What We Thought Was Hell

K

Kuro-chan

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At first glance, it looks like a prison with the large gates and walls preventing anyone from leaving or entering without expressed permission. But no, it's an orphanage. A lonely, beat up orphanage in the middle of a seemingly endless forest. Inside the gates of the orphanage is a dead garden where the children play, those old enough to walk, that is...they host infants to eighteen year olds. Inside, with the partially insane staff, hard beds, thin blankets, and not enough food to go around, to the orphans, the place is as good as hell.

Do to this, many of the orphans living there have decided to make their escape into the woods. However, once they break free, they notice it's near impossible to find their way out of the forest, much less back to the orphanage. Little do they know that dark and dangerous creatures roam free in the forest, and the gates they once thought was there to imprison them, was actually there to protect them.


It was time for the kids to be playing in the yard...or the sad excuse for a yard. While some of the younger children legitimately played tag or wrestled, most of the older residents merely tugged at the dying grass or attempted to throw stones over the massive front gate.

In the front staring at the towering bars of the gate in front of her was a fourteen year old scrawny girl with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes named Anya. She couldn't think of the last time these gates actually opened.
 
At sixteen, she was the oldest of the kids and was nicknamed "the almost ripe orange". Nobody knew her name and she hated the one she was given by the Venetian blond color of her hair. Mandy, from the Mandarin oranges that grew in the front yard where she was found mysteriously.

"Anya." she called to the skinny girl standing by the gate, walking along the grass in her strong strides. "Are you ready?" She meant the plan to escape.
 
The one known as Vynnka eyed the slop that was passed off for breakfast with a wince. As she prepared her palette for the next detestable bite, tendrils of smoke would waft in from the kitchen, the acrid tinge of scorched metals would signalize to her olfactory senses that the firey headed Kerosene had left the gruel unattended once again. She knew that the Head Mistress would make her pay for this, she felt a note of pity for the girl but this would lie under the guise of impartiality, because she had been taught that to display emotion was something considered weak and wrong. The tarnished spoon ever-creeping toward lips that were wholly unwelcoming to receive the gift of food that sat menacingly upon it, she would finally turn her onyx gaze in the direction of the window, and emit a tiny sigh. The other children had somehow stomached their food and were allowed recess in the yard.

She would ponder for a while, realizing that they loathed the gruel as much as she, but it was out of sheer survival that they were able to finish their meal with any semblance that it had been a pleasurable experience. Upon committing the terrible crime of burning breakfast, Kerosene had forfeited her chance to eat, and was locked away for 'dish duty.' Vynnka's eyes darted about, as she scanned the great room for somewhere to hide the remains which sat on her plate forebodingly. She was emanciated, like most of the others, her skeleton jutting out from beneath a cloak of thin, ghostly pale skin. Only the Head Mistress' -favorites- seemed to receive the adequate amount of nutrition which was needed for a growing body. Those who were deemed 'favorites' usually earned the title by tattling on the other children for their misdeeds. She knew that they were skulking about somewhere, their prying eyes concealed by the shadows. Raising a hand as to wipe her mouth since cloth napkins never accompanied the meals, she then rose from the table as to start her ascent up the stairs and back to her room.
 
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Anya curtly nodded, back to her slightly older companion. She didn't like to show it, but she was actually quite scared. So many things could go wrong with the plan that they had. If the head mistress caught them, who knows what punishments would be given. The worst possible scenario was that they'd be chopped up and served in the lunches...that would explain why the meals taste so bad.

She held her breath and worked through it, she would have to be strong if she wished to pull this off in two days when the delivery truck would arrive. Until then, her fellow escapees would have to lay as low as possible.
 
"Let's gather the others," Mandy walked beside Anya and took the younger girl's hand. They had no image of the life beyond these gates. The orphanage was their home of sorts. And it was their entire world. But Mandy was sick of it, all of it. She was sick of the endless cleaning duty that never really seemed to clean anything. When she was Anya's age, they had run out of things to teach her so she ended up taking care of the younger children. The caste system dictated by beauty bothered her the most. The beautiful children were given more of everything.

Perhaps outside, there was no such thing as beauty. But that felt better. Equality.
 
Kerosene Oyl's youthful face glistened with perspiration, her auburn locks and clothes filthied with grime, left over bits of food finding its way uncomfortably under her fingernails. She knew not to talk back to the Head Mistress, that any verbal indiscretion would probably result in her being caned or worse. When the dishes were finished, she looked to the soaked clothing that clung to her frail form. Her sleeves and skirts were in tatters, the hue and style of the garment looked about as fashionable as one would donning a burlap sack. She knew the others were planning escape, the whispers of the corridors had regaled her in all sorts of rumor. A fleeting thought of abandoning the remainder of her chores and making a dash toward freedom caused for her to act on such an impulse, but she was immediatety grounded as her body collided painfully with the unyielding door. Oh, the portal to her prison hadn't been opened yet. She whimpered some, tenderly touching her right forearm. She was sure it was going to bruise.

