the art of letting go

dorothea anais petit. french vampire. 6977 years frozen. turned at 23. tortured soul. uncivilised. ♧ ♤ "How much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?" —— RICHARD SILKEN.

[dottiepetit]

julietta-castiglione:

She had spent the beginning of the ball with Gabriella, but she knew she would have to split her time between the girls that came with her. Dottie got jealous easily, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before the girl was on the verge of breaking down. Hazel eyes groomed the room before spotting Dottie, a concerned sigh leaving her lips when she saw the signs of the girl’s anxiety getting the best of her.

She excused herself from being with Gabbie and rushed through the crowd, pulling Dottie into her arms as soon as she could and shushing her to calm her down. “No, it’s ok. You’re ok, everything is going to be ok,” she said softly. “I stepped away for a little but I’m here now and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Her eyes widened when Dottie latched onto her, she knew it was the girl’s coping mechanism but Julietta wasn’t a fan of doing things in public, “Agnellino, would you like to go somewhere a little more private?”

Dottie felt at ease in her arms, again—it had been difficult to be left alone, to watch her happy with someone else.  (For a moment, earlier, she had considered leaving when she watched them dancing.)  But, jealousy was removed from her mind when she felt the softness, when she knew that she was safe in this place with the loud sounds and all of the people talking.  This, indeed, was her escape: she would hold onto it, tightly, and grip onto her with all of her little might.

(She was not strong, kept locked up too long, but she would try.)

“The people here want to kill me with their voices,” she released her nipple for a moment to speak, peering up at her with terror in her eyes.  It was too loud: she was sure her ear drums would soon burst. 

“Mummy, I’ll go anywhere you want... away from these people...” she looked at her wide eyed, clutching onto her.  A finger came up, delicate, to circle the wet spot on Julietta’s dress.  “I want to be with you, mummy, but I don’t want... I don’t want to be scared anymore,” she clings to her again, little arms holding on for dear life.

[dottiepetit]

magicalkayla:

Kayla had been sitting at a table drinking some water. “It’s been a long time since I last went to a ball like this. How is your night going?”

Dottie moved away from the crowd of people—she felt uncomfortable when she was around too many, prayed that she could be back in the basement with only her own thoughts as company.  When another speaks, she moves as if she has been startled.  It takes her a moment to gather herself, lips pursed together in delay.

“I’ve never been to one of these,” she replies, mechanical in her response.  “Do they always move like that?” she points to people dancing, in confusion.

[dottiepetit]

dcmienx:

Hidden faces and sinful intentions dance around the vampire, as he remains in place. Damien is standing at the bar, his arm resting on its counter. He’s lost in thought, though his eyes are set on specific, auburn haired head. As he senses the presence of another, he shifts his position and turns to see who it is.

This place is too much for her—it overwhelms her, as if she is drowning in a sea of bodies.  At once, she is frantic: she is searching for an exit, for some kind of familiarity.  Until, she sees him: and for a moment, it is like a bad dream where she might want to gauge her eyes out.  (She does not know why he stands out, why she wants to flee when she catches his eye across the room.)  Instead, she stands there and mirrors his exact stance—she lets her face fall into the same expression, holds herself in the same way, lest she give too much of herself away.

[dottiepetit]

She had been separated from Julietta somewhere in the room.

At first, it had been okay—she had dealt with it, observed the people and wondered what this place was, with all of its grace.  But, the music had gotten louder and the crowd had grown thicker until she was increasingly uncomfortable, until she was clawing at her own ears again because it was too loud.  She was a mess: suddenly the room was spinning, suddenly her eyes were blood shot and the sound was vibrating in her head.

Until, she saw comfort approaching—until she saw the brunette, and quickly threw herself at Julietta, wide eyed and scared.  “I thought I was lost, it’s... everyone, evereywhere,” she was incoherently mumbling, arms wrapping around her.

In the middle of the room, she didn’t even bother to care that they were surrounded.  Here, it was just them.  And so, she tried to find comfort without a word: without a second thought, she latched onto Julietta’s nipple through the material of her dress and began to suckle, hard, through the outside of the dress.

[dottiepetit]

[julietta-castiglione]

[everythingdakotajohnson]

[dottiepetit]

julietta-castiglione:

Julietta turned when she heard the familiar voice. She remembered seeing Dottie for the first time, frail, unable to care for herself and confused by the outside world. She remembered having to teach her how to walk all over again and how to survive. “Agnellino!” she yelled out in return, hugging the younger brunette close to her. “I told you we’d never be apart for too long. How are you my sweet little lamb? Have you been okay all on your own?” When Dottie insisted on being alone, Julietta allowed her to, knowing that fate would bring them together again if it was meant to be.

