I didn't mean to.

Born in Gotham and doomed to die in it. She doesn't like to think of every nightmare decision she's ever made that has led to that fate. She doesn't like to think, either, how many of her cohort are doomed to the same — making them all mundane by default. Statistics.

She stands for one moment on tip-toe, one leg out in a dancer's point, and settles a scrutinising gaze on the street ahead.

The reality, also, was that she'd rather not leave this city where she's carved out a successful niche for herself. Nightmares and fleeting thoughts of running headlong into the streets notwithstanding, but it was survivable.

Until her habits caught up to her.

She laughs then — a high, keening sound, and there is something just a fraction mournful in it. Like Mary Dahl knows these are not the kind of idle, sick-sweet daydreams that become a reality.

Ah, but if they were! If they were!

Mary's voice, clear as a bell in the quiet night air, doesn't miss a beat. "I go where I like."

The initial, implied accusation really means nothing at all to her; she leans easy against the concrete wall, feeling it catch at her clothes, smelling the blood exposed even further by Miriel's calm, methodical hands. That had been what had first drawn her — the smell of it, casual greed, already sated for the night and meandering in the city's streets with a lilting sense of boredom.

Walking in ever-widening circles, moving away from spying eyes and are-you-okay-dears for the evening. But he'd already been dying when she'd found him, dead by the time she herself lifted his coat to see the damage. The dead blood — still entrancing, undeniably — sets something sick in the back of her throat, like the aftertaste of something rotten.

Not her fault. She was hunted down and turned in a sequence of events against her will, and all she had been doing was making the best of it.

Finally the surgeon stands, her movements unnaturally and unnecessarily graceful. The body falls from her hands like a doll with its strings cut, limbs and torso falling in a thud that's muffled by his coat.

You wouldn't understand, she wants to say, but Mary has been awfully accommodating for a vampire that's decades her senior. Or, more likely, her presence hardly registers as a blip amongst the many other things that would interest someone who's spent centuries stalking the earth. Whichever it was, Miriel preferred to have allies, or at least acquaintances who didn't want to stake her or tear her from limb to limb.

For a moment she wonders if Miriel is going to rip the man open more and have her fill anyway, of the dead blood, of the thing a part of her has always thought of as blood gone bad. All appeal is fast fading. The smell coming off the body is already invoking the sour, stomach-curling scent any human being would associate with the garbage cans out back of a butchershop. Slaughterhouse cast-offs, left in the heat.

"You can still watch, you know." Her eyes are beetle-black and amused in the dim light. "You know his name. You can take him home. Let them find him." The implication hangs there for a moment, nastily visceral. "And watch."

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 2009 film, Orphan. change & alter as needed.

"Your dreams can be a manifestation of your emotions. It's your body and mind's way of dealing with the stress and grief of what happened."

"You came up with that story?"

"If you're so bored, why aren't you down at the party?"

"There's nothing wrong with being different."

"I think people should always try to take the bad things that happen to them, and turn them into something good, don't you?"

"That is an AA term, and I didn't go to AA. I just stopped drinking."

"I thought you said there wasn't anything wrong with being different."

"Oh, look! Little Bo Peep texted me! She wants her outfit back."

"You know I'm here for you, right? You know that, right?"

"You are such a freak."

"Is there anything special you want me to make tonight? Do you have any favorites?"

"So, then, you were just pretending this whole time?"

"You know how sorry I am. I just feel like I've earned a little trust here."

"Let me get this straight. We can talk about my mistakes, but not yours?"

"I had to kill her, because she was going to tell on me. You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"I'm not a psychiatrist, but a lot of what she said made sense."

"Why does everyone get the benefit of the doubt from you except for me?"

"But has she ever made you feel, I don't know, uncomfortable? Or done anything she's not supposed to do? Like, has she ever hurt any of you?"

"It must be hard to love an adopted child as much as your own."

"Oh, my god, we need to take you to the hospital."

"We want to help you, but there's nothing we can do until you stop lying to yourself."

"You have to believe me. [Name], you have to trust me on this."

"What are you going to do? Hit me?"

"It's always better to burn the evidence."

