From the Vast

Prologue: Sins

*clink!*

The metallic sound filled the small lobby, followed moments later by the light tap of the letter hitting the wooden floor. Both noises were only barely audible over the background of scribbling crayons, canine snoozes, and the TV's ambiance, but... she heard it all the same. There's no way she could've not heard it. Her eyes went wide as she put away the knitting needles and stood up from the couch; each step towards the door reverberated in her mind.

But she had to.

A shaking hand reached over to pick the letter up as she tried to fill her soul with hope. It didn't have to be what she thought it was; it could've been something else—maybe just bills, maybe just junk mail. She begged the gods above, but they didn't listen.

Her heart sank as she read the label on the envelope. Sender's address—St. Trinity Hospital in Mistralton.

Still, she kept hoping. Yes, she knew she'd get her diagnosis eventually, but that didn't mean it would be what she feared it was. Her odds weren't great, but they weren't terrible either. It didn't have to end with tragedy—

*shuffle*

But it would, all the same.

Her heart sank as she read the prognosis, sank and hammered so hard she could barely keep reading. The text had turned into an incomprehensible blur, obscured by first her shaking, then her tears, and last, her will. It was too terrible to face, this suffering the letter foretold.

The best they could do was treat the worst of the symptoms once they began, but by then it would already be too late. When would it happen? This year, the next, in five years? She didn't know, she couldn't know. Maybe she'd just end up being lucky, the exception to the rule, maybe she'd last the eleven years needed. She just had to hope things would be alright.

She just had to hope she'd outrun her sins in the end.

The woman slid the letter back into its envelope before turning to look at the young girl scribbling on the floor in the living room. Her lips moved without making a sound, weaving silent apologies for everything her little one was too young to remember, and for everything that would still await her. Then, they turned on herself, berating herself about how she should've tried harder when she had the chance; when she first realized there was something terribly wrong going on in her family.

When she first realized what her husband had been doing to Tommy when she was too busy with work to notice.

Maybe if she had noticed it at the time, called the police; hadn't dismissed her son's behavior as him just being a moody, hormonal teenager, maybe all this would've been avoided. Maybe if she'd just done that, she would be able to look at her granddaughter without guilt tearing her soul apart.

But she hadn't.

And others would suffer for her failures the most, once more.

"~G-grandma Lisa?~" the girl asked in her small, weary voice, having run over when the old woman wasn't looking. On her cheek, a splash of jam from the pancake she'd just had.

In her arms, the Fennekin they had taken home a few months ago.

Lisa shuddered, trying to think of what to say, if there was anything she even could say. It was all too painful to think about, too painful to admit, even to herself, let alone to someone who shouldn't have to deal with any of this. She couldn't bear it, couldn't bear thinking about what would have to happen were she to finally face the reality before herself—

And so; she didn't.

"~I'm okay Annie, it's just some bad news,~" the old woman reassured, wiping her tears with a sleeve of her grandmotherly cardigan.

After all, maybe it would all turn out alright.

"~But everything will be okay.~"