Now I lay me down to sleep
Nawr rwy'n gosod mi i lawr i gysgu
Pray the Lord my soul to keep
Gweddïwch yr Arglwydd yn fy enaid i gadw
If I die before I wake
Os byddaf yn marw cyn i mi ddeffro
I pray for you my soul to take
Yr wyf yn gweddïo i chi fy enaid i gymryd
I remember the warm quilt blanket. It was... Nice. It made me happy. And in my youth, that was good. I deserved to be happy. Everyone deserved to be happy. My mother, my father, my big sister, myself.
Happy.
I was so happy back then, I never complained when I was woken up early on a Sunday to attend Mass- I was born on a Sunday, by the way- and I never complained when I didn't get my 25 cent allowance. I was okay with that; I was only four. I hadn't earned my keep yet.
My parents were Irish, immigrants of the Potato Famine, but I was born in America, therefore an automatic citizen. They didn't make much, but my father knew people; he was a very charismatic person, and it helped he'd earned his right to be called an American citizen. Not to mention he was an excellent cook.
We got by better than many did. We lived in comfort.
People didn't really treat us nicely as normal Americans, but it was okay. We were happy knowing God cared for us to give us comforts like a nice house, an icebox to keep food, and beds for us to sleep in.
And oh, how I loved God. He was the Savior, the Lord Almighty- one day, I prayed, I would see Him, and bask in His holy glory. I prayed and prayed and prayed for that to happen.
It was a rather exciting time. Everyone was getting richer, the stock markets soaring like the growing buildings in New York, where we lived nearby. I heard whispers of danger involving the stock markets, though it was widely ignored. People where relying on it to much. Something was bound to give.
And they were right.
With one tidal wave like motion, everything I'd loved- the warm blanket, warm mother, warm feelings, and my God- all left.
I felt cold, and for a long time, dark.
It was the Great Depression.
And I don't think they could have worded it any better.
A young girl flinched as the needle pricked her finger again, her long, brown hair falling off her shoulder at the movement. Her job was to sew up anything the machines missed, which was a lot, considering the littler girls couldn't sew to save their lives. This was sad, because it did.
She eyed the woman surveying them; honestly, did they think an eight-year-old would pocket string? What for? It's not like she had clothes that she could sew up. The grey sack she called a dress now? All she had.
She tried to ignore the pain. She wiped the bead of blood off on her dress; small dots of red had begun to make a rather comical face.
She shook her head. Just think about the last math problem you did, the one Maybelle taught you last, she thought bitterly. It sent jolts of anger through her body when she remembered what happened to Maybelle.
She wished she'd never heard her scream like that.
There was no funeral for her. There was no body either; she'd gotten trapped in the machine's downstairs. What was left was thrown to the fire; rather barbaric, but that was America. And after all, nobody was there to care about her.
It was that damned hair bow...
"5x+5= 25: minus 25 and 5, get 20, then divide 20 by 5x, receive 4, therefore-"
The little girl yelped as she was smacked by a yardstick. "You aren't working. Hannah Ashby... Typical. An Ashby, lazy as ever. I remember eating your father's food once, you know... It was bland, no taste. In fact, I do believe they spat in my steak. Seems they did the same to you… Hm. Bland and dry. With your ugly face, it won't be a surprise when you can't find a man to support you." The woman declared, smirking smugly.
Hannah, the little girl, hated her with a passion. She hated the idea of a man supporting her, and for that reason, it seemed as though she was being singled out.
But she supposed it was her fault. After all, she had a mouth on her. She'd made enemies with the adult staff there, and the queen enemy happened to be the woman before her. Keep in mind; calling one's boss an old, makeup plastered hag is not a good idea, no matter who you are.
The woman- Miriam, Hannah realized, was her name- appeared to be in thought. "Go down to the machines. Send Angela Baker up. Maybe she'll do a better job than you." She ordered, slapping Hannah's behind to hurry her as she stood up.
Hannah growled a bit under her breath. Her blue eyes filled with spite for the place she lived in; or rather, worked in. She barely slept. She knew there had to be places where she was treated better. She tried to think of a happier time, four years ago.
She shut her eyes. Now wasn't the time. She didn't understand why she was assigned to stitching anyways. After all, she was seven. Her fingers were stubby and clumsy. She missed more than the machines did.
Hopefully she'd have better luck downstairs.
Pfft, yeah right.
She let out a loud gasp as she tripped on the last step, and felt tears in her eyes as her dress ripped under her foot. She was prepared to be hit, or laughed at because she was now topless.
