A/N: it was late and I almost forgot to put the content warnings I'm so sorry!

A dream…a memory of the attic. That damp, dark, creaking place. I huddled in a corner while the Madame hovered over me with the whip in her hand. I remember this day. The day before, my brother put his hands on me for the first time. 

It was my thirteenth year—I didn’t understand much, only that it hurt. Even though they were biased, Father and The Madame were my parents in name. But the Madame’s response was so….terrifying. When this happened, I went to them when I was hurt and the Madame spoke with such vitriol, that it scared me. It was like I was looking into the eyes of a devil.

 “You’re exactly like that slut of a mother you had. I brought her here to this country and the gall to sleep with my husband–now you, the bastard I was kind enough to support bringing into my family and the gratitude I get is you seducing my son. LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!” Ah, that slap hurt so much. I’m back here, again.  

“Madame I—”

“Speak properly, you filthy sow.”

That’s what I was. The dirty sow that was brought to this family and treated worse than vermin. Used as a vessel for both my sister's holy powers and my brother’s desires. I hate this place, I hate these people so much. I hate this family, I hate that I share their blood, and I hate every single hand that’s touched this body of mine.

Not even a human being.

“I’m sorry Madame. I won’t do it again Madame.” I won’t look seduce to brother. I won’t try to outshine my sister, I won’t expect love from my father. I won’t expect anything else.

Tears form a small puddle at my feet as The Madame’s words drown out, backing up towards the window.

 “Irene, grab her!” 

I didn’t even realize I’d backed up enough that there were no longer floors underneath me, but instead air. As I fell, I wanted it to kill me. Unfortunately, it is not. Worse, it made things worse for me. More restrictive, rougher, harsher. I don’t want to return to the attic–suddenly there’s nothing—neither Madame Montclair nor the attic. Living miserably like that, was worse than death—at least in death, suffering would be nullified.  My morality is the only thing I truly believed I owned.

So, please show me mercy. Even though I hate this family, I’ll act accordingly so please show me mercy. But for now, 

But…did that family know mercy? 

I questioned myself as I fell. I braced for the hard ground I recalled from my memories, but it was warmth. Soft, enveloping warmth. The kind that made me want to drift forever in it. When I realized I wasn’t in that place anything, I let out a cry of relief. What followed was soft humming that sounded a bit like a lullaby, the rustling of fabric. So, it was a nightmare. I’m so relieved but I can’t stop crying…

“You’re fussy one aren’t you, crying so early. Poor thing.”