Vynnka could not stifle her breath any longer. The crumbling room smelled of mold and decay, she was certain that many rats had made their grave beneath the floorboards. The children were not even permitted to have a window, as gazing into the outside world seemed a priveledge none had been deserving of. She drew in a deep breath, as to fill her depleted lungs with the sub-par oxygen produced of this place. Her slender features adopted a look of distaste. Aside from the structural incompetence of the building, the children were subjected to other varying sorts of neglect under the whims of the sadistic Head Mistress. She looked to her own failing attire, as none were garbed to combat the elements. She witnessed her fellow peers being felled to sickness and hunger, and injuries sustained of the horrid form of corporal punishment which often times seemed doled out for no reason at all. "Spare the rod, spoil the child.." It seemed to be a personal motto for the Head Mistress. "Spare the rod...spoil the child?" Vynnka repeated, pondering. How would one be spoiled here? The Orphanage seemed to be a place of unending cruelty. She attempted to preen herself, hands roaming her moth eaten attire and her shoulder length black tresses as to better her appearance. She stood amongst a bed of dust bunnies, no other furniture occupying the cramped cubicle of space. All she had to her name was the makeshift accordian fan she was working on, having found materials in secret in order to craft it.
 
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Milling amidst the half-hearted play of the courtyard was Henry, scouting through the struggling weeds for something more savory than the unknown concoction the staff liked to pass as food. He nearly got run over several times, crawling on the dirt. In the perpetually dirty state of his clothing and the thick tresses of his hair riddled with filth, he blended quite well with the court floor. The plant for which he searched was the same for which he was named. "Good King Henry" or the poorman's asparagus seemed to like to grow in patches in the dying earth of the orphanage.

Most of the children trampled it like any other random sprig of green. How he had come by the knowledge that the stuff was edible was not a fun experiment of itself. Having spent days upon days eating the meager fruits of the dry earth until he found something that didn't make him sick, Henry had stumbled upon the sprouts that would be his only saving grace in the face of such unfair advantages as playing "favorites". The Head Mistress had actually called him "thrifty" upon discovering the waif of a boy chewing the shrub like a cow with its cud one day. Henceforth, he had been dubbed Henry. It was simple, but he was a plain, simple boy, rarely being noticed if at all. And somehow it was better than the slew of no-names that simply existed as "You there!" and "Child."

Such a morbid place they all dwelt in. Each day was like a new chapter of anguish in a book of eternal sorrow. Yet, some children tried to make the best of it. Sometimes watching the others play could get a small smile out of the jaded boy. They still had hope, didn't they? It must have been nice to wake up and think |Today will be better.| Henry didn't have anymore. At the age of 13, he was considered an elder. The kids that played were all younger.They didn't know anything really.

The times had been relatively okay in the recent days past, so the younglings wouldn't realize how good they really had it. The Head Mistress was a brutal female, and entirely cruel. But even she was getting older. That was a good thing. For one, she hadn't gotten too angry as of late. |Maybe the crone's got arthritis.| No child had been subjected to any severe beatings. The babies wouldn't have had to see anyone caned to death. Henry had. And the delivery truck seemed to actually have a schedule for once, so no one had starved completely to nothing. That had to be the worst way to go. However, the best result was that now he had a chance to leave. Plans for escape had been in the works. Even as he searched for food, he waited for Anya and Mandy to give the signal.

The prime time for escape was now. Henry only thought it best to get as may nutrients in his system as he could before they left. Like everyone else, he was unhealthy and small for his age. His muscle tone was nil. His skin was a shade of grey-peach, and he was pretty sure that he would have been one of those to starve to death if not for his little experiment. So he would prepare as best he could, and he would also find some for his companions. They may not like the way it tastes, but it had kept him alive hadn't it? And the whole thing was about survival, right?
 
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Little Lily, they called her. With her white blonde hair, pale pale skin and emerald irises, it was fitting. And though 'little' seemed to describe someone younger, Lily had survived to the age of 13. Barely. Not that anyone kept track but herself. No one knew her real name either. And no one had even bothered to tell her where she came from since she'd never asked. Most everyone at the orphanage thought she was mute since she hasn't spoken a word at the orphanage. If she wanted to, she could talk, but she chooses not to.
She thinks of this place a prison... and she hates it to no end. Especially when she could see over the gate, past her too-long bangs in her room on the second story. Freedom teasing her, making her wish she could fly.
That's pretty much all Lily does on her free time. Watch and Listen....and Imagine. In fact, the warden...no the Head Mistress had caned her many times for refusing to verbally respond to anything she ever says.
But when one doesn't talk, listening is easy. And she's heard that a small group of kids who are considered 'older' are going to attempt escape soon. Now, she hadn't exactly been invited to go, but she intended to go with them and hopefully gain their approval. She'd heard of the escapes before, but she had never had the courage to leave until now. She'd stay up late like usual and watch for when they left. She'd creep out the window--silent as always-- and follow the others, only revealing herself when they get outside the gate. It wasn't foolproof, but she was going to try.