But neither ever came.
"Oh, my… Aren't you just the little cutie?"
"YOUNG MISS!"
Hannah jumped. What was that…? She wondered curiously. She heard someone screaming, but there was no one in danger.
Who is 'Young Miss'?
Gentle hands lifted her up, causing her to jump again, and wiped the tears from her eyes. "There, there... Don't cry. I hate to see children so cute cry." A soft, feminine voice whispered. It was like raven feathers brushing against her ears; it made Hannah stop bawling instantly.
Hannah looked up to meet a pair of bright green eyes. The color itself wasn't bright; they were emerald. But they did appear to shine under impossibly long eyelashes. The woman's ruby lips curled into a gentle smile, like a mother.
The little girl suddenly felt her heart skip a beat. The woman was absolutely, no doubt, completely and totally the most beautiful creature she had ever seen in her entire life. Her skin was a creamy pale color, her eyebrows perfectly arched, and her hair a deep ebony, curled at the ends like a princess's locks. She wore a black button-up dress with a dark grey overcoat, and a black woman's hat with a small raven feather sticking out of the dark green ribbon.
Beautiful.
She kneeled carefully, grabbed Hannah's ripped front, and tied the two ripped ends into a knot. "There. Will this suffice?" She breathed, revealing perfectly straight and white teeth.
Hannah felt her face heat up considerably. She looked away, glaring at nothing. "Yeah... T-Thank you." She mumbled. For some reason, she felt unworthy to look the woman in the eye.
She heard the woman laugh- tinkling, sweet laughter. "Oh, a 'thank you'. How ladylike... Don't be shy. We're both ladies. I won't tell."
Hannah smiled a bit at that. She liked this woman; she was the nicest adult she'd known since the Depression started.
The woman seemed to study Hannah for a moment, before letting her tongue swiftly guide along the ruby on her mouth. "I hate to leave this alone. Tell you what- come back here after you finish work. If you stand here by the door until everyone else leaves, I'll fix your dress free of charge. Can you prove to me that you can remember that?" She asked kindly.
Hannah grinned wider, and nodded quickly. "Yes Ma'am!" She cried, curtsying like the lady the woman said she was. The woman grinned as well, copying her happy look.
But… something about hers… Something was off about the woman. Hannah knew that much.
"Good girl. Prove to me now that you can do this."
Hannah was all smiles as she ran into the main machine room. She didn't let the loud sound of clanking gears disturb her; she was getting her dress repaired- for nothing, nonetheless! It didn't even bother her that she never knew the woman's name. She knew it was bad manners; but the lady didn't ask for her name either, so they were both at fault.
"Angela!" She cried, giggling as the girl jumped. Angela, to describe her simply, had lots of freckles, red hair, and green eyes; another Irish, though more obvious. She had five brothers and sisters to take care of, including a jobless father.
Hannah thought she should feel sympathy, but, honestly, she didn't give a damn. She had her own problems. If Angela lost her job due to her jumpy attitude and nervousness, then that would mean Hannah would be promoted and be paid more.
That's all that mattered; even if it was a little, it was always nice to be paid more.
Personally, she liked Angela.
Job wise? She could roll in shit.
Work needed to be done with precision, seriousness. If someone couldn't do a job, then they should find something they could do.
Angela bowed to Hannah after she repeated what Miriam said, and then ran past her. Hannah took her place in the line, smiling smugly as she received angry glances from the older children.
They had seen the woman from the window. They knew it meant something; they just didn't know what.
Hannah sighed quietly as she watched the others pass by her. She didn't know it would be so boring to do so- but she had promised, and she didn't betray her own word.
A large, thirteen year old boy stared with anger as he lumbered past. She stuck her tongue out, and lifted up her dress to reveal pumpkin panties- a joke they had, a sign to, "roll in dung", as one put.
She didn't even realize that was the last person before she heard the screech of someone yelling at her to move along.
"But, I-!" Hannah began, her blue eyes widening with worry. Where was the woman? Was she lied to? It wouldn't be the first time.
No.
"It's alright. I'll take care of her."
Hannah gasped, her face lighting up as she spun around and met an expensive fabric. She pouted in confusion; nobody could afford that kind of textile anymore. Not since the stock market crashed. Everyone had to sell that kind of thing...
The person who yelled seemed surprised, then horrified. They backed away immediately, calling out about having to go home to family.
