stifling giggles as the poor soul who dared underestimate his brain power steadily grew more frustrated.

Sue didn't look up when he heard someone unlocking the cell door, the fourteen year old child sprawled across the moldy bed on one side of the little room. His parents saw fit to move some furniture and such, like the dusty bookshelf and shabby sofa, into the room since whenever he was trapped down there, he'd be left to sit and listen to the cockroaches hiss and the mice scurry for hours. Sometimes he had to sleep an entire night down there, in complete darkness once his lone candle burned out after a while. He’d already known who it was, being that Georg and Maria wouldn't let him out so soon. His eyes were a dark brown back then, like mahogany, and they were pinned to one particular spot on the ceiling, where cobwebs hung. That day, he'd worn a simple white button-up with black overalls and slacks, his shoes and socks abandoned a little ways away. His coal black hair messily framed his face, splayed along the dirty bedspread. He still didn't look when she placed the candle on a small, low table nearby and approached him, the sound of fragile china clinking together following her.