Year: 1928
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
“Father, please--”
“No, Alistair. I have done a lot of questionable things for you. I have done as The Good Lord would want me to do. I have walked the fine line between the divine path and blasphemy for years for you, but that--I can’t do it.”
Anastasia peered around the corner as the two men fought. Alistair had asked her to stay put in his study until he came back with proper attire to replace the ones she tore, but once she had heard his voice, she couldn’t stay put. So wearing the coat he’d draped over her shoulders, she’d tip-toed out to watch him.
The priest man had his arm bandaged up and hung in a sling around his neck, and he looked beyond shaken. Anastasia felt absolutely terrible. She hadn’t meant to break his arm. She only wanted to brush his hand away. She was still getting used to this new strength she had.
“Father, she’s just a little girl.”
“That thing,” He pointed in the direction of the study she was supposed to be in with conviction. “--in there is not a little girl! That is--I-I don't know what to call it!”
“Her name is Anastasia, and she is a scared little girl who needs our support and people to help her through this…!”
“That demon needs to be put in a cage, or exorcised.”
Ana began to tremble. No. Please no, not the cages again.
“How can you say that? You saw her, you--”
“You and I must have been looking at two different things, because that Alistair, that is a crime against God, and everything the church stands for.”
“Her own father made her into--she had no choice!”
“A bastard creature like that should be burned.”
“GET OUT!” Alistair shouted, throwing his arm in the direction Anastasia assumed was the way to the front door. Or the priest’s room. “I will not have you say such wretched things about that girl! If you won't help, then you can LEAVE!”
“You shun me, instead of that agent of Lucifer? You’re choosing that monster over me?”
“The only monster under this roof is you, Brennan. For turning your back on that little girl out of fear and using God as an excuse for your bigotry.” He pointed an accusing finger in his face. “You have until morning to gather your things, and leave this property.”
Alistair turned towards the study, and Anastasia hid behind the wall. But Father Brennan stopped him--at least that's what she assumed, when the footfalls suddenly stopped.
“Look at what you are doing, Alistair. This she-devil is turning you away from the light. Let me help you, Alistair. I will save you, and banish that thing to where it belongs. Please, Alistair. Let God save you.”
Anastasia jumped when she heard a loud bang against a wall. She peered around the corner, to see Alistair’s fist in the wall, by the priest’s head. He looked furious, glaring down at the smaller man. “Get. Out. Now.”
Father Brennan was still for a moment, shoulders trembling slightly, before he edged away from Alistair, off the wall, and paced around him to go down the other hallway. Alistair pulled his hand away, sighing as flecks of red appeared on his knuckles.
Anastasia recalled the first aid kit in his study, and ran back, bare feet hardly making a sound on the wooden floor. After much searching she’d found the kit, and set it down on the floor where she knelt in front of it. She’d just gotten it open when she heard Alistair come in behind her. She didn’t turn around to look at him, though. He didn’t speak at first, a brief silence hanging in the air.
“... Anastasia. Did you leave this room?”
She didn’t respond. She picked up a bottle, read it, and held it in the rook of her elbow. She reached for the bandages as he sighed.
“....Anastasia. Did y--”
He stopped when she turned around and rushed over to him, reaching for his hand. It was a gentle, caressing touch--the total opposite of what he had witnessed before--and she pulled him over to the couch. She sat down, pulling him down to sit next to her, and dropped the things she had collected in her lap. His other arm held spare clothes for her, but he set them aside for the time being as he studied her.
Anastasia opened the disinfectant, putting a small amount onto a cotton ball. She then reached for his injured hand, holding it carefully and gently, and softly dabbed at the small wounds with extreme concentration and care. Alistair watched her in wonderment. He had seen what those hands could do--The destruction, the raw power--and yet, now her touch was unlike any trained nurse that had dressed his wounds before. She held his hand like it was the most fragile glass.
“.....You….saw all of that, didn’t you?”
Still, Anastasia hadn’t said a word. She kept diligently working, cleaning his small lacerations with total focus. Alistair sighed.
“.... Please … don’t let what he said get to you. Father Brennan is a very religious, close minded man, but ... he, usually means well. He just …. I mean, he didn’t...he doesn’t, know, how to--”
Anastasia shook her head. “It is fine. Not first time. Will not be last time.”
Alistair’s heart sank. “....I’m so sorry, Anastasia.”
