Violet rarely speaks, so when you find yourself hearing her voice, you either cherish it or start running.
Being a selective mute who's power is to disappear, Violet Hargreeves hasn't aged ever since Five's powers kicked back at her for trying to st...
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Everything quickly became far too much for Violet to handle.
The sounds, the feeling, the sight of everything.
Five blinked her to her room and attempted to suppress his concern as she turned away from him and curled into the corner of her bed, wrapping her arms around herself and closing her eyes, headphones secure over her ears. If she opened her eyes she'd just stare at the blood beneath her nails and probably cry.
Five left her alone for some time to decompress.
She had gotten up three times separately to keep scrubbing at her sisters blood on her skin, wearing down the layers until it stung and turned red raw. She would lie down again, trying to ignore the feeling and the sight, then have to get up again and try harder.
The horrific sight at the cabin had shaken her. The violence of it, the body across the kitchen that she could only bare a single glance at. The sharp objects, the blood, the wrecked interior.
Standing in the mess, the blood soaking into the dark wood, the fabric of the torn rug, her sisters pretty clothes. It was like a tornado had torn through the house.
The eye Five had carried around no longer mattered.
He tried getting her to talk, bless him. He really did.
The world apparently wasn't ending, the eye matched Harold Jenkins, her sister would be fine and Violet took it all in but could not bring herself to get up.
She stared at the wall of her bedroom, curled up in her bed, bundled in Five's old jumper and trying to silence out every little disturbance of a tiny sound so she could breathe again.
Sleep had overtaken her exhausted mind quickly, but she didn't rest easily. Her thoughts were racing and she kept questioning things. She didn't know where Vanya was, she didn't know if the end of the world truly had stopped, she didn't know anything, much less how to process her own emotions and it was tearing her apart.
At some point during the evening Five had left a margarita on her nightstand, knowing she probably wouldn't drink it but offering it up anyways, because if the apocalypse truly was stopped, then fuck it.
Drowned in self hate and restless, she slept through it, a bitter taste on her tongue - up until the feeling of the whole house quaking made her jolt up.
Something akin to dust fell on her face and she looked up, eyebrows pinching together at the huge crack in the cieling.
Her heart raced as she pushed herself up and felt the ground rumbling. Quickly she ripped her headphones off and the sound of the house caving in on itself met her ears.
Violet shot out of bed with a noise of distress, something akin to an earthquake sending tremors up her legs as she struggled to make it to the door without stumbling.
