April 3rd, 1936 

     Going against Muffet's demands, I chose to proceed downstairs for another day. You would imagine everyone would be happy that I'm trying to be more than just a human vegetable. Instead, I've been yelled at and scolded for being reckless.

I know that I'll never regain full health again, or ever for that matter, and I understand that I'm going to die this way. I've known this since being pregnant with Jacob. But mindless of whether I will or not, I refuse to sit back and let others feel sorry for me. I don't deserve anyone's pity, nor do I want it. But if I am here for something, I want to be alive long enough to figure out what that reason is.

I only wish to know the point in me, the point in continuing to persist on through the pain and torture this world has put me through. Until then, I will continue to remain here, searching for at least one reason. Or at least, one that satisfies my expectations.

Laying in bed won't do me any good. Not if I'm set to figure myself out before everything's over.

Dean's stopwatch around my neck and a book in my hands, I was relaxing the best I could while waiting for Father to finish his conference.

I did my best not to eavesdrop on their conversation. It proved itself to be much harder than I'd expected it to be, seeing how the novel I'd picked out was one I'd read enough times to recite it word per word. You'd imagine the book would be incredible. But with all due respect to the author, it was the dullest one I've ever seen, besides dictionaries.

Grudgingly I listened to the men, feeling my skin crawl as the horrific images began painting themselves in my mind. The things they spoke of were so lewd that I nearly needed to vomit. It was worse than my migraine, worse than the uncomfortable feeling in my lungs and worse than being choked to death.

What they spoke of had me feeling so uncomfortable, so violated, I couldn't think of the words to describe it. I dug my nails into both covers of my book, observing my hands shake excessively with every word they whispered.

Even Father had taken part in this dirty talk, when before he would immediately put an end to it the moment it started. Now, he and those gruesome dogs were going over mine and my sister's figures. How Charlotte had the bigger bust and curves, how I may not be as large as she is but I possess the innocently sexy hourglass figure most men nowadays crave. How Charlotte is devious and bold while I am more alluring just by being polite and quiet.

"I'd give her to you if she weren't a married broad already."

I gag, dropping the book into my lap and cupping a hand over my mouth before I have to scream. Rage slithers into my fist and flows through my body, burning my cheeks and forcing me to see nothing but sheer red.

The men below, howling with laughter and continuing to make comments.

I tune them out, having had enough with the shameless perversion. I immerse myself into thoughts of what I learned on the first of April, the monster women I'd met that day who was willing enough to hold up a conversation with me. My mouth waters in the memory of her tasty pie, the way the gooey filling melted on my tongue and how the crust had been so well cooked through.

I watch Muffet walk past with a bundle of clothes in her many arms, struggling to keep bloomers from dropping to the floor. Her hands held onto every item they could but still weren't enough to hold it all. I sigh, standing shakily and tapping her shoulder. When she turns around, her black hair swishing in its two ponytails, her mouth drops, about to begin protesting to my gestures. Then I put a finger to her fangs, silencing her as I tilt my head to the side, motioning towards the dining room full of rambunctious men with drinks in their hands.

At that moment, when her yes slimmed and her fingers tightened around my dresses, she nods and hands off half the load for me to help her carry.

Muffet scurries to the stairs, her frilled dress bouncing around her while I follow close behind. She and I may not be remotely close in age, but we are both as afraid of my father as a child would be of wretched beasts hidden in their closets. Neither of us wished to be around once he'd had too much whiskey, it wasn't safe for either of us.

While going up the stairs, my breathing quickens and hitches, causing me to stop at the top landing and nearly slump to the floor. Luckily, my faithful nurse was there to help me stay upright as we proceeded to the bedroom.

"Thank you, Muffet."

"Don't mention it, Deary. It's my job to keep you out of harm's way after all. It's the reason your Mother hired me to you before her departure." She laughed, her lips curving devilishly, the way they always had when she was genuinely pleased.

Muffet has been working for my family for decades. She first worked for my grandmother, whom then passed her off to my mother, then to me once she died shortly after birthing me.

Since she wasn't there for me, Muffet became my wetnurse and eventually grew to be somewhat of a parental figure of mine. When I hurt myself playing outside, she was the one to tend to my wounds and kiss my scratches to make them better. She may have been bossy and strict, but all in all, she was the only person I had who was willing to call me her little girl.