(With greener eyes)
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The youth whom was on the verge of what was considered adulthood in the eyes of the legals knelt upon the creaky floorboards, using her fingertips as instruments in the stead of her vision, the power of her acuity useless as the rapture of shadows closed in about her. How could they not be permitted even the tiny amount of flame shed of a candlestick as to assist them in the darkness? Could such a orangey red hued flickering teardrop symbolize hope, and such hope was something long exiled from this place so desolate? Children stumbling about caused for many an accident, and indiscernible 'things' going bump in the night awakened one's slumbering mind into painting nightmarish landscapes for their somnolent journies. Something stirred just beyond her door.

A very audible gasp managed to escape her before she had the opportunity to wrangle it with her tongue, and it swung open, as to allow the intrusive figure entrance. The gnarled form of a young female crossed the threshold slowly, her gait unsteady as the lantern light beckoned Vynnka Deja Vega's gaze in the direction of Brittana's face. To behold the child would normally invoke the feeling of sorrow and pity in the viewing individual, but not she. Vynnka rose, utilizing the wall to assist her as she felt her body enlongating. "What do -you- want?" She would inquire coldly, realizing that the meddlesome girl was making her rounds as to report back to the Head Mistress with any findings of hidden contraband and partially revealed information received as a product of eavesdropping. She would hear the rapping of Brittana's heeled boots upon the floorboards, each step summoning dust from ancient cracks and crevasses. Her gaze would droop then, as the light of the lantern was just beyond the reach of her rival's almost completely lame legs. She still possessed ambulation, but the task of movement was very difficult for her. Her twisted shape was something of a birth defect, not resulting of an accident like that of some other children.

"I'm priveleged to carry this lantern." She responded with a nod and a strange smile she wore like a badge. "Something seems awry." Brittana continued, having made her way from her hiding spot where she observed the others playing outside. "Should I call Head Mistress for her routine room checks?" She chimed with a sort of gutteral laughter. Vynnka would begin approaching, her mind racing with thoughts of how to quell Brittana's urge to tattle on somebody, -anybody.- "Step away!" The lantern light was brandished in response, and the shadows quickly retreated to the corners of the petite room. "You -know- I am untouchable. "If you so much as let loose a breath around me, I shall have to scream bloody murder, and you know that these thin walls can carry my voice throughout this place quite well." Vynnka's footfalls halted, and she rose her hands to fend off the harsh glow assulting her vision. (It is better not to stir up trouble, or waggle my tongue about so that misconstruities can be woven. I'll just have to play intimidated for just a while longer, then when the opportunity presents itself...) She nodded inwardly. "So, spill. " Brittana reached the middle of the room, sending a hearty shove at Vynnka as she assumed her to have positioned her body in such a way to obscure her line of sight from some activity she had busied herself with prior to the arrival of the snitch. "I'm doing nothing wrong, I've come back to my room for a moment's respite, to reflect the rules in solitude." Derisive laughter spilled from Brittana's lips. "Reflect the rules..." She parroted mockingly. "Good one. Do you really expect me to believe as such?" Vynnka's shoulders bobbed in a shrug.

"I don't particularly care if you choose to believe me or not. You certainly seem to have the ability in exercising your free will more than the rest of us." The lantern was drawn toward Brittana's face, the youth's countenance bathed in what seemed an unnatural radiance. Her features appeared as unrealistic as a caricature created of an amatuer, or a clay rendition of a human veneer shaped by a sculptor whom purely lacked talent. Sparse patches of blonde tufts adorned her fissured scalp, as to almost resemble blanched grasses upon droughted parcels of land. Her facial features were decorated in garish hues, as cosmetics had been obviously supplied as payment for her information. "And never forget it."



