𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲; 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾

I dont know what to call this, but its cute

(Im so sorry for the delay 😭, i've been kinda busy these days. But, to make it up to you guys, this is the longest chapter i've ever done so far. Hope you like it!! And I really didn't know what to call it)

(oh and i rarely ever say it (sorry) but tw: abuse)

Ivy could tell where she was from the moment her eyes opened and took in sight of her surroundings. It had been so long since she'd last been there. Even in a dream.

During her time with no memories, that had been probably the only good thing. How could she have nightmares of something she didn't remember? Something she wished she still wouldn't remember.

But as always, the fates wouldn't be that nice to her. Hera wouldn't be that nice to her.

So, she tried to suck up the fear and panic that made way through her bones and up her throat as she took her first step through the door, knowing she didn't have much of a choice.

Just from the order and appearance of the furniture, and the way the air felt, she could tell it was a memory. And she was afraid she could tell exactly which one. Not like any of them were that much different each other, though.

And well, the sight of a younger her standing in the middle of the living room was a pretty good giveaway, too.

Ivy felt a minimum amount of the pressure on her chest dissipate. Of course, she absolutely hated having nightmares about that—or really any even remotely close reminder to it— but she always preferred when she saw it in 'third person'. Relieving it in first person was always much worse.

The little girl looked much different from how she did now. If she remembered correctly, it was when she was about 8 years old.

She was only wearing a short sleeved shirt and some shorts, so most of her bruised and pale skin was up to view. She had less scars than she did now, but still too many more than she should've. And being more recent, way more visible and sickening.

It was ironic in some twisted way. Even since that age, she'd always lived in a world full of monsters out to attack her (even if at the time she used to think they were just a product of her mind). Yet still, every single wound had been done by the same one. The one meant to love and protect her. To her, the worst one.

Young Ivy had her head down, her unhealthy hair hiding her just as injured face from grown Ivy. Though she knew either way that her eyes were set in the ground, trying not to even glance at the woman standing in front of the stove.

Her fingers were messing with the hem of her shirt, itching to rise up to cover her ears, which she knew she couldn't do if she didn't wanna make her angrier.

Whether she was trying not to listen to whatever her mother was telling her, or if it was because of the screaming match going on inside her head, Ivy couldn't remember.

And although the sight made her stomach churn just as much as it always had, she'd lived and seen it play too many times. So while for other people it would be hellish and shocking, the only thing grown Ivy was unfamiliar with was the absence of rings on her hands.

Reluctantly, she let her eyes trail to Lauren (her mom, if you forgot her name), who was muttering things under her breath— complaints, about her daughter. Yeah, just like she remembered. Ivy never understood why the woman always made her listen to it, but she'd practically learnt it by heart.

And knowing what would come next—also already fearing it—Ivy forced herself to return her gaze towards her younger self, whose fidgeting had increased widely. Her hands had rose up to her head, and her eyes were now shut close.