She shrugged, setting down the cotton ball, and reaching for the gauze. She avoided making eye contact with him, because she knew her eyes would betray her. Every time someone referred to her as a monster, or a demon, a hell spawn, a freak, a beast, a crime against whatever god they prayed to, or anything in between, it tore her apart. She’d lie awake, sobbing, clawing at her own skin in self loathing and desperation to free herself of this unfamiliar vessel. Of course, any marks she made, any blood she drew, healed completely by the next day, as if there had been nothing there. She couldn’t stand it. She hated it. Hated this skin. Hated this blood. Hated this anger. Hated ‘Him’.
She hated herself.
Once she had finished dressing his wound, Anastasia let go of his hand, sitting back, staring into her lap. Alistair was quiet, before muttering a small “Thank you.” Anastasia shrugged in reply.
He sighed to himself. He only wished...he could do something more for her, to ease her suffering. “...It’s rather late. Would you like me to take you to your room? Mary had it prepared for you while we all….spoke, earlier.”
“......Nu.”
“...Aren’t you tired, Anastasia?”
A shrug was all he got in reply.
“...Don’t you want to go to sleep?”
“......Cosmaruri.”
“I’m sorry?”
“...Nightmares.”
Alistair nodded. “I see…”
“....rry..”
Alistair looked puzzled. “Yes, Anastasia?”
“......” She just shook her head. But Alistair had heard her--well, her thoughts.
“....Anastasia, none of this is your fault. We’re all new to this. All of us. It’s going to take some time, but...you’ll fit right in around here. I’m not the only oddball here, you know.” He smiled, trying to get her to smile too. It was small, but she reciprocated it.
“We’ll all need time to adjust. We’ll go however fast or slow you need. Until you’re ready to move around on your own or meet the others, you can stay by me. Is that OK?”
“....Da.”
“Good.” He smiled again. “You may sleep in here, if you want. I’ve got a desk to fix after all.” He chuckled a bit. Anastasia smiled, but still felt bad that she had wrecked it. However, she was relieved by the offer. She nodded in affirmation, and he rose from the couch.
“I’ll leave so you can dress, and while i'm out I can grab some bla--”
“Nu.”
“....No?”
Anastasia shook her head.
“Suit yourself. Call me back once you're dressed.”
She nodded, watching him leave. She waited until the door had shut completely before reaching for the night gown he’d retrieved for her. It was white, very lightweight and lacy around the neck and sleeves. She pondered for a moment, how to put it on. After some wrestling with the fabric to get it over her head and slip her arms through, she pulled it down and looked over herself. It reached her feet, just barely brushing the floor beneath. The lace felt itchy around the scars on her arms, so she pulled at the seam until it snapped. Now instead of the end of the sleeve tightly wrapping around her arm, puffing the sleeves up around her shoulders, they hung loosely down her biceps. Much better, in her opinion.
“Done.”
Alistair opened the door, only briefly glancing over her.
“It looks good. Fits alright?”
“Da.”
“Good. Mary was worried it might be too long. I’m going to see what I can do about fixing this desk over here. I’ll keep the noise down, you get some rest.”
Anastasia nodded again, laying down and curling up to one of the couch pillows. Alistair passed by her, ruffling her short hair. She’d stiffened at the touch initially, but she didn’t move to push him away. It reminded her of the good times with her father. When she’d come bounding in, arms outstretched as he lifted her in the air and spun her around, before setting her on his hip and giving her a kiss. He used to ruffle her hair like that. His hand was always rough though, and left her hair a mess. But Alistair’s hand was...different. It was gentle. Tender.
She curled up more around the pillow, forcing her eyes shut. She prayed for a dreamless sleep. She hated her nightmares. They plagued her most every night, and left her waking up screaming. She had even woken to find her arms turning those awful colors, her eyes blackened like the beast that slept within her.
Speaking of, she hadn’t heard ‘his’ voice since that Jody boy picked her up and brought her here. Where had ‘he’ gone? Anastasia tried calling out to him again, only to be met with silence. Was ‘he’ really gone…?
“Goodnight, Anastasia.” Alistair called back to her, picking up pieces of wood, trying to see what he could salvage from the shattered desk. Goodnight. No one had told her goodnight for years. No one with a body of their own, anyway. It was...wonderful, to hear it from someone else. And for the first time in a long time, Anastasia felt peaceful. Safe.....
“...Noapte bună, Domnule Alistair.”
Drawn; 2015