Escape seemed futile. She felt as if she were enclosed in a tomb of stagnant air, the heat billowing at her back from the great wrought iron stove. Kerosene's crimson eyes widened, she began to pound on the door with dainty fists. She imagined the Head Mistress, the monstrously contorted, looming figure head of the Orphanage to be standing just beyond the exit, a satisfied smile plastered upon her bloated face as she listened to the disharmonious chorus of wailing of the prisoner. In response to her panicked mind, her gaze fluttered about in all directions, until she spied a small, unparallel archway to the opposite corner of the kitchen. A door barely hung upon its hinges, the termite riddled wood was splintered and blackened with age and smoke. She flew upon it, much like a bird of prey would descend upon its scurrying prize below, and pulled it open. The handle broke off in her hands. She stared at the useless contraption for a moment, and loosened her grasp anxiously, where it hit the floorboards with a thud. Specks of light pierced the dark veil of the larder, and she saw a shape slumped against the back wall. She would approach it with much caution, but as more light poured in, this would solve the mystery of what the object truly was.

A dessicated, skeletal face greeted her, she sensed a longing within the black chasms of its hollowed stare. Kerosene recoiled in terror, her movements erratic as she thought of fleeing the scene. It appeared as if the child was long ago locked away and forgotten, and the starved rats had made a feast of the flesh and innards of this unfortunate soul. However, this child's mark would forever become immortalized upon the floor its corpse now sat upon, its blood staining the porous stone. As she hurriedly made her way from the grisly scene, she eyed a sack of salt sitting alone on a small shelf. Procuring such a seasoning was quite a feat, that often involved a combination of persuasion and coin, or theft for some, as salt was rare to the region and quite expensive, and Kerosene presumed it wasn't used to help accentuate the flavors of food, but as a tool in punishment. As she continued to ponder the reasons of why such a stock pile of salt had been obtained, she deduced that it would be useful in hiding the evidence of death in dehydrating a corpse.
 
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The creaking of the ancient-looking door behind her interrupted Lily's daydreams and she turned around, only to find one of the Tattlers, as she called them. It was Brittana. Cruel to the world when the world is cruel to her kind of girl. She has a spinal birth defect that makes her appear to be twisted and intimidating; at least to Little Lily. The moonlight shone through the window she'd been standing beside, illuminating Brittana's garish make-up and rendering her lantern mostly useless. The lantern swished back and forth as her boots clacked on the dusty wood floor and she stormed toward Lily who didn't move a muscle. Then Brittana abruptly slapped her across the face, sending Lily to the rotting floorboards where she shook, soundless and staring wide-eyed up at Brittana.
"The Headmistress and I have told you countless times NOT to stay up here all the time and what do you do? The exact opposite! No one saw you when she graciously allowed us to play outside and now I find you at 7:00 staring out the window when you were supposed to be outside? You little brat!" Lily couldn't hold back a soft whimper as the Tattler roughly yanked her up from the ground by her arm and dragged her down the stairs, which were broken in some places. "You're going straight to the Headmistress!" Brittana laughed, surely expecting more praise for Lily's punishment.
Lily tried as hard as she could to wriggle her skinny wrist out of Brittana's grip, but it was futile, even as she stomped and slid her too-small shoes against the ground loudly.
The pair passed the kitchen while Lily increased her efforts, even going as far as biting Brittana's hand which made her scream and knee Lily hard in the stomach. She was slammed to the ground, her small form curling in on itself as she whimpered pleading in her head that someone would help her before the Headmistress found her.
 
Vynnka rummaged about, idle hands only a few moments prior making swift work of the rubbish pile. As the darkened depths of the corridor seemed to make the perfect camaflouge for her, she had not attracted the likes of the snitch, whom appeared to possess almost a psychic radar to any suspicious occurences around the Orphanage. Perhaps Brittana had occupied herself with making the existence of another child that much more difficult, as if having been reared in a place so bleak wasn't bad enough. She plucked a roll of linen from the uppermost part of the pile, the cloth torn and soiled with remnants of food. She figured that she could make some use of it, although she wasn't quite sure what she could make of it yet. Her thoughts drifted to her other peers, to Kerosene, Lily, even Henry. A male child was quite a unique addition to the menagerie of the apparently damned, in all her years she'd only witnessed the short lived stent of two others there. Were they killed because the Head Mistress was biased toward boys? Or were they sold into slavery, or something else just as sinister?

The walls seemed all too garrulous, speaking of the pandemonium taking place just beyond the kitchen. They often spoke in fear, paranoia of the Head Mistress and her horrible little helpers. She decided against her search, she was paralyzed in the clutches of terror. She could feel its toxins coursing through her veins. It was as if she met the unfeeling gaze of the Head Mistress, momentarily rendering Vynnka to stone. A few minutes passed and she seemed to thaw, gaining control of her limbs once again. She made her way toward the sounds of commotion, just in time to watch Brittana forcibly accompany the girl Lily in the direction of the Head Mistress' chamber. "Brittana." As she spoke the utterly deformed creature's monicker, a hiss rolled off Brittana's tongue, and she spun about on Lilly was wrenched from her stance, and Vynnka observed her inevitable tumble to the floor with a wince. "Sorry." She mouthed, her apology flat and dead as it was given no voice. "Brittana." She repeated, cringing at the sound of her name as it struck her own eardrums. "I'm ready to spill. I've stolen Head Mistress' prized wedge of cheddar, and the rats and I made for a quick snack of it last night whilst everyone slept." Vynnka's tone increased in decible, as if she were trying to provoke the head Mistress in making an appearance, as the woman seemed reclusive to her bedchamber.

