Post by Deleted on Apr 9, 2012 10:55:57 GMT -5
She woke up at a weird time, coming slightly into consciousness, but aware that she couldn't move her body...not yet. Her ears perked up and identified the music swirling around her as "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Her hand twitched and she realized that she was in a pool of something warm. And it felt like it was consuming her completely; whatever it was was in a pool around her, soaking her pajamas and running down her arms as she began regaining control of her limbs. She refused to open her eyes though...There was something off about the smell. It was sickening. She tried to breathe in to calm herself down, but she sucked in the liquid instead; it filled her mouth and she gagged violently, sputtering the dense metallic tasting liquid out of her mouth in horror. Blood.
Quinn's eyes shot open and she gasp in horror. She was indeed lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes darted all around the room and she stared at everything with alarm. She was in the Nursery. Baby Charity's nursery. The music was coming from the child's moving mobile on the top of her crib. Her crib. She slowly sat up, knowing what she would see when she did. The child was lying face up in her crib, covered in slash marks and blood. Quinn's eyes went wide as she sat there in shock. Above her dead child was a note:
Quinn's eyes narrowed and she stood up. She realized how much her stomach hurt and slowly lifted up her pajama shirt. A long bloody cut ran across her stomach, right along her waistband. Her eye twitched and she realized that they had stollen both from her in one quick movement. Instead of the pain she should have been feeling, Quinn's face hardened, consumed by anger, revenge, and loathing. Screaming filled her ears and it took her a moment to realize that it was coming from her mouth.
She must have been loud enough for some Death Eaters to hear because Barron immediately burst through the door and stopped short of the beginning of the blood pool. Quinn spun around, eye's dangerous, and stared at him, "Clean. It. Up." She said through clenched teeth, "Clean. It. UP! CLEANITUP! CLEANITUP!" She repeated and pointed toward the crib where her child lay, eternally sleeping. Her shoulders were shaking when she pushed past Barron in the doorway.
Not an hour later, Quinn stood in the Owlery, feverishly writing a letter. Her quill hit the parchment too hard and it pierced the paper, "Da.mn. Da.mn you!" She said and pulled out another piece, prepared to start again. How does one tell their ex-husband that she got their child murdered? She laughed, a chilling laugh, cool and collected, like the entire situation wasn't bothering her. It was eerie the way her mouth attempted to smile, lips pulled back over her teeth in more of an animalistic way than anything.
Did you kill them? Or did I? The words from Hecate's letter echoed through her mind. What if she had been the one to kill her child? She couldn't remember anything about the last night...she had been too drunk to notice anything. Her heart beat a little faster, but she narrowed her eyes at the parchment, reigning in the anger that threatened to split her very being into two.
She put down the piece of parchment and walked to the window, fixing her backless black dress as she went. The dress was the only part of Quinn that conveyed any sense of mourning. The rest of her was eerily calm...Plotting mentally her every move. Who to kill first. Who to attack next. She felt dangerous. A loose-cannon. A woman scored. Like the eye of a storm, just waiting for the right time to strike. She placed her hands on the window frame and stuck her head out, letting the warm spring breeze run over her face and through her hair.
Quinn's eyes shot open and she gasp in horror. She was indeed lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes darted all around the room and she stared at everything with alarm. She was in the Nursery. Baby Charity's nursery. The music was coming from the child's moving mobile on the top of her crib. Her crib. She slowly sat up, knowing what she would see when she did. The child was lying face up in her crib, covered in slash marks and blood. Quinn's eyes went wide as she sat there in shock. Above her dead child was a note:
There is always a Plan B, Quinn. You may have escaped this time, but your child hasn't. Did you kill them? Or did I?Hecate
Quinn's eyes narrowed and she stood up. She realized how much her stomach hurt and slowly lifted up her pajama shirt. A long bloody cut ran across her stomach, right along her waistband. Her eye twitched and she realized that they had stollen both from her in one quick movement. Instead of the pain she should have been feeling, Quinn's face hardened, consumed by anger, revenge, and loathing. Screaming filled her ears and it took her a moment to realize that it was coming from her mouth.
She must have been loud enough for some Death Eaters to hear because Barron immediately burst through the door and stopped short of the beginning of the blood pool. Quinn spun around, eye's dangerous, and stared at him, "Clean. It. Up." She said through clenched teeth, "Clean. It. UP! CLEANITUP! CLEANITUP!" She repeated and pointed toward the crib where her child lay, eternally sleeping. Her shoulders were shaking when she pushed past Barron in the doorway.
Not an hour later, Quinn stood in the Owlery, feverishly writing a letter. Her quill hit the parchment too hard and it pierced the paper, "Da.mn. Da.mn you!" She said and pulled out another piece, prepared to start again. How does one tell their ex-husband that she got their child murdered? She laughed, a chilling laugh, cool and collected, like the entire situation wasn't bothering her. It was eerie the way her mouth attempted to smile, lips pulled back over her teeth in more of an animalistic way than anything.
Did you kill them? Or did I? The words from Hecate's letter echoed through her mind. What if she had been the one to kill her child? She couldn't remember anything about the last night...she had been too drunk to notice anything. Her heart beat a little faster, but she narrowed her eyes at the parchment, reigning in the anger that threatened to split her very being into two.
She put down the piece of parchment and walked to the window, fixing her backless black dress as she went. The dress was the only part of Quinn that conveyed any sense of mourning. The rest of her was eerily calm...Plotting mentally her every move. Who to kill first. Who to attack next. She felt dangerous. A loose-cannon. A woman scored. Like the eye of a storm, just waiting for the right time to strike. She placed her hands on the window frame and stuck her head out, letting the warm spring breeze run over her face and through her hair.