H&S: Story Of Dorothy Oneshots

My Dear Sue

Dorothy was coming to the end of her bizarre adventure, navigating her way through the dark corridors of the sewer with a lit candlestick after having fallen down there from a trapdoor above. She looked like she survived hell and lived to tell the tale (which was actually pretty true). Torrents of sour-smelling sweat slickened her skin, plastering her dress, which was splattered with blood and filth, to her slim body and her tangerine-tinted hair, which used to look so glossy, to her forehead. She no longer looked like the frightened, innocent little twelve-year-old girl on the first floor, she looked fierce and fearless as she paid no mind to the long-dried rust-colored blood splashed across the gray brick walls and stone floor. Carelessly crunching the skeletal remains with her cute black shoes, cracking skulls and ribcages lying about. Dark expression uncharacteristically glued to her petite face.

Sue looked surprised by this change when he appeared to her, after she placed the spring in the grandfather clock, in that decrepit bedroom strewn with mucus, moss, and slime. She seemed to glower at him without even showing it, her eyes piercing his with an accusatory stare. Thinking of the object stashed in the pocket of her skirt. Her gaze confused and unnerved him at first, but he assumed she looked that way because she was either in shock, blamed him for all this, or both.

“You made it this far?” Sue asked, standing two or three feet away. His formal attire still looked crisp and clean, considering how much time he seemed to spend in the sewers. Her dress had long lost its pristine condition, ever since she started fighting back against the monsters that terrorized her. She fled from the giant skull, killer toy rabbit, man-eating flower, and bloodied maid on their each respective floor, but on the fifth storey of the house when they all returned, her anger and frustration boiled over. She had had enough being pushed around.  

“Yes.” Dorothy replied, a hostile strain in her voice. Her hands twitched, a red fluid soiling her gloves. “Why do you think I'm here? Devil.” She spat out that last part with hatred coating her tone, the raven-haired child was instantly taken aback, but she showed no regret. His purple cat-like eyes didn't seem to unease her anymore. They were just a reminder of what he was.  

“...And your memories have returned?” Sue continued, noticeably more downtrodden than before. His thick black eyebrows were curved upward, and the faint trace of the smile, that seemed to beg for her to treat this twisted mess like a fun, harmless game again vanished.

Dorothy's breathing instantaneously grew more ragged, coming out in fast puffs through her nose and her chest heaving outward and inward in sync with it. Her pretty eyes clouded over with tears of anger, and grief for her family, not just her parents, but her servants who shouldn't have gotten involved with this in the first place. She didn't blame herself one bit, it was all his fault, he took advantage of her for no good reason and watched her suffer without remorse. With each game she lost in trying to get them back, more lives were stolen away, making her more desperate and persistent than before. Dorothy didn't care if her greed for presents trapped her in this disaster first, she wasn't the one who wrapped vines around two maids’ throats until their necks bled, and she certainly wasn't the one who killed her parents. She reached into her dress pocket, arm shaking with anticipation.

Unbeknownst to both of them, there was a spectator among them, purposefully remaining unseen. She watched as Dorothy grasped the handle of her large carving knife, the one she'd taken from the toy rabbit the last time it chased after her. She'd gotten the cutter tool for the sacks of grain in the storage room, and a little after finding the monster representing one of her gifts, she slashed it like a ninja mincing fruit mid-air, blood pouring out instead of stuffing. The girl wasn't stupid, she knew she was never going to win against him, she wanted to kill him for ruining her life. Hatred blinded her better judgment, stifling her morality and snuffing out what mercy or sanity she had left. In the ice room, she had grabbed an icicle spiking up from the frozen floor, and used it to stab the bloody maid’s heart until blood squirted her face like a geyser. She found a way to get the bloody gears in the gear room to start working again, then lead the giant skull inside only to shove it in the grinding metal, shattering the bone. For the flower, she'd saved some of that honey poison from the third floor and splashed it over its petals, watching it shrivel up and crumple on the ground, dripping honey.