''I single-handedly penned the poisoned words upon the privvy door, and I .." There was a comical inflection attached to the tail-end of her confession, as her mind raced in attempting to conjure more substance to the lie. The fingers of her right hand flexed about in a hurried sort of gesticulation, as she tried to usher Lily to safety. "Oh? the privvy door, huh?" A raucous laughter danced upon Brittana's tongue. In many ways, the female resembled a maimed crow. She was clad in black, which made it difficult for her to be seen until the wavering of the lantern separated her from the calignosity of her surroundings. Her attention torn from Lily, Brittana started toward the sygian tendriled female in a twisted sort of glee. "It's a shame really, what happened to poor Henry's ol' garden. He really ought to observe the rules better, then perhaps someone wouldn't have trampled his asparagus." Another fit of laughter surged up her throat, like that of a dying crow's last retort upon the world it was departing. It didn't take much investigation into what caused for the unnessecery destruction of his garden, for Brittana boldy boasted that it was her doing, and her muddied footprints leading away from the devastated crop to the very spot she now stood. A gasp strummed against Vynnka's vocal chords, and her eyes widened. She choked back a slew of vulgarities, driving the words down into the devouring maw of her gut. "So -you- maliciously massacred them? You perniciously pummeled his produce? Made unfruitful the fruits of his labor?" rage ignited within her, she paused, fingers curling into tight fists. "How dare you, Brittana!"
 
Lily knew Vynnka was lying the minute she opened her mouth. To a people-watcher like Lily, it was easy to spot in her body language and gesticulations. So of course she was immediately guilty when she distracted Brittana enough to subtly nudge Lily behind her. Lily nervously glanced at the small crowd that had gathered at the commotion and clutched her bruised stomach. She looked up at Vynnka with wonder when she stood up to Brittana, bravely even yelling at her. Lily had audibly gasped when she discovered that Henry's garden had been destroyed. She had always liked Henry, even if she had never had the courage to approach him and while she wanted to murder Brittana for hurting him, she never would have done anything to show it. Vynnka was her role-model, courageous, intelligent, altruistic. Her vocabulary was something Lily had always wanted. Though she loved to read, she hadn't had many opportunities to do it and Vynnka was just so amazing to her. So she couldn't help but clutch her wrist when she stood up to Brittanna dangerously. She never wanted anyone to take a punishment for her. She was hurt, but it wasn't anything she hadn't felt before. And she put all of those emotions in her eyes when she looked up at Vynnka's eyes. She put hope in her emerald eyes, hoping Vynnka would see it. Vynnka was going to get out of here. And if lucky, Lily will go with her.
 
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"Yes, I terpsechorianed over his turnips and performed ballet to batter his beets. And if I may indeed say so myself, I performed every pirouette magnificently!" Brittana's head bobbed in an enthusiastic nod, her lips adopted a fleeting sneer. "What are -you- going to do about it? Avenge poor Henry boy?" Suddenly, her voice softened, as if she wished to invoke a sense of dread in Vynnka. "By the way, Henry hasn't graced us with his presence as of late. it is peculiar, isn't it? I certainly hope nothing terrible befell the poor soul." She would then turn toward Lily, her forefinger extending in a rigid point. "Don't think for one second that I've forgotten about -you.- You must realize by now that from my tattling, no one is unscathed!I know that a mutiny of minors is about to take place, a rebellion of rabble rousers! A Revolt against the very Head Mistress which has fed and clothed us all!" Her tawny gaze would narrow to slits. "You didn't think I'd turn a blind eye to this, or a deaf ear?"Vynnka began closing in, slowly circling the hideous atrocity whom was now accosting Lily. "You shall all pay for your insubordination!" She suddenly felt uneasy, and worry would steal the conviction from her words. She fidgeted under the weight of Vynnka's stare, feeling a sudden, overwhelming discomposure cloaking her grotesque form. "Uh, h-hey..."She started, stammering some. "I can get Head Mistress to surrender control of the key, and help you relieve Kerosene of her prison." She offered, grasping at straws as to strike a bargain with Vynnka, in lieu of becoming a target of violence.
 