Charlotte wasn't as close to Muffet as I was back then. Instead, she found Muffet to be creepy and hostile-seeming. So did almost anyone else who met her. But they didn't understand Muffet the way I do, and no one ever took the time to try and understand anything at all.

Muffet may have been favorable towards me, but she has always avoided informing me of serious concerns or things that might have worried me. At times she wouldn't tell me even the simplest of things. Such as where she came from, how old she was, and where she learned things. I suppose it's not my business to know, but still. The less she tells me the ever more concerned I become.

I use my elbow to jiggle against the door handle, eventually opening the door and allowing Muffet in first. When Father isn't near, we treat one another as equals and remain polite with one another. Friends.

As I dropped the dresses down on my bed, I made sure to be the one who retrieved hangers (Muffet was the one to do so last time). You see, every time I reach the closet, she has this special trick where she-

Just as I get to reach for the hangers, a thick white rope slings past my ear and attaches itself to the iron rods. The webbing is yanked back in the direction it came from, and the hangers are now in four sets of violet hands by the time I think to turn around.

Muffet smirks, cocking her many brows and beginning to slide the arms of the hangers into the sleeves of my clothes. Having monster magic, that's her special trick.

"Not quite there yet, Deary~."

I shake my head, making my way over and doing the best I can to assist. Of course, there was no use in attempting to help someone with eight speedy arms, now was there? Still, I tried regardless and managed to snag a coat and longsleeved nightgown.

While hanging the items up, Muffet and I both jumped to the sound of glass shattering and doors slamming.

We looked at one another with worry, Muffet taking me by the hands and rubbing circles into my palms as she guided me to the handrails a few steps from the top staircase. There, she gently pets my cheek "Let me go see what all this noise is about, Deary. I'll be right back." and leaves me there to watch her tip-tap away down towards the back door to the right of my view.

I let my nails claw into the soft wood of the railing as I watched her step outside into the cold, noticing the broken bottle shards she was standing in.

Father never wastes perfectly good alcohol without good reason.

I don't know what else it was. But for some reason, I was brought towards the chaotic shouting and the sound of gunfire.

As quickly as it happened, it stopped and begun again. I could see Muffet frozen in the doorway, hugging her skinny frame tightly and ceasing to blink. Unfamiliar voices spat out insults and empty threats, enraged and terrifying to listen to alongside the screaming of my Father's demands.

I get to Muffet and pull her back from the scene, turning her to face me with worry in my tone. "Muffet, what is it?"

"N-no Dear. I told you to stay, so go back upstairs!" I could detect the dread in her words; Something was wrong.

Before I was able to get a good look at her expression, gunshots range from the back porch again. I screamed, holding my hands over my ears, and rushing out to find Father. I felt Muffet's nails scratch against my arm in the hopes of grabbing it. Once I was free of her reach, I flew down the concrete path towards the garden, following the shouts and shrieks of agony. Muffet called after me, unable to keep me from seeing blood splatter against the gazebo's interior.

The shouting continued as I got closer, no one noticing me until I skid to a halt. Grabbing at my ribs, I gasp from the unusual amount of physical activity I was putting myself through. Without warning, I begin coughing again, the feeling of my airways being closed off all over again as I double over, a fist to my mouth to try and cover it up.

I feel the floor rumble and listen as someone struggles against somebody else, floorboards creaking with every step that drew nearer. My father rubs my back, suddenly worried "Darling, what are you doing out here like this? You'll catch another cold at the rate you are going!"

Classical Father, he only cares when something is wrong.

I can't stop coughing as he kneels down to comfort me, his voice soothing me away from fears even if the one concern I had was not being able to catch a breath any time soon.

"You said you knew where he was, you bastard!"

Someone growled from the other end of the gazebo, catching my attention and giving me enough strength to raise my head and look towards the source of the disturbance. I cling to one of the painted columns with both hands, my eyes widening before what was in front of me.

Two of the men my Father was speaking with had their knuckles busted and were bleeding from all over, deep gashes in their shoulders and thighs, the fabric around those areas sticking to their injuries. One's ey was turning black, even. One man held a knife in his hand, raised over his head in frozen a stabbing motion.

The other man I recalled joining in on lewd explications was casual holding a potato-sacked man's body up, his arms locked with theirs in a way that looked to be hurting him. The bag-headed being struggled and grunted, squirming around in defiance.

Shivering due to not being suitably dressed, I watch my breath fog into the early, grey evening air, blood boiling.

