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when you are in too sturdy
i haunt you, and you hurt me
"Do you think she'll come back to us?" Harpae asks sometimes. This often comes up while sitting in her room of lovely stained glass windows, three of them on ostentatious display (there had been four, once, but one had long since been brutally shattered with a pair of scissors).
She hates it. She hates coming here, hates the way Harpae rises briefly to kiss her like she's not present at all. Like she's someone else entirely. She hates when Harpae mentions - threatens - fixing the window that used to hold her visage. She hates when Harpae drags her to her knees at her altar, staring at their reflection in the glass while Harpae faces the only figure who truly matters to her. She hates Harpae.
But, sometimes she hates solitude more.
If only she could cut herself to pieces like she did her window.
It would be better than listening to Harpae talk like there was anything left for them to look forward to.
"I won't fail her this time. I'll accept it, if she's still angry. But, this time, I won't fail to keep her safe. She won't suffer any longer. None of us will suffer. We'll be safe. I'll make sure of it."
Harpae thinks she needs her golden sun to return to her, but she's a fool. She'd long ago chosen to close her eyes to it. She is blinded by that golden being she calls her sun, and has forgotten how badly it burns. She cannot even begin to recall its messy fire, burning its handprints into everything it touches.
Harpae still acts like she's never felt the pain.
Lisette had always stared directly at that sun. She knows better.
She was created to know better.
"I've never failed her," Lisette says. "I'll kill her."
The sun could only ever shine light on the curse they've been crumbling under, if She returns.
Lisette knows better.
Sometimes she thinks she was created to know better.
Harpae thinks she knows better.
Harpae is haughty as Fleta and foolish as Go̸̗͎̙̔ļ̷͋͆͆͆d̵̳̒̇i̸̧̦͓̭̊ǟ̶͓͍̟̙̈̚. She thinks herself more mature, and therefore in being so mature she thinks herself their protector - though she's tried and failed that before, she tries again and again and again. Set in an empty and haunted facsimile of their childhood home, Harpae takes up the mantle: watching over Fleta and Egliette's foolish play of royalty in the garden, dragging Lisette away from broken mirrors streaked with red blood and pumpkin guts, waiting for the sun to rise again so that they may be whole.
Whatever that means.
Lisette knows better.
She was created to know better.
Harpae kisses Lisette like she's bestowing a favor upon her, kisses her bandaged hands like she's swearing an oath.
And, like she does with Fleta, like she does with the golden sun, Lisette has flinches away from her.
"Why are you so afraid of me, Lisette?" Harpae asks - demands - as her cold hands force Lisette to face her. "Why are you so scared? I'm trying to help you, I'm trying to help us." The only result Harpae yields from this is Lisette spitting in her face.
Still, she allows Harpae's sharp slap to rattle the shards of glass she collects in her own mind, shaking them loose.
For her, this is docile.
For her, this is docile.
While Fleta does as Fleta does, Lisette lets herself be coddled by Harpae.
She lets Harpae have what she wants - someone who she can play house with. It's almost perfect, the way she takes Lisette by the hand, the way she forces her head onto her shoulder. She fancies herself a protector, a knight, and Lisette is the poor, weak damsel who needs her. In the cracks of the shattered mirrors, Lisette thinks they look like nothing more than an failure and a fool. Harpae failed long ago, and Lisette is not her true lady love.
There is tea in front of them, it has long since grown cold.
Harpae knits a lovely cardigan - all ribbons and bows, cherry red like Her eyes. Would that she could, Lisette would take glass to the cardigan and tear it to shreds.
She takes the cup instead. A film of mold causes strange ripples in the tea.
"Tell me, do you think she'll like it?" Harpae asks beside her. "I hope so. My, it'll be so lovely when she returns. Then, we can all three have tea together. We'll be together forever in this place. We'll be safe here."
If She returns, Lisette doesn't say aloud.
It's been a long time since they've been trapped here, inside, forgotten. Harpae made this tea for Her ages ago, and the only person drinking it is Lisette.
If She returns, Lisette thinks her suffering will start all over.
Harpae is cold, but Go̵̥͂̔̅͋l̷͎̞̏̑̊̕d̵̡͕̬̻̎͂i̶̟͔̫̹̋̕ǎ̶̭̰̦̙̂ is a monster.
Harpae asks her to play a sad clown so she can play caretaker, so she could be said to be the one who saved the lost and misguided maiden from her nightmares, the one who tamed the beast. Gȍ̷̡̯̰͔l̵̙̺̰̿d̶̡̝̱̝͆͗i̸̭̔͝͝a̷̙͖̠̥̓͝ used to ask her to play the freak - someone to laugh at and mock, to snap into pieces, someone to berate and blame when Father doled out his punishments. Harpae asks for attention, an eye. Go̸̗͎̙̔ļ̷͋͆͆͆d̵̳̒̇i̸̧̦͓̭̊ǟ̶͓͍̟̙̈̚ had - has - a chokehold on all their hearts.
Harpae refuses to see it, the memories only seep out in the darkest corners of this mansion. Lisette always looks, she knows every nook and cranny. She knows better.
She was created to know better.
"How is the tea, love?"
It's disgusting.
Lisette wonders how long before the mold of the house and the rotting food kills them. She thinks she'd welcome it. Living has always been torture, and living like this is somehow worse.
"Lisette? You're shaking."
When Harpae reaches out to touch her hair, Lisette throws the rest of the tea in her face. She shatters the teacup against the reflective surface of the glass table in front of them.
For her, this is docile.
Living has always been torture, and living like this was somehow worse.
Their faces are unchanged in ever reflective surface. Pumpkins rotting wherever she turns. Lisette knows what this means for them. She mutilates every pumpkin, shatters glass and smears her reflection with her blood.
Harpae has to cover every mirror in the house.
She can no longer see what they reflect, and so she does not know what Lisette fears when she shatters them to pieces. "Why are you so afraid, Lisette? You sick girl. What are you so afraid of?" But Lisette only laughs in her face and tells her she might as well shove the shards in her eyes, carve them out, because she's never seen. She refuses to see that they've already lost. The sun will never return.
Harpae acts like she has an exterior as cold and hard as steel.
Harpae's hands are calloused and rough for someone who looks so dainty, the grooves of her pretty nails dig into Lisette's jaw. Harpae asks for her eyes, her attention. Harpae asks that no one else look behind the curtain.
But Lisette has always been behind the curtain.
She sees every nook and cranny of the house. She remembers the letter. She remembers the demon.
She knows better.
She was certainly created to know better.
Go̷̦̠̽͘̕͝l̸͓͚͎̊̄d̸̛̪̰͎͐͐̏̾i̸̧̜͎̺͊̾a̶̙̋ is, of course, the sun. She rises from the East.
"I'll kill her," Lisette says, light filtering through the stained glass windows. The broken fourth holds no light, it seems to lead to a void separate from this place. "If she returns. Then our suffering will truly be over."
The golden sun will never return to them, and if She does, Lisette will kill Her.
Harpae slaps her so suddenly, it takes a moment to register the sting on her cheek. She looks horrified when Lisette finally turns to her again.
Harpae has never understood.
Lisette takes her face in her hands and kisses her, as Harpae has always kissed her.
"Does that scare you, Harpae?" Lisette's hands are scarred, the skin is weak and soft. When she takes her face in her hands, she wonders if Harpae can feel every cut she's ever made of herself. Pieces of her she wants to cast aside. Harpae looks at Lisette as if she is not truly Lisette. If only it were true. "You sick girl. What are you so afraid of? You already know what its like to fail her.
I don't."
She has always known them better.
And so, she thinks, she knows what's best for all of them.