Lily wasn't scared anymore. Brittana was being ridiculous and Vynnka would protect them! She was terribly worried for Kerosene and Henry. Where were they? Are they okay? What would Vynnka sacrifice for their freedom? Lily bit her lip as Vynnka circled Brittana. Her eyes widened and she took a hesitant step forward, making sure Brittana's attention was split between the two of them, keeping her from hurting either of them with the threat of telling the sadistic Head Mistress more lies. Also, she didn't want to get separated from Vynnka, since she was one of her tickets to freedom.
 
"Why did you hurt her? What did she do to you? Are you that loathesome of a creature, that discontented with the world just because you are so ghastly? We didn't make you as you are, blame your Mother for that! You were born of a jackel, and it's quite evident!" Brittana let loose a feral growl, admixed of anger and frustration. An especially hurtful riposte was poised upon her tongue, but the words would faulter. Brittana realized that Vynnka, and possibly Lily, were out for blood. "I'll retrieve the key in a timely manner." She announced with resigned sigh. "Are you quite alright?" Vynnka's face mirrored the concern she was feeling for Lily, although the extent of her injuries seemed undetermined at this time. "We must gather the others promptly if we are to liberate ourselves from this Hell. Find out about Henry's wherabouts, and I'll tend to Keros. Gather any supplies you come across without the implication of punishment to hinder you, for I believe Brittana will no longer be problematic for us." She would invite the one called Lily into a soothing embrace, wrapping her bony arms about the youth as to calm her nerves. "Hurry...we haven't much time. We've only so long to roam about under the guise of nightfall and then the sunlight shall reveal our desertion." Vynnka hesitated on abandoning Lily, lingering about in close vicinity. Would Brittana keep her promise afterall to release Keros? Or would she take the opportunity to retreat into hiding, once having given Head Mistress an earful of deceptions? Her accordian fan! She must venture back to her room, whatever peril she may encounter on the way.

Kerosene whimpered, lying upon the floor with knees drawn tightly to her bosom. Would anyone save her before she were to expire? Would she never again glimpse what life was like beyond the kitchen door? She thought of the others, how strange and spectacular it would be to witness a smile upon their once gloomy exteriors. Children didn't smile, except perhaps in death, if their bodies weren't wracked in pain. Would the eternal escape that perishing would bring be the only thing to brighten one's doleful gaze, if only in that moment of sweet rapture of shaky exhalations as the soul prepared for its ascent to the heavens? Countless others lived and died here, their flesh rendered into stew and bones ground up into fertilizer for the roses which were rarely tended. For them, freedom would never come, their spirits made to haunt the halls of this place forevermore. She frowned at the idea of having feasted upon the 'disappeared,' how especially cruel and ironic it was to salvage any nutrition from their atrophied flesh.
 
"Pathetic..." Came the harsh rattly voice of The Tallest boy in the orphanage. They called the fourteen year old boy with his greasy brown hair Butch. Butch the butcher, Because he caught Rats and skinned them with his fingernails after he squished their hateful little heads with his fist. He was a nasty smelling, oily boy who was thought to be rather more sickly than the rest of them because he was always leaning on something, as if for support. He was leaning against a gangly tree int eh yard watchign everything, a fresh rat skin between his leathery hands, his fignernails, long and dull, scraping off bits of putrid flesh. He used the pices of ratflesh to patch his coat with spare string and a needle nobody knew where he kept it. The headmistress wanted nothing to do with him, or else he would've lost the coat he had lined with ratfur, and patched outside with it. He had a little decoration hanging from his belt made of rat tails, and a single little bone through his Ear as an earing.

Stories said he was the son of gypsies, who realized he was a devil and let him go. He kept watch over the kids and stopped fights for the headmistress by casting glares.. or just walking through the area and watching them scurry. He had his place, and In return, he got what he wanted... nothing. No one bothering him, no one makeing him a favorite, no snitching. nothing.

Thats who he was. NOTHING. And Butch liked it that way as a big grin stretched across his dull skinned face at Brittana. He liked her.. to look at her anyways, maybe she knew it. that butch admired ehr beauty all the time from beneath the patchy bowler cap he had stolen off someone years ago.
 
