ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ: ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏɴ x ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Chapter 19: Rally the Troops

Y/n was still somewhat certain she wasn't alive. At this point, she assumed herself to be trapped in some kind of messed up purgatory, because why else would her dead mother be here with her?

M/n had been very clear in telling her daughter that she was, in fact, not dead. She said that she was willing to explain everything to her, provided she first got changed into the clothes she had left out for her on the dresser. 

Y/n still had so much she wanted to say, but she couldn't bring herself to utter a single word.
Not that it would have mattered, because as soon as she was finished speaking, M/n swiftly closed the door behind her and shuffled back down the hall to god knows where. 

Absentmindedly, Y/n heaved herself out of bed. Viewing herself in a nearby mirror, she mentally confirmed the lack of a bullet in her head.
Still, she rubbed around the pounding spot on her forehead, just to be sure.  

She also noticed that she wasn't dressed as V/n anymore. Instead, she donned a pale cottony nightgown that felt a few sizes too small on her [petite/bulky] frame. "Weird,"  She thought. "Where's my V/n costume? Did it disappear after I. . ?"  

Deciding not to think about it too much, Y/n changed out of the tight cloth, then reached for the clothes that rested upon the dresser.
They were sloppily folded and slightly crumpled, as though pulled together at the last moment. She slipped on the casual f/c t-shirt and the pair of black leggings that laid there, then turned to exit the room.

Cautiously, she stepped into the hall. Staging a glance back at the bedroom, she softly clicked the door shut behind her. "Oh, you look lovely honey." Y/n glanced to her side, seeing her mother standing there at the end of the hallway. She held her thin hands firmly in one another, giving a sweet smile that made Y/n's heart ache with bitter nostalgia. 

"I remember that f/c was your favorite color, it always looked so adorable on you." She whispered softly. "Do you remember that lacy dress I bought that you scribbled all over in f/c crayon when you were younger?"

Y/n didn't respond. M/n coughed.

Shaking it off, the older woman gestured for Y/n to approach. Once together, Y/n followed her mother into a cozy looking living room, both seating themselves down in two nearby armchairs. M/n quickly ducked into an adjacent kitchen, coming back out moments later with two steaming cups of cocoa. 

"You used to love this brand when you were younger," She smiled, handing Y/n a floral-patterned mug. Y/n took it up in her hands, sniffing it. To her, it reminded her of the minty scent of childhood winters, back in the simpler times when she and Cassandra were busy building elaborate snow sculptures in their backyard instead of doing their math homework.    

Y/n set the mug down, eyeing her mother steadily. For someone who had led her kids to believe she was dead for nearly a decade, she sure did seem to remember a lot about how said children were raised. And M/n had the nerve to think she could be chummy with the daughter she abandoned! Y/n wanted nothing to do with her mother, now that she knew that she had been alive this entire time. 

Every hardship that she and her sister had been through, every battle wound, every traumatic nightmare. . .

It all stemmed from that night in the car.

That night where she had held her mother's hand, wanting nothing more than her comfort, only for her to leave her forever. 

Forever until now.

"I grieved for you, you know." Y/n said quietly. "Both you and dad. Cassandra kept telling me that you abandoned us to fend for ourselves, that you didn't love us anymore and didn't deserve my mourning. Then, I started having these terrifying nightmares about that night in the car, and they won't go away! None of them will!"