Mari's Hands And Their State Are A Recurring Motif In This Universe - Tumblr Posts
posting tiny snippets of fanfic until someone finds it interesting enough for me to finish it and put it all on ao3, part 5
content warning: serious self-harm, references to emotional neglect and abuse.
[MARI - 25]
Mari booted up the old PC. The Puppeteer watched, warped face sneering in the reflection of the black screen, long, stringy hair covering thin shoulders; Sunny was busy with Basil today.
Trying to ignore the creature behind her, Mari looked out the window. Perhaps her vision was getting worse, some parts of the backyard looked blank, like raindrops distorting the view outside a windowpane. She could still see the forest and sky, and figure outside. He was always there too, scarf flapping in the wind. She imagined him as her father, waiting peacefully for her to come outside and play…
Come now, Mari. You know that’s not good enough. Take a break, we can do more soon.
Mari’s fingers tapped absent-mindedly along the desk. She played out some notes… right, G4, E5, …left, C4, G4 and E4, once again,... everything played mezzoforte, she hummed quietly to herself…
Yes, this one would sound good enough for Dad. This one would be perfect…
She closed her eyes. It was like it was all really there… left, A3, C#4 and E4; G3, C#4 and E4, repeat,... right, G5, D5, no, wait, E5…
Wait.
Mari froze.
What was she doing?
No, what the fuck was she doing?
No, no, no. Absolutely not. Never again
Her mother's voice echoed in her head.
Don't hurt yourself, Mari. I told you to stop. You're burdening me and everyone else.
No, no, wait, but,
Mari slammed her hands on the edge of the desk, and again. Over and over and over and over and over. She hit them harder and harder. Over and over and over and over and over. She hit them until they turned purple and throbbed, she hit them until they went numb. Then she kept hitting.
She stopped. Her fingers were shaking, bent in odd directions. The bandages must've slipped off.
She knew it was supposed to hurt, but it didn't. She looked blankly at the shattered mechanics of her hands.
Her mother burst into the room, the door flying open. Mari hadn't heard the footsteps. “God, Mari, what did I tell you? That's the third time this month.”
Mari stood up and looked at her mother's shoes, avoiding her eyes. They were navy velvet loafers, with a small rose near the top of the shoe. Perfect mom shoes for a perfect mom.
“No, we're not going to the hospital again. They're fed up with you.” Her mother grabbed Mari's wrists, pulling them harshly. She peered at the fingers.
“Go and clean them up and bandage them. I'm sick of this. I know you miss him, but this isn't appropriate.”
Mari moved to leave, slipping past her mother, avoiding touch. As she walked toward the door, her mother sighed deeply.
“You know you're fine. Don't pretend otherwise. I'm fine and you're fine. If you weren’t fine, you would talk to me.”
Mari nodded distractedly, and busied herself in the bathroom. Puppeteer loomed in the mirror, hissing the words her mother said.
You're a burden. She's sick of you. They’re fed up with you. You're fine. You're fine. You're fine. This isn’t appropriate.
Mari tried to ignore it.