Lily shivered and nodded, showing Vynnka that she understood. That she would be strong. She had to be. She had been pulled into the escape for real now, and she was going to take it seriously, no matter what the consequences. Lily gave a tentative smile to Vynnka, hoping it would reassure her and thank her for what she did. Then, she promptly scurried back up the stairs, deciding to gather blankets and maybe extra clothing to keep them safe from the weather. She tiptoed down corridors, feeling her way through the darkness, looking for a room or a linen closet perhaps. She wasn't very familiar with this side of the orphanage due to the fact that she wasn't allowed in the Neonatal wing, but she knew from listening to the staff that the babies were treated with much more kindness than the toddlers or teens. So she headed toward the light at the end of the hallway until she reached a small supply closet. Inside, she saw the small chain that would illuminate it, but she didn't dare to reveal herself by pulling it. Instead, she stepped inside the small space and reached out for the shelves around her.
Success! Folded blankets and towels surrounded her and she cradled as many as she thought was necessary, making sure none would notice the amount missing, but that the group would still be able to use them and benefit from them. Lily smiled in the darkness and closed the door behind her creeping down the hallway again, surprised that no one had found her yet. She scampered to her room, which was illuminated by the moonlight and unwrapped one of the larger blankets, setting it on her bed and wrapping the other towels and blankets inside it.
They would have to go without jackets since the only ones who used them were staff and the occasional Tattler. Now, Lily was sneaky, but she wasn't that confident in her abilities. Neither did she have to time to search the locked staff rooms.
She stowed the bundle of blankets and towels in a safe corner under her bed and left her room to search for Henry. She had no idea where to look. Certainly he was inside, but it wasn't curfew just yet, so he was free to roam, or be imprisoned while inside the orphanage. She nearly tripped down the stairs, but caught herself and thought about where she would be hidden if someone didn't want her to be seen...or maybe where she would go to avoid people...
 
The soles of Vynnka Deja Vega's unshoed feet would rise and fall tenderly upon the floorboards as she traveled toward the furthest rooms of the corridor. She could hear the pitter patter toddler sized feet. The rooms designated for the youngest started on the first floor and ended with the two doors which were erected opposite of hers and Kerosene's. Infancy was a pretty scarce thing in the Orphanage, children that young were often turned away because they possessed no traits which could benefit the Head Mistress, aside from being sold pound for pound to the Black Street butcher where he would disassemble them, yield flesh from bone and they would be purchased under the illusion of being deemed 'choice cuts of beef.' Only those considered especially fair of face were culled from the 'chaff' as it were, but the others were merely discarded in truly horrifying ways. Vynnka could not just leave them to their own devices, for they lacked the mental capacities to forge any plans of action and the physical capacities to act upon them. She made her way past the room which belonged to the boy named 'Butch.' This peculiar boy often frequented the darkest of places, finding a strange solace in the cellar. Vynnka didn't dare so much as behold the likes of him, for she thought that his gaze would capture her soul where it would fall forever into oblivion. 'Butch the Butcher..' The nickname was most befitting, but others simply coined him 'Rat Boy.' She felt sickened just imagining him, his mangy coat fashioned of rat hide his lips sparking a smirk upon his uncomely face.

His undesireable presence rarely haunted her sights, and for this she could sigh one of relief, but once in a while she was forced into a most uncomfortable engagement with him. Head Mistress seemed to sense her dislike for this strange fellow, and favored rooming them together for the night as to inflict a non -physical sort of discipline upon her. So for the nights she had to endure his company, she would huddle in the corner of his detestable lodging, and pray that he might nary glimpse or greet her. She considered Lily to be one of the rather attractive of the bunch, however ghostly pale the child was. Brittana's appearance could only be described as an anathema, an insult to the viewing public. But perhaps to one such as Butch, he could find beauty latent wherein others saw fault?
 
Butch had greasy soles on his shoes. silent from smooshing ratguts into them to keep them fresh. He was what one might call malkavian. He thought he wore fine garments, kept his cltohes nice adn neat. even if it smelled bad, even if it was rat pelts sewed onto his ruddy jacket, and rat gut oil keepign his shoes from cracking. H heard the gentle pad of feet.

He had good ears, rat boy. From listening to rats scurry. Fast hands from catching them. He peered intot eh hallway, unlatchign his door quickly. so quick it made no noise, makeign him seem ghsotly as he was suddenly standing bahind Vynnka.

"Soft feet on achy floors.. creaky bones of the house of horrors." he said melodically, like a poem. a morbid one.
 
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Iamora was sown of the seeds of iniquity, and borne of the blood of a malignant, sinful mankind. Her ageless countenance was a perfectly formed guise of a ten year old girl, her flaxen locks tied in place at the sides of her head by black ribbons. She delighted in the abuse of the others, the evil which had taken residence within the walls of the institution. She beheld the others with abyssal black eyes, and thought back to her mother. She was of a different time, different realm of existence, but Iamora could easily fit in a more modernized time. She would take her mother's place as best she could, within the Devil's playground she would become a leader, orchestrating the others, tendrils of malevolence reaching the minds and hearts of her peers. They would soon become enthralled to this evil, black stains left by her mother's paw ensnaring their souls, Iamora would open these plagued children's eyes to a whole new world of deviltries, wickedness.She stood in the corner, her features not marred by the perpetual sneer her mother wore, but adopting a mask of no emotion.

