A/N: Hello, all! Remember my fanfiction, Undone? Well, this is the remake. I like this much better. So, I hope you all enjoy it!
(yes, I changed my username. I used to be known as stylishevil, but due to many changes in my life oh my god hey, guys, I legit came out *as a lesbian, fyi* on tumblr, to my friends, and my sister! I decided to change it. Just an F.Y.I.).
I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belong to Gail Carson Levine.
And here we go again.
It was happening again, again, again, like fucking clockwork, and she had no choice but to submit to the sadistic cogs as they turned and turned to the rhythm of torture. What was she going to do? Try and stop it? No. Never. Because for a split second-it felt good. It felt good to press something sharp and dangerous against her flesh, it felt good to watch the blood drip down her pretty little arm…
It was good.
For once, she wasn't thinking about God, or her parents, or morals.
All she could focus on was the blade, the blood, the pain. Or was it pleasure? She didn't really know, nor did she really care.
She was starting to feel rather dizzy. She didn't know how far to take this…she just knew that she needed a moment of release. And this was it. This was fucking beautiful. Fucking perfect.
"God…damn it…" she mumbled, loving how the Lord's name felt on her tongue when used in a form other than absolute reverence.
Her head was starting to throb.
She moved the blade away from her arm, staring down at the drizzling red mess she had created.
Again, there it was. Taking the Lord's name in vain. Oh, how her father would frown at her. Her mother, however…well, her mother would probably sing the hymn of blasphemy with her.
With a sigh, Hattie turned on the faucet, running the small blade underneath, watching the blood wash off. Her arm was next. It stings.
"Fuck…" she swore aloud for the first time in ages. She remembered vividly the first time she'd let a curse slip out in front of her father. Bruises.
We used to be so proud, Mama. Where did it all go?
Yes, that was the question; where did it all go?
Hattie remembered a time when her, her mother, and her sister were among the Kyrrian elite. The richest family on the Frell block. Then one day, her father had seen the light. He became a zealot. A fucking zealot that Hattie couldn't even look at without wanting to gag. He saw them as the perfect family. Religious, conservative as fuck, perfect. But Hattie knew better. She knew what her mother thought was perfect. Freedom. Parties. Friends.
Not this worship every Sunday bullshit, Stephen, she'd said. That was probably what finalized the divorce. That, or her mother's affair with Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter. The door-to-door business man who dreamed of traveling to far-off places in order to sell overpriced soap.
And his daughter!
"Ella…" Hattie could barely get the name past her lips. As she bandaged up her arm, she saw Ella's face flash before her eyes.
Beautiful. Sinful. Rebellious. Dangerous.
Hattie sighed, pulling the sleeve of her shirt down.
"It's time for bed, Hattie." She told her reflection, smirking confidently, despite the tears that savagely burned her eyes.
"You'll feel better in the morning, darling," she touched her face, fingertips tracing along her lips as she spoke, "just a minor setback. That's all. You're just peachy, baby. Just peachy."
With another smirk, Hattie turned away from the mirror, and flicked off the bathroom's light switch.