She has not felt safe since she left—but here, with her face pressed against her chest, she feels safe.  It is like being back in her basement: it is like the familiarity of darkness, of the smell of dirt and earth that she had lived with for too long.  Mummy is like her personal sanctuary; and she feels immediately at ease now.  (She softens under her touch, lets the tension in her little body go now that she knows she is not alone again.)

“Mummy,” she whispers the word, for it is comfort on her tongue and she must repeat it again.  “I have been scared, there is too much here,” she tries to find the right words to explain how overwhelmed she has been.  And, instead, she bursts into tears—she has cried, once, since arriving and was confused by the sensation.  But now, she is sobbing: and she is getting confused, working herself up with the loud sounds that come through her lips.  But, she has missed her: she has missed her so much that she cannot control her body, cannot control this emotional response.

[dottiepetit]

amorxdulce:

Dulce let out a small sigh, it pained her to see another girl like this. She always tried her best to make the girls at home see things positively but here, things were ten times more difficult. “Good,” she said with a smile before watching the other step back. She put her hands up and shook her head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get that close. I’ll keep my distance if that’s you’re comfortable with.” The younger woman frowned, “Everyone’s special in their own way and everyone deserves to have someone to look out for them. I’m sorry that you think you don’t deserve that but you do.”

Dottie does not understand the sound that comes from the girl’s mouth.  (A sigh, the concept is foreign to her.)  And so, she repeats the sound—she does her best to mirror it, to use breath from deep in her lungs and let it out.  It sounds similar enough, but it isn’t a small sound: it’s loud and it’s full of breath she didn’t even know she had.  “I prefer space, people who get close can hurt you,” she whispers, her eyes are full of fear—but the back of her mind reminds her that she likes to be hurt, that she longs for it.

“I do, you don’t know me,” she is resolute when she speaks again, sad little eyes peering back at the girl.

[dottiepetit]

pvige:

A familiar sensation waves over Paige. One that she thought she has left in the past. One she believed she’d outgrown. Fear.

The question makes Paige tilt her head. This unsettling feeling lingers in her stomach as the vampire grabs a piece of her golden locks. She inhales a soft gasp. ❝No,❞ she denies, her voice is gentle. ❝I’m Paige, not Dolly, Paige.❞

The girl takes a step, needing to distance herself from such a creature. Paige concludes that she’s not well. Perhaps, all the years have caused the woman to go mad. She has no desire to be proven right.

She then notices her sadness. She’s like a lost child built into the form of an adult woman. It’s all bizarre. Paige cannot help but be sympathetic.

❝I’m sure your Dolly loves you,❞ the blonde ensures. ❝But..sweetheart, I’m not her…❞

Dottie is staring at her, intensely so: does she not remember their conversations in the dark?

(You’re my best friend Dolly, she would tell her, dressing her in the nicest silk cloths that Papa had brought back from his visits.)

Sometimes, she made sure to turn Dolly away when Papa violated her—when he was taking little pieces of her for when he would go outside of the basement, so he could be strong to deal with the monsters outside.  She would make sure Dolly didn’t see it: she wasn’t strong enough, she was too little and scared.

But, this Dolly doesn’t remember—and she is intensely sad.  Dottie looks like a grieving child: like a doll whose arms have been pulled off, she is shattered.

Not Dolly, the girl says—and she is wiping at her eyes again, staring down at the water that comes from out of her eyes with absolute confusion.  She sniffs the water, tastes it, stares at it for too long.

“Will you be my new dolly?” she asks.  Her voice is small: like a little child, like a little girl who wants a shred of normality in this new world.  “I promise to call you Paige and take care of you all the time?” she is pleading with big eyes, so child-like and scared of this place.

[dottiepetit]

lostlillian:

“They used to, Miss.” She said honestly. “But when I reached a certain age my mother took them off of me and said I didn’t need dolls anymore.” She explained, growing up she had always played games with her dolls, mothering them and dreaming of a day where she had children of her own. Now she knew it was nothing but a pointless childish daydream and she’d never have it within her grasp.

Dottie doesn’t understand: what does age have to do with it?

For, she had been playing with dolls for seven thousand years—she never tired of dressing them in delicate cloths, in knowing that they were her dearest and most beloved friends in the darkness.  She would talk to them, she would love them so ardently.  The idea that other girls did not like dolls, now, was distressing for her: but her face remained unchanged, she had not learned an emotion for distress. 

Instead, she settled for opening her mouth again.

“But how did she know you didn’t need them?” she has calmed down, some, but she is still staring at the woman as if she is an oddity, something that she has never seen before.  “Maybe I could find dollys for us to play with some day?” she offers—it is her first attempt at making a friend here.

[dottiepetit]

elliiotjones:

Elliot quickly turned so her back was to the vampire, putting both hands over her eyes. If the woman didn’t want to be looked at, the blonde would comply. “Can I get you something to eat? Or drink? I have teddy bears down in my cell, hugging one makes me feel better when things are bad. One’s named Peaches, he’s very soft. I could go get him, if you like?”

