🖊
from a nearly-finished or soon-to-be repurposed fic intro timeline about mary and her brushes with death
In 1964, Mary wielded her first weapon, a .22 long rifle meant for hunting, the socially acceptable kind, and that’s what her father had told her mother she’d be doing. She still remembers the way her father’s chest filled with pride when she wrapped her fingers around the gun, the way he paraded her through the woods like a prize, the way she found the first signs of the monster they were tracking and the way it lit her daddy up from the inside out.
That night, her daddy killed the monster and got her home in time for supper, their little secret. He tucked her into bed with a wink over momma’s shoulder and Mary shone so bright she could barely sleep