The Old King ~OUAT Panfiction (Book 3)

The Slain Mockingbird

Anne's trembling frame slid down into a slow crouch, back pressed against the bed and she just stared. The blood was drying on her clothes and skin and a lump formed in her throat. She held her knees and her large gaze was unwavering, eyelid twitching. The lump grew and a tear pooled. She tried to resist it, but the lump was too strong and the droplet slid down her cheek. Then, as if she had never cried a day in her life, she buried her face in her knees and sobbed heavily and helplessly. Her arms and legs began to intensely tremble and tightened the hold on her knees, remembering the pain that left a sharp ache through her hips and the feeling of his hot breath on her skin, screaming until her voice was hoarse and her throat ached. And most of all, the dreaded feeling that overcame her, that she was utterly helpless as the dying mockingbird gripped her by the neck, suffocating her, paralyzing her.

There had been no one, no one but herself and what she had done.

"Go on and cry little lost girl, this is the end of you."

Anne's head lifted and her fifteen year old apparition was gazing at her, longingly.

"They humiliated us, Anne. They caged us. They tied a leash on our wrists -- do you still feel the burns, Anne? The way they jerked us around and disrespected us, underestimated us?" Fifteen year old Anne snickered knowingly.

"Leave," the real Anne snarled.

"They belittled us, Anne, they hung us over a cliff with nothing but their filthy grasp to depend on!"

"I said LEAVE!" Anne exclaimed.

"They VIOLATED us and you're just going to sit there and wait for your knight and shining armor to return?! He left you too, Anne -- he promised he wouldn't!" Her figment protested, setting her jaw. "The wasteful bastard deserved what you did to him. And now it's time to punish the rest of them. All of them." There was a malevolent curve in her lips. "Show them who you truly are. Make them kneel at your feet, and then take back what they stole from us."

Upon such manipulatively truthful words, Anne Beastly bore her darkening gaze into her figment, hesitating, then a slow grin spread across her lips.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Pan headed back to the treehouse, he climbed up the ladder and went to push the door open. It wouldn't budge at first. He pushed harder and became increasingly frustrated, busting it open with a strong palm. Pushing the door over, he climbed inside and rubbed his aching wrist. Then, he met her eyes from where she sat on the edge of the bed, placidly gazing at him.

She was dripping with water, blood running in trails of pink down her skin. Her clothes, shredded, although still intact, and she laid her palms on the bed. Pan's eyes widened upon the horrific realization that she was, in fact, covered in blood and shivered at the emotionless look on her face. It was as if she wasn't bothered by it. But that wasn't his first question. "The door, it was locked."

"I wanted you to struggle," she confessed, hesitantly and her dark eyes were unblinking.

Pan took a step further inside and lifted the door with his foot, urging it over so it fell closed. "Why are you all wet?" He eyed her suspiciously.

"I decided to go for a swim," she replied, monotonously.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Then, his eyes widened again. "Is it yours?!" He approached her, although when he tried to lay a hand on her shoulder, she seized his aching wrist.

"Where were you?" She inquired, gazing up at him and still, gave nothing away. Her dark eyes remained bone-chillingly empty, narrowing to slits.

Pan persisted. "Anne, what happened?" He breathed shakily, swallowing fearfully. Instead of replying, she stood up and laid a hand flat on his chest, urging him back. He reluctantly moved.

"I bet you would like to know all about my night, Peter." Then, her eyes narrowed again and her tone dropped to a whisper. "I killed someone."

Pan's brows wrinkled inwardly, discomforted and gripped her hand on his chest. "Who? Why?" He hissed.

Anne's jaw clenched and she swallowed again, moving past him. He turned, eyes following her as she approached the dead fireplace. "He...did things to me, Peter," she choked.

Now, Pan's rage peaked. His stomach painfully clenched with sudden anguish.

"Horrible things," she breathed, struggling. Then, she turned toward him and it was as if all his fears had come to life. A sheer look of pain and betrayal, spite and agony blurred Anne's gaze with tears. "It was Dominique, Peter. He violated me -- he forced me against a tree and--"

Then, Pan bolted over and cupped her cheeks. "No," he pleaded, moisture collecting in the corners of his deep eyes, "no -- he couldn't -- oh...god," he cried, then sank down to his knees against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and buried his face into her stomach. Beginning to sob, he clung to her and she felt herself leaning against the fireplace. Tears dripped down her cheeks and she curled her arms around his head, fingers slipping into his hair. The lump returned and she swallowed it fully, sniffling and concentrated on the feeling of his soft curls in her grasp.

He held onto her, the sobs gradually quieting; submissive. Anne inhaled deeply. "I'm the new second-in-command now."