"What is all this? " I command, my lungs still gasping for enough air to re-inflate themselves. "What's going on. Answer me."

"Francine, go back inside before you catch another cold. I mean it, young lady!"

"I'm not going in until someone tells me what is going on."

Silence swept over the gazebo, accompanied by another's wheezing. And this time, I wasn't the source of it. My gaze fixated on the bag covering this man's head, and I could only imagine who was underneath...

I grimaced at the thought of a bloodied up civilian's busted face beneath that bag, imagining him sobbing silently. I watched as their breaths came steadily, and realized there were no signs of injury anywhere on them.

The trench coat they wore looked almost untouched beside a few scuffs of dirt here and there, the same with their pants. The only blood on their body was that of splatters and the blood dripping through their torn up leather gloves.

Getting a closer look at them, I could see a white button-up shirt that appeared to be a bit baggy in the areas it was untucked. A set of suspenders connected down to their trousers.

They were taller than that of both the men keeping him hostage and looked to be strong enough to defend himself, this confused me, seeing how he couldn't get out of their grip.

"This wicked man has come to our home for work, but when I explained the circumstances, he openly began to lash out at our guests. Such insolence will not go unpunished."

He growls, voice deep and raspy, sending a chill of dread down my spine. It sounded almost carefree, but at the same time made out to be cold and loathsome.

" Listen, Sugarplum. That old geezer is a bald-faced liar. I had no fuckin' idea what it was I was signing up for when I came here. So this is all jus' a big misunderstanding."

Despite the evil and disgust in his tone, I felt as if I could trust that what he was telling me was true. It wouldn't be surprising, things like this have happened on occasion. But instead of Chara acting as the peacekeeper, it's me. And I have almost no idea as to what I'm doing.

I swallow the film forming in my esophagus and approach the brute with caution.

"Release him at once."

Before my Father could call off my orders, the man is shoved down into the wooden planks, unable to catch himself due to lack of sight. Swiftly giving the grounded man a rough kick in the hip, the two drunk guests file out of the gazebo.

"Francine, get down here this instant. I don't want you near that crumb. "

Livid, I spin on my heels and glare at him. "You may not care for others well being, but unlike you, I do."

The two men beside him send me looks of hatred and disappointment, almost as if I weren't doing the right thing. Something about it all didn't settle right with me...

Nonetheless, I find myself lifting this man to his knees and untying the rope around his neck. Once I do, he grunts and tilts his head, the sound of several bones popping. More of the low pops emitted from his shoulders as he rolls them, massaging his joints with his bloody hands.

I felt ashamed and disgusted for what happened to him and knew it was my fault for not helping sooner.

I tossed the rope off to the side, rubbing up and down my arms to keep warm. Trembling, I manage to get words out.

"I-I ap-p-pologize on behave of everyone involved in this. It was unprofessional and h-highly unethical."

If I remained out here any longer, I would surely freeze over. But I refused to go in until I knew this man was alright. Teeth chattering, I wait and listen to what he had to say.

The man chuckles, his voice deep when he responds with the sack still over his face. He settles himself so that he's on one knee, looking up in the direction he heard my voice in.

"Takin' the rap for something you didn't do's all wet, Dollface. Just help me outta this bag, and I'll leave ya to your business."

I nod, hesitantly placing one hand on the sack and lifting it slowly as my Father's steps could be heard coming our way. He yells at me, telling me to stop what I'm doing but by the time he decided to verbally intervein, it was too late.

Lifting the bag from his head, I came face to face with not a man, but a monster, to my surprise. His eyes were just two glowing white orbs in the center of empty sockets, his only facial features being the solid bone of his skull being chipped and cracked above and below his optics, one seemingly new from barely moments ago. He appeared so much older than I thought he'd be.

Just as I was shocked, he seemed to be as well, his lazy expression casually being replaced with one of speculation.

I step back, withdrawing into the fencing of the gazebo as the monster stands up. Slowly, he steps forward, I prop up on the wooden balustrade in order to gain distance. Not that I was afraid, only concerned.

His pupils travel up and down my face, settling on all of me before he finally focuses on words instead.

"Well, you sure are a sight for sore eyes. Aren't ya, Pip?"

Before I let Father pull him away, I reach up to touch the blood dripping down his solid cheek with wonder and amazement.

Snow begins drifting past me and blending into the atmosphere. And for a moment, for the smallest, most wonderful moment, I forget that I'm not able to breathe.