Post by misslol on Jan 13, 2019 4:07:36 GMT -8
It was another full moon, another failure as her father.
Mitt carried the small creature into the room, a fluff of fur dressed in a nightgown. The little claws were clutching Mitt's already tattered coat, as he looked down at her, she seemed calm and asleep. It was a small solace.
He unfastened her claws, they left behind them more holes to decorate the terribly unkempt coat. Mitt laid her in bed, as he bend down to kiss her head, his locks of orange hair grazed her nose ,she whimpered so he stroked the fur between the perky ears until she fell quiet.
Mitt closed the door behind himself as a terrified older looking maid slowly climbed up the stairs and came up to him, he only needed to nod and she headed towards the child's room. Justly terrified but she still remained loyal, Mitt was always grateful and paid accordingly for taking care of them in the special situation they were.
The door to his office creaked slowly as he entered, heading toward the desk with the dying candle and the chair that was lying on the creased and scratched carpet. He put both hands on the table, his eyes fixated on the piles of papers but his mind was too occupied.
Each month it became increasingly difficult to bear it; her tears, pleading words, screams and whimpers would echo in his mind weeks after and jolt him back to consciousness whenever his head met the cluttered work desk.
Each time it was harder to remain calm, collected, to soothe her "Soon Inion, I'll find you a cure, I'm so close." he told her each time, and each time his belief in those words faltered. He knew he was nowhere near the answer but he couldn't tell her that.
What could he tell her? He couldn't tell her that she was a monster, he knew she wasn't, she was his daughter, the sweetest and kindest child with the brightest smile and a mind that would be as sharp as his when she would grow up.
His eyes darted through his notes, the charts, calculations, test results from the samples and yet he was barely close to anything. If his parents were alive they would have, eventually, helped their treacherous son, but they weren't.
Mitt knew the church would have what he needed, but go sniff for such information in a church and five hunters would storm the house to kill Maebh. Mitt shook his head to rid of the horrible vision.
It's been almost a year since Maebh's condition started, all he could do for her was dull the pain of her transformation, let her sleep through it. That wasn't enough, nothing was enough. He had to find a cure. He couldn't fail his daughter, to leave the only person he loved in this world to such a terrible fate.
His breathing became shaky, he hit the table with his palms, the papers flew and the candle shook and died. He was useless.
Mitt sat in front of the lit fireplace on his fancy chair, the wealthy life he used to lead seemed so pathetic now. On the table beside him sat a bottle of the nearest and strongest liquor he found, he poured it into his already damp glass. What else could he do?
"God must be punishing me." He muttered to himself and scoffed, he downed the shot and laid the glass on a little table besides him. Mitt ran a hand through his orange locks that glistened in the warmth of the fireplace. Quiet chuckles slowly turned into sobs.
Useless, stubborn, an idiot who thought he could have love, a family, do what he wants. He was never free.
His parents voices repeated in his head "God would punish you for this."
Mitt didn't believe in god then, he did now. In his most drunk state he felt the need to repent for his sins, maybe that was the answer, god would cure her, it was his last resort.
Mitt stumbled on the church stairs, looked up at the door for a few moments, as if studying it, then lifted his head higher to see the top of it. He took deep breath and he knocked on it three times, he wasn't sure if he wanted that door to open. His head fell down looking at his hands. Unsure if he would have believed it or laughed if told a year ago that he would end up at the stairs of a church, asking god for forgiveness.