Hannah giggled at the hasty retreat; they must have been afraid of women. Or children... she thought. "Pedophobia." She mumbled.
The woman- the same one from before- clapped a bit. "Such a large word for a small child." She told the girl, taking her by the hand. "Now, let's see about that rip, hm?"
"-And did you know that puppets can't actually come to life, like they always say? That one time it was worms in its head!"
"I didn't know that, Miss Hannah. Wow..."
Hannah had a feeling the woman was patronizing her. The bigger question was not if she was, but why.
The woman's name was still a mystery. No matter how many times Hannah asked for it, the woman just laughed and told her she wasn't supposed to know yet.
Hannah felt very comfortable around her, despite the refusal to state the woman's own name. It was almost like she was her elder sister, or mother.
But there was still that something. The woman kept eyeing her, glancing from the corner of her eye, as if Hannah would run if she didn't watch her.
Hannah soon found out why. She gasped as the woman stopped stitching and pressed her ear against her chest, her green eyes alight with curiosity. Her skin was cold, which was expected; it was the middle of winter outside.
"You have such a steady, rhythmic-like heartbeat... You must be a very good soul." She stated.
Maybe that was it; she was one of those "gypsies". They said things like that, didn't they? Maybe that was why she had that aura of mystery.
Hannah shrugged. "I dunno." She answered flatly. "I've never seen my own soul." She hopped off the stool and away from the woman to look into the mirror. She grinned; her dress, while still grey, was much nicer. It actually had buttons now.
Hannah saw the woman narrow her eyes out of the corner of her eye. She turned, and frowned. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I really like the improvements, really."
The woman raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, she laughed, revealing all of her teeth and the arch of the roof of her mouth. "I'm glad." She answered after she stopped, almost too pleasantly.
Hannah gulped. I should be leaving... She thought fearfully. I don't want to end up like that one kid...
"Hannah. I want to give you something." The woman stated suddenly. She reached into the pocket of her coat, fishing around for the item.
Hannah's eyes lit up with the thought of money. What was she thinking, about this beautiful, kind lady being a kidnapper? If she had cash, she didn't care! She ran to her, her hands outstretched and her eyes expectant.
But she did not receive money. Instead, a small, silver ring fell into her palm- no jewel, just a ring. Hannah let out a loud huff of disappointment. "But I'm not allowed to wear jewelry. You can keep it." She grunted disappointedly. She placed it back into the woman's palm, chewing the inside of her cheek- a habit of hers.
The woman's mouth dropped open in surprise. She stood there, stunned, as Hannah turned and walked out without even turning around.
"Thank you for the dress!"
SLAM!
She blinked once. Twice. Then her eyes turned an angrier green, and she growled deep in her throat, her teeth bore like a wolf.
How dare she, how dare she, how dare she...!
A small spark went down her spine, causing her to gasp. She was... angry? A seven year old child made her this way? She let the idea sink into her skin. She took a deep breath, her eyes half lidded.
Then, she smiled.
"Fascinating..."
The days passed, and Hannah didn't see the woman again.
She'd been permanently removed from upstairs- now she worked with the older children. For her, this meant the coming of age, that she was growing up. She felt sad, knowing that wasn't the normal way to celebrate. But what could she do? Such as life.
"Hannah!" called James, a boy she'd rather taken a fancy to during her time there. He had wavy black hair and pretty blue eyes. He was a handsome boy, and he was nicer to her than the others were.
Hannah turned on her heels at the call of her name, smiling happily when James halted in chasing after her, his body bent in half and his breathing ragged.
"I need your help!" He cried, frowning suddenly.
Hannah pouted. Oh, boy, what did he do? She thought fearfully.
"Marcus! Marcus is stuck in the machine! His sleeve jammed it, so it's not running- but he's stuck, and if he yanks it free, he'll jam his other arm! I'd help him, but us big kids are too, well, BIG! We need someone small like you to squeeze them in and rip the sleeve a bit so he can break free!" James exclaimed.
Hannah let her mouth drop open at the proposal. "B-But... I-I'll die." She whimpered fearfully.
James shook his head. "No, ya won't! I said rip it a bit! That way, you can crawl out and then Marcus can tug his sleeve free!"
The smaller child's mouth turned into an "o" in surprise. That did seem like a good idea. She nodded.
"I'll do it!"
A large grin graced James's face. "Thank you, squirt." He cooed, stroking Hannah's hair.
Hannah heard the elder children cheer as she reached for Marcus's sleeve. He stared at her fearfully, no doubt praying that she wouldn't make things worse.