Dottie stares back at the girl, shock drenched along those pale features of hers: why has she not run?

She frowns—she has learned that her forehead should scrunch up when she is confused, and she mirrors the way she has learned that facial expression now.  When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, as if she is afraid that her vocal box might be pushed over the edge.  (As if she is constantly on the brink of a cliff: always too close to falling, always too close to ceasing.)

“That sounds... nice,” she tried to give a smile, then, but was glad the girl wasn’t looking at her—when she grinned, her teeth came out like fangs, something out of a nightmare.  She didn’t know how to smile, not really: not many gave her smiles, so she hadn’t seen enough to copy them.

“You look like a giant doll.  Do you like to be dressed up?” she asked, taking a few steps closer to the girl so pale, hesitant hand could reach out and touch her hair.

[dottiepetit]

vivienne-devereux:

Vivienne looked up at the woman she was speaking with. She hesitated for a moment, there was some sort of familiarity in the others face but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She ran her hand through her blonde hair and shook her head. Once snapped out of her thoughts she looked down at the other.

“Are you serious?” she questioned, not expecting an answer. “I’m not going anywhere. If you want to move you do it. I’m not a slave for your pathetic ass to demanding around. “And last time I checked, werewolves were the ones who crouched down and acted all feral. You might want to get yourself checked out make sure you’re not one of them,” she rolled her eyes. “Now get up before you embarrass yourself in front of the slaves and make them think they have some sort of power over your pitiful self.”

When Dottie hears the insults, she sees her Papa’s face morphing before her and spitting the words out—and for a moment, she smiles.  She smiles because she has observed others and worked out that this represents glee, and she wants to show it on her face too.  She sees her Papa: he insults her before he claims her, before he contorts her body and fills her with his seed.  Pathetic, he would say: Yes I am.

The smile disappears when the face morphs back to this woman.

And suddenly, she is filled with rage—this woman has taken her Papa away from her, this woman has insulted her when she has no right.  (Only Papa is allowed to insult her, only Papa is allowed to make her feel worthless.)

It’s a lie: she feels worthless everyday, even now he’s gone.

But, she does not stop to contemplate it, to evaluate her position as less experienced.  She is feral, and she will fight like it.  With an animalistic roar, she throws herself at the woman with all of her might, claws ready to tear at her.

“Don’t call me NAMES!” she screams, words that echo through the room and bounce of the walls like they, too, belong in this space.

[dottiepetit]

nly-a-man:

For a long moment, he didn’t know what to say, unsure of how to get an agreeable answer from the woman. “Uhhhm, right, you got it. just…. No need to kill me, is all.” he said, nodding as he continued to slowly back away. She seemed a bit unhinged, and he had no interest in setting her off. He rose an eyebrow. “Of course, nothing, whatever you say.” he said, unsure of what to make of the blood.

When she finally pried her fingernails away, there was crimson on her hands—it was drying quickly, already healing up along her ears from where she had attempted to claw his voice out of her ears.

“What are you doing just standing around, boy?” she spat out, her face cold and unmoving.  “If you’re going to agree to everything I say, just leave,” she turned on him, rage-filled eyes.

[jihen]

[dottiepetit]

“Mummy!”

The tone comes as a yell of affection from behind the woman—Dottie had taken to calling her so when they first met, when she had guided her on how to feed.  This woman, with her kind eyes, had known Dottie when she was bones: when she was starving, when she was on the verge of death.  And now, she ran towards her, so full of life: for the undead.

She is like a small animal excited by the presence of their mother: at once, this beast becomes a lion cub, and she is running to circle her little arms around the woman.

“I thought I would never see you again,” she confesses, pressing her face into the woman’s bosom.

[dottiepetit]

amorxdulce:

Getting one look at the other woman Dulce knew what she was getting herself into. She had seen girls like this back at home, abused, hurt, afraid to trust anyone. They thought the world was against them and it wasn’t their fault, all they had known was hurt. She gulped before slowly moving a little closer to her, “No, no monster sent me. I promise you I’m not a monster,” she said softly. “My name is Dulce, I’m a slave here. You don’t have to talk to me if you’re not comfortable with doing so. I just noticed that you looked a little out of it and I was concerned.”

Dottie so badly wanted to believe her—she could feel the way something genuine rolled off the girl, as if she meant what she was here to say.  It left her feeling vulnerable: she didn’t want to show this side of herself to a human, didn’t want to feel too comfortable with anyone lest they decide to hurt her.  “I believe you, Dulce,” she confesses, but she takes a step back when the girl gets too close—she must protect herself, must be ready to defend herself if the girl decides she wants to hurt her.

“No one has ever been concerned for me,” she tilts her head, “I’m not special.”