His Wisteria | Doma x Reader |

~Poor Child~

Note: In depth desc of violence, suicide, mild domestic abuse?

~

The sound of thunder was always followed by an eerie quiet. No creature dared to stray from the warmth of a home as the storm passed over. It was always like this after a storm, whether it be snow that came with raging winds or a thunderstorm's sympathy. The home a daughter and mother resided in was quiet compared to its usual sounds of distraught. The silvery walls painted with bright purples and speckles of green kept a calm feeling over the two. The door to the room remained off to the theme of the room. Standing tall and made of wood, the door was always locked until morning came. The lamp had long burned out leaving the room in darkness, only separated by the moon, which peaked from the clouds. "It's pretty tonight, don't you think?"

The mother spoke up with a hushed voice. She, like her child, had a sweet voice, a honey-coated hum that brought people in like honey brings bees in. Without looking into the woman's eyes you could almost imagine she sounded happy, her life full of love and prosperity. That would all shatter when you looked into the green hue of her irises. The dead and distressed look on the woman's face never seemed to light. "Yeah, tomorrow we may even see the Wisteria tree covered in the raindrops.'' The daughter often pretended to understand her mother; the pain struck on her face which only grew when looking at her.

"Y/n, you know I love you right?" The mother's tone dropped in octave its honey drying as her voice grew to crack in each passing day.

She was four when her mother killed herself in front of her. She was still too young to understand why her mother lay in a pool of blood. She hadn't even thought of calling for help. Her father was never there for her unless he was spitting insults, or dragging the woman he said he loved to be with him, and not their child. She didn't know his face well and didn't know to call that night for help. Even as her mother's body grew cold in the unlit room. Even as her hair became soaked in her own blood.

The little girl with no knowledge of what death was laid down curled up next to her mother. She put her hand on her mother's neck where the knife had slit. She held it there with a smile. Thinking she was tired from the day and her injury would be better by morning she closed her own eyes.

When the sun danced through the window the girl's eyes fluttered open at the sound of a scream. One of the servants had come to fetch the mother and daughter for breakfast only to find them drenched in blood. The girl sat up and tapped her mother trying to wake her, still not understanding what was wrong. "She's tired..." Y/n stood up looking at her clothes with a confused look. "Did I get hurt?" The servant was quick to pull the child from the mother and felt for a pulse moments before the father came in. The child recognized him but only as the man who would take her mother from her on nice days.

Like any child would do she went up to him with pleading eyes. "Please don't take her! We were going to see the wisteria tree today!" her voice laced itself with honey and bubbles. Only, the father's eyes did not soften at the child. Rather, his hand grabbed a handful of (h/c) and yanked her to the side away from him.

"You killed her, you drove her insane!" The father's voice, rough like a jagged stone, cut its way through to the child's mind. His words took a moment to settle within her mind. When they did she stayed on the floor with trembling eyes. "You repulsive being, why were you born?" The father's voice was too harsh for a small child who knew nothing of the outside world, nor much about the concept of life and death.

"She'll be better though right?" The child denied that her mother was dead. Despite being there when it happened she rejected the idea of loneliness. Despite the sickening warmth that leaked from the corners of her eyes and fell to the wood below her knees her lips remained in a smile.