Hannah gripped his sleeve tightly when a rather nasty though entered her mind. If Marcus dies... Then I get to move up, and get paid one cent more, she thought with a small smile. All I could do was pull the wrong way...
The factory became silent, as though it sensed what she was thinking. Hannah smiled wider, and her eyes dilated with what only could be described as madness.
I need that money...
Then she pulled.
A loud shout rang the air. Hannah hurried out, a large smile on her face. I did it... Now I'm going to get moved up! Sh-Should I be this happy about killing someone...? She turned, ready to watch the bloodshed. W-Why? If you can't get caught... It's okay. Besides, Marcus is a jerk anyways. He's that boy that glared at me the day I met that lady.
Her eyes lit up with malice. She could see the gears begin to turn...
Now was the time.
With a loud rip... Marcus yanked himself free.
But Hannah was yanked back.
Hannah didn't even register what happened, it was too sudden. But she realized as she fell onto her back, with horror, she had been too close. A knot in her hair got caught on one of the gears without her knowing it- her hair was that long.
It was slow and painful. The cloth from the sleeve was jamming the gear, making it turn slower. Hannah was stuck. The gear pulled and yanked on her hair, yanking out several strips and pulling at her scalp.
She screamed loudly in agony, tears flowing down her face. "HELP! OH GOD, HELP ME!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, her back arching at the immense pain. Blood poured from the back of her skull down her neck, turning her dress black. She began to pray inside her mind, begging God to save her, but let out more pitiful screams as she was lifted off the ground by the gear, her legs kicking like a roach being lifted off the ground.
She reached out when James came close to her. The small child smiled with relief. James will save me! He's such a courageous person-!
"See you later, brat."
...What?
Hannah let out a shaky breath, her smile fading a bit. What did he just say...?
James backed up with a smirk, and turned away. "You okay, Marcus?" he asked, completely ignoring the eight-year-old's existence.
"Yeah! Thanks!"
"Let's celebrate tonight! We'll sneak out, just the lot of us!"
"Yeah! Good idea, Nathan!"
…Wait… WHAT?
Hannah finally registered what was occurring, and let out a long, piercing scream. "HELP ME!"
James flinched at her voice, while the other children fell silent. He turned his head, and smirked. "Why?" he asked cheerfully.
The little girl gasped, and let tears pour down her face again. She screamed more and more, until her throat bled, like her scalp. She began to feel light headed; but she figured it didn't matter.
She was going to die anyway.
I don't wanna die...! I don't wanna die! Hannah screamed inside her head. She howled at the pain again, but the other children just laughed and pointed. It made her think bitterly, her fists clenching tightly.
Hmpf... This is what I get... I was going to let Marcus die. I deserve this. I deserve this pain... But... I don't deserve to die!
FSSHT!
Hannah screamed as the world flashed before her, and then yelped as she hit a hard surface. She whimpered, and kept her eyes shut- surely she was dead. But she breathed in the smell of coal and oil. And the surface she was on was dirty marble.
She was alive.
I'm alive...? Hannah thought incredulously. Blue eyes snapped open to examine the world around her. She was on the ground, sprawled on her stomach. The children surrounded her, crying and trying to help her up.
She howled with hatred, and shoved them away. Her blood stained the floor as she shook her head. She forced down the urge to vomit; she was too lightheaded.
"I hate... I-I hate you... ALL OF YOU! I HATE YOU!"
Hannah shoved James away as he attempted to get near. She didn't care how she was freed; she just wanted to know why the other children would just stand by and let her die.
Even Angela...
Miss Miriam had impeccable timing, it seemed. How unlucky for her. She walked in, and screeched at the sight. "That machine! It's got hair and blood in it! Now it's ruined!" She cried, her sharp eyes darting down to Hannah. "YOU!"
Hannah yelped as she was kicked back onto her feet. "You are FIRED! Don't even come back here!" Miriam barked, grabbing her by the collar. Hannah's head lolled to the side. Her mind was so fuzzy...
She uttered no sound as she was thrown out into the freezing streets. Miriam eyed her with absolute detest.
"What a piece of shit..."
Why? Why me? Why do I have to be the one that suffers like this? Why, God? Why did you do this to me? If you love me, save me! Why didn't you save me when I was screaming in agony? Why weren't you there telling me I would be alright? What have I done to be hurt so? If you love your children, WHY?
WHY
WHY
WHY?
