"With just a tiny seed
A garden soon may grow
With just a drop of water
A river soon may flow
For every dream that is ever dreamt
A wish may soon come true
So it is with life
And so it can be with you"
- Leslie C. Dobson
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
.• °:. ☆ ────────────────── ☆ .• °:.
THE AIR AROUND THE HAWTHORNE ESTATE WAS LOOMED WITH A SINGULAR THREAD OF GRIEF, SHROUDING UPON IT'S RESIDENTS A THICK BLANKET OF DESPAIR. Christopher knocked upon her bedroom door in a solemn manner for an umpteenth time, only to receive no response. He let out a small sigh, worry etched across his features as he stared down at the floor, a soft glow of the lamp from Miss Savannah's room illuminating the otherwise dark hallway.
He quickly gave up on his attempts, aiming to continue once more after a moment and instead used his time to pull away the curtains from the large floor to ceiling windows in order to let the light in, with hope of be-ridding the home from its desolate state.
When he was done with his task, he knocked upon the door once more "Miss Hawthorne, you must eat something and I implore you to experience a healthy amount of interaction with the outside world. I am sure Duchess would agree" He baited, knowing the girl would at least try to move if her beloved pet were in need of it. He sighed when no response came and turned on his way downstairs.
Savannah stared at the Samoyed in her lap and gently rubbed her soft, white fur. She wasn't really hoping to do much. Not even the lights felt like a necessity at this point. The light from the lamp was just fine, she hated the overhead anyway. Taking a shower, dressing up or eating. It all felt like such trouble. It had weighed on her. Everything had weighed on her. Her parent's passing was only the tip of the messed up ice berg that had formed.
Her failed forced marriage. Her being almost sacrificed. Her lost sense of self and identity. Her abandoned shoes in the forest. Blood. Scars. Vividly haunting dreams.
All of it.
It was too much.
She sighed, gently rubbing to Duchess' head a last time before drinking a glass of water and turning off the lamp, hoping sleep would lull her away from it. Every second of it she didn't wish to experience. Not that the darkness or dreams had been better, but they hadn't been worse. So that was a start...right?
.• °:. ☆ ────────────────── ☆ .• °:.
NORMAL WASN'T A WORD THEY'D BEEN FAMILIAR WITH. WHAT IS NORMAL ANYWAY? A dirty motel room was a sight the Winchesters had begun to consider home long ago-the younger being given a break from the mouldy, dingy road side rooms when he was off to college not too long ago. Sam Winchester considered himself a bit of an outcast within his own rights. Not really fitting in anywhere despite his best efforts to do so.
But this had become his normal and part of him had grown some sort of acceptance for it but his reluctance still narrowed his prospects. He had also found resentment towards his father, for raising his children, the way he did. If it weren't for his brother, he wouldn't have made it-not that the brothers would ever openly express it but they had become a family of their own.