"Don't worry. You're going to heaven."

"I know you're exhausted and upset, and so am I. But there has to be some other explanation."

"I'm so done. I'm done connecting these dots for you."

"You know, you can think whatever you want. I will leave tonight. If that's what you want, I'll leave tonight."

"Look at you! What have you done to your face? What is this?"

"I don't love you like that. That's the way [name] and I love each other. Do you understand?"

"Stop talking to me like I'm a child!"

"I'm calling [name] tomorrow. We're gonna have a conversation about your future in this house."

"But it's not really real, is it?"

independent mary dahl / baby doll from btas. penned by bri (they/them). est. 2013.

𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 -

01. avoids eye contact or looking at the floor. 02. wringing hands together in silence. 03. fidgeting with the hem of their shirt, unable to stay still. 04. looking at receiver in long silence before looking away. 05. silently leaves a folded note on the table in front of the other. 06. touches the others arm but pulls back out of guilt.

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 -

01. slams fist onto a table without saying a word. 02. exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw. 03. throws an object across the room. 04. crossing their arms tightly, digging fingers into their own skin. 05. pacing the room with heavy steps. 06. glares at the other with a clenched fist.

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 -

01. gently pushing stray hair behind the others ear. 02. resting their forehead against the others. 03. cups the others face with both hands. 04. pressing a kiss to the others forehead in silence. 05. lingering touches against the others face. 06. wraps their arms around the other from behind and rests their head on the others shoulder.

𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -

01. wiping their eyes before someone can notice. 02. pressing their face into a pillow to muffle sobs. 03. pulls the other into a desperate hug and wont let go. 04. silently reaching for the others hand, needing comfort. 05. walks into the room with red-rimmed eyes and no words.

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 -

01. spins the other around without warning in a hug. 02. links arms with the other and tugs them along happily. 03. provides the other with a handmade gift. 04. tackles the other in a sudden and joyful hug. 05. kisses the others cheek unexpectedly and grins.

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 -

01. backing away slowly and looking for exits. 02. hiding behind the other and peeking around. 03. flinches at sudden movement from the other. 04. presses their back against the wall with eyes darting around the room. 05. jumps at a noise and instinctively grabs the others hand.

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

01. tucks a blanket gently around the other person's shoulders. 02. applies a bandage with slow and deliberate care. 03. brings them food and water and watches to ensure they eat. 04. runs fingers through their hair in efforts to soothe. 05. rubs soothing circles on the others back while they cry. 06. stays silently by the others side in support without saying a word.

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

Miriel was not one of them. Or, she hadn't needed to lie about it yet.

A rapid tap-tap-tap of child-sized shoes almost drowned out by the splash of loafers in small puddles left by the rain. The heavy stench of alcohol hitting her even before she saw his face — a leering, bloated mask with one hand raised as if trying to grasp whoever it was they were pursuing. Her own hand already sought out her scalpel by instinct, flipping it so the blade faced out with the tip aimed just above her head. Precisely where the sharp edge could bite into his throat and tear it open with his own clumsy forward momentum, skin opening before steel like wrapping paper split open on Christmas Day.

Regret set in a few seconds later. Regret that it had been over so soon, that the amount of blood spattered across the wall and mixing with the rainwater in the gutters meant there wouldn't be much of a man to sink her teeth into in a matter of minutes. Even then she crouches, eyes wide with hunger or glee the surgeon could not say, hauling him up in a futile attempt to catch the last shuddering gasps of a man choking on his own blood.

Mary doesn't really register until she speaks up.

"You're welcome." She swallows, her throat dry despite the prickling of the drizzle against her hair, against the back of her hand as she slowly releases the deathgrip on the body. "You shouldn't —" No. Sounded wrong in a way Miriel could not have verbalised why.

"I left her inside," she says finally, clicking open the purse to confirm that yes, her gun is still in there, and that yes, it hadn't saved her. Her face creases a little — it's the look of an amputee remembering a lost limb, that slight tilt as if to look over her shoulder for a woman who is not there. "I thought—"

Thought it'd be fine. Thought it wouldn't be matter. It'd be a few minutes.