Running Straight Into His Arms [Youngguns fanfic]

16

Tw: Will be using French, abuse, and talks of cheating. And will be mostly in Lori's past.

Her voice was so enchanting luring me like a fish to bait. Her face haunted me as the drug dug deeper and deeper into my eyes, my chest, my tears. She looked exactly how any mother would look the same old fleece shawl, a Broken English accent, and her hair kept up in a low bun with flowers protruding in her hair.

"Maman c'est moi Lorraine!"

The figure only smiled and made a gesture to come closer to her. Her eyes were the deepest blue, her skin the pale complexion that me and Marvella would joke about saying she was a ghost in a human shell. But after what my father did she could never heal from that.

(Past: June 14th 1865)

"Marvella! Give me my doll!"

Marvella rushed into the library holding my doll Astoria captive. Not wanting to give me her baby sister the doll.

"Make me! You were never supposed to be born!"

I stopped my eyes brimming with salty tears stinging my cheeks. She had to be kidding honestly that's not true Maman loves me same with father so was I not planned unlike Miss Marvella I mean nothing to this family.

"That's not true Marvella! I'm special just like you! Take that back! Take it back!"

She smiled finding my weakness and using it against me made her feel powerful enough to throw my doll into the fire pit.

"No! Astoria!" I rush to the side of the fireplace grab the stoker get my doll out but it is too late the flames left my doll my only prized possession burned. Tears flow down thy cheek onto the doll's face soaking the scarred face of a once happy doll.
I sat there on the floor of the library crying over Astoria and it felt like hours went by until she came in.

"Ma chère Lorraine, pourquoi sommes-nous par terre, hein? Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, ma petite rose?"

My mother's nickname for me was always Rose, I was her rose in translation, "My dear Lorraine why are we on the floor hm? What is the matter my little rose?" Me and her and a secret language just French between me and Mama.

"Marvella burned Astoria and said I wasn't supposed to be born. Is that true?"

Mother sits down in her favorite chair beckoning me to come to her. She smelled like the garden, her cheeks were always pink and her gown was always a shade of blue or white and felt like I was touching a cloud. She puts her shawl around me holding me as a teenager close to her chest, mind you, I was 13 when the incident happened, and Marvella was 14.

"Darling, God blessed me and your father with a tiny rosey cheek baby and told us to name her a very special name that only the heavens would know and that baby was you, my dearest. Don't let Marvella steal your light for she is a fille gatée."

She boops my noise making me giggle through the pain of being upset about Astoria being burnt and holds me close to her as the chair rocks back and forth. I stay close to her chest hearing her heartbeat roar into my ears.

"Mama what is a fille gatèe?"

She smiles and gives a hearty chuckle at my curiosity.

"It's what the French call a spoiled girl."

We both giggle. It was rare to hear French since Father forced Mother to learn English after they were married and it was rare to see her so happy and seeing her smile as well. The joyful moment stops when she hears my father's footsteps echo in the hallway.

"Aurora! Aurora!"

My father called from the hallway seeing her in the library holding me close to her chest as he and one of our servants entered with a package in the shape of what looked like a painting.

"Finally I found you Aurora! The portrait came in today and.."

He stops and looks at her awkwardly since I was in the room.

"And what John? Another dress or jewelry for your mistress?"

My mother's thick accent attacks his pride for he had never told her about the cheating or the gambling but she had to get used to it the poor woman can't leave him.

"No, Aurora I'm yours, no other woman could ever tempt me from you! A dress came in for the girls the one with the hats."

My mother was proud of herself for attacking his pride but again she couldn't leave him. She nods remembering our visit to the dressmaker's shop seeing all the vibrant silks and fleeces and how they would tickle the delicate skin. She opened the package to her shock it was a portrait of her in the same gown and shawl.

Of course later that night we would hear screams from the bedroom as she pleaded for my father to calm himself and to leave me and my sister out of whatever the problem was. This unfortunately never stopped she would leave her bedroom and come to my room to fix the sheets then in her thin nightgown and shawl climb into the bed and stay there the whole night watching over us.

(Present day)

Unaware that I was close to the cliff I felt someone grab me and pull me back to safety but it made my mother run off. 

"Alright, which one of you scared my mother off!"