She clutched the remains of the stuffed teddy bear she could not be parted with, the lower extremities of the plush toy was ripped clean off by the doctor in an attempt to separate her of it. It would be studied, and then cast in the incinerator as if in some sort of exorcisim, to relieve her of such an impurity of innocence. She had attacked the doctors before, in a fury of small, black talons and jagged teeth. Her powers were somehow shut away within the confines of the bastille created within her. The treatment to rid her of them failed, but they only existed by small, fragile threads which were growing stronger everyday. The torment of mankind was the key to unlocking her power. She was a sadistic, waiff of a girl, but the temptations of the children was allowing more of her power to seep out in small doses. Desire. They all had their innermost desires, this would turn to sin.


A glistening black tongue peeked out from slightly parted black painted lips. Iamora was doll like in stature, her immaculate features thinking of finely crafted porcelain. Although they have succeeded in almost stripping her of her most maleficent gifts, she still had a few she could have fun with. The rubious eyes of her crippled stuffed bear shone like sanguineous stars, gleaming through the darkened area she now sat, a pose uninterrupted by bodily movement. The youth observed her surroundings mostly in silence, the cottony entrails of her toy falling to the floor like it was a victim of some sort of dolly disembowelment. She no longer possessed the knowledge of how to weave the mortal sins like Anger and Gluttony into existence, but it would suffice for now that she could influence others of the more venial ones like Vanity.

As her mother had shown her, it could become a most destructive force in the frail minds of humankind. Her forebearer known as Ravenwitch had ended worlds which transcended space and time, crippling the spirits of humans with sin and the other powers she possessed. Surely an offspring of the embodiment of Hell would hold such power for herself. Iamora's gaze, the color of pitch, now fell upon a Nurse whose face was boldly a few inches from her own. She was being physically shaken from her reverie, the vision was crumbling into nothingness as the rocks of the cliff side would tumble into the sea. Her upper arms being restrained by the vice like grasp of the Nurse's hands, she had not the strength to break free of her assailant. Instead, a voice flowed from the girl, one which would be foreign for a child. It was one of another, long ago.

The sound of her utterances would usually strike the audience blind and deaf, if they were to even survive hearing it. She sought not to kill anyone, not yet. She would leave this to the other children, unfortunate souls that would be emboldened with sin. She was not a vessel of which the human soul would spend eternity in the wrath of the ever consuming fires, but she did not envy her mother. Now as she looked upon the frozen face of the Doctor's assistant, the fear was like a paralytic toxin seizing the woman's voice and features, Iamora's lips adopted a slight smirk, a look of amusement. She spoke the words which would plant the seeds of Vanity within the woman, leaving them to flourish within this pitiful creature.

There was much she could mold and shape of this, as the Nurse was rather obese, a result of her ravenous appetite that was never quite satiated. Iamora had felled many a human being having wielded Gluttony, which was among her most favored of sins. She didn't even need to infect this creature, the woman was influenced of her own will afterall. The hungry maw within the Nurse had made a wreck of her figure, the voracity she had given into for so long was forged into existence of her own thoughts. Whilst the woman's peers were rather fair of face compared to her, she had never taken the time to truly observe how the flesh sagged upon her face, the texture of her flesh closely of overly sun dried leather. She was fat and ugly. Most she would interact with had held their tongues, feigning a politeness in her company to give her some sort of compliments on her appearance. Now Iamora's abyssal gaze acted as mirrors, reflecting the true visage of the Nurse. "I..am..ugly." She voiced, enunciating each word slowly, as if they were wholly foreign to her vernacular. "The Doctor doesn't want me. He...doesn't want me." She rose and slowly receded down the dim corridor. She recalled her stay at St. Margaret's Home for Perturbed Children with only the fondest of memories, her departure amidst the chaos of flames devouring the grand edifice, and the wailing crescendo of those trapped within. Rat Boy and Vynnka. Her lips twisted into a sneer. What would he do to her? She had to find a better perch, so she could view their interaction in a despicable sort of delight.



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Vynnka turned about quickly as she felt his hot breath upon the nape of her neck. "Butch." She uttered, a chord of fear resonating within her. "What do you want?" She inquired moments later after hestitation stalled the words in her throat. She knew about his 'rat disassembling' hobby, and felt an equal amount of repulsion and curiosity toward his inclination of it. She hoped Lily and Kerosene would be able to contend with the likes of Brittana in her absence. "So, you're Rat Boy." She chuckled lightly, realizing now that she'd never uttered a single word to him in past instances. Her fingertips traced the contours of her accordian fan, which was positioned behind her back, should she need to brandish it as to hastily fend off his attack. "Quite a...verse you've got there.."She added, her gaze upon him intently.
 
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