Hannah whimpered as she regained consciousness. She knew she had wandered a while after she'd been thrown out, no place to go. She was surprised she hadn't bled to death yet.
Or... Am I already dead?
Hannah rubbed her eyes as she surveyed her surroundings; a frozen garden, like a park, almost. Nothing was untouched; a soft frost covered every inch, as far as she could see.
There was a bench next to a soft grayish blue fence, and then a small forest of soft blue trees. In between them was a set of swings, a child's slide, and an empty sandbox. She was sitting in the small clearing behind the slide, surrounded by pure white flowers.
She remembered her parents then. They loved to take her to a park exactly like this. In fact, it was where they had been the day they heard the news that her father lost his job.
She began to cry suddenly. It wasn't loud wails; just soft crying, so soft that only she could hear. She began to shake as well, trembling with both the weight of her life and the freezing air.
Everything is just so cold…
Hannah blinked slowly, a deep sigh leaving her lungs. She felt so sleepy, as if she could just lie down, even though she guessed if she did she'd never awaken.
What does it matter? She thought depressingly. Who will be there to care?
Her head lolled, her body shutting down into an eternal sleep, fully ready to simply stop working…
But it never got the chance.
A soft, velvety object sprouted up from the ground where her hand was, nudging it a bit and causing her to jump in shock. She lifted it, and gasped with awe, her sapphire orbs alighting with utmost curiosity.
It was a black rose, with an emerald green stem, fresh and crisp in an all white background. Hannah had never seen anything so beautiful. The rose was perfect in every way; the petals weren't wilting, the thorns were littered about in a way that was pleasing to the eye, and the snow melted on the flower as though it was burning with heat.
She loved it. In fact, it was the thing she'd most desired since she was a very small child. More than the wish to die, she wished to somehow be able to keep that rose.
Mine… It should be mine…
Deciding that she'd have it for herself, she carefully plucked it from the ground. However, as she stared at the flower in her hand, she realized with horror that the plant would die then.
And, for some odd reason, that was when she broke down and began to wail. It was loud, pitiful, and rang through the empty air.
That was all she was, after all. Pitiful. She held the rose close to her freezing body, as if that would help. "I'm sorry…" She whispered to it, the guilt and hatred for her own life weighing like a million bricks on her shoulders. "I'm sorry I'm so pitiful…"
"…Why did you pick that...?"
Hannah's head snapped up in shock. A voice had called out to her, in a dreamy, soft voice- like a whisper, almost. A breath like gust of wind trailed down her neck, bringing the stinging sensation of a tender scalp to her attention. She sat up carefully, her body trembling and cringing in discomfort. She gulped, her eyes darting around for the source of the faraway voice.
"I-I wanted it..." She answered with just as soft a voice, not sure who it was that was talking to her. Perhaps it was God, finally pitying His child.
Perhaps it was the opposite.
"You wanted it..." The voice repeated, almost dreamily, as if it couldn't believe her words.
"Who are you?" Hannah called out curiously, shuddering from the cold for the umpteenth time.
"Look at your hand. Who do you think I am, Hannah?"
Her mouth fell open in shock. It knows who I am…? H-How? She pondered did as she was told without second thought, and glanced down at her hand. It struck her instantly; the voice was emanating from the rose. The rose was glowing softly with a dark grey hue, and a pair of eyes seemed to appear when she stared to long without a certain focus, like an illusion.
"What do you wish for, Young Miss? What do you want?" The rose asked, the voice still so soft and silvery.
And familiar…
Hannah closed her eyes. She thought back on her past... On the incident before she was here. On her "God", and how He blatantly ignored her when she, an avid Catholic, was close to death- TWICE. How she felt to utterly pitiful and useless… So weak…
So… human.
She gritted her teeth, her face contorting in rage. She reached behind her, and rubbed the back of her head gingerly. She flinched at the drying blood; her head was still tender. She let out a soft wheeze, and gripped the rose so tightly that her hand began to bleed as well. To her shock, the red fluid turned black and raced up her arm to the back of her head, where it seeped back into her skull, instantly numbing the pain.
She smiled, her eyes drooping closed. The rose had shown more kindness to her in one moment than God had in years.
What do I want…?
Her body was next to frozen. Her head pulsed with what little blood she had left. And her heart...?
Already blacker than night.
As she uttered her next sentence, a soft burning feeling began to appear under her right ear.
A girl denounced her God.
A Seal was made.
And a Demon made its contract.
"I want...Everything."