MORPHO. Birth of a Butterfly, Part 1.
"I... I don't..." The girl looked down at her uncle's corpse, lying in a slowly spreading pool of blood. Was she a murderer? Was she really a monster? "I didn't mean to... I would never... I..." she whispered. They'd lock her up in jail, throw her in a mental hospital... Her own mother didn't believe her. Violet had clung to everyone she loved until the very end, tried to earn their trust and love until the very end. But now, like a bolt of lightning, the realization struck her that it was all over, that she had to run.
2 days ago…
The ball, so cold and smooth, felt heavy as a stone to Violet. Mrs. Brown's words were already echoing in her thoughts, penetrating every corner of her consciousness—words that weren't just criticism, but a deliberate blow to her self-esteem. The girl closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then opened them again, trying to collect her thoughts. She began to move. Violet's body, honed by years of training, was flexible and pliable. The ball slid smoothly over her arm, shoulders, and rolled down her back, following the curves of her spine, waist, and hips. A high throw, and the ball disappeared for a moment in the blinding light of the lamps. The girl performed three quick pirouettes. In those few seconds, her head spun, her gaze involuntarily fell on the coach, her heart pounded inside. Vi caught the ball with one hand, completing her third pirouette. But bad thoughts prevented her from concentrating, causing her former grace and fluidity to disappear, and by the end of her performance, Mitchell's movements became tense, like a puppet with hinges in the arms and legs. A couple of short strands of brown hair escaped from under her hairstyle and stuck to the forehead, and breathing became ragged.
"Stop, stop! Enough!" There were two claps and the coach's footsteps. "Mitchell! What was that? Are you trying to embarrass me at the competition? You should be flying like a butterfly, not waddling like an old cow! And THIS is no good!"
The girl felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to give in to weakness. She must be strong. Endure humiliation for the sake of success… This is okay, right? No, deep down, Violet knew it couldn't be done. She clenched her fists, looking down. It was always like this, always, Mrs. Brown treated her as if her efforts were worthless. Dozens of hours of hard work, and all for nothing. Mitchell trained in secret, even at home, pouring everything into what she did because she truly loved gymnastics; it was what she lived for. And with every word the coach said, she began to despise Mrs. Brown more and more, and the anger didn't subside, only fanning the dangerous flame inside, the kindling for which had been piling up for years.
"What are you crying about? The judges should be crying with shame over your performance! Leave your tears at the door. You're an athlete, and athletes shouldn't be whining over trivial things here! I don't want to see anything like that again. If you don't want to try, no one's holding you back. You can leave right now if you're not happy."
A muffled giggle was heard behind him—one of the gymnasts couldn't help but chuckle. Many of the girls often made fun of Violet, and it wasn't just the coach's attitude toward her that was to blame, but also Laura Morgan—the daughter of wealthy parents, Mrs. Brown's favorite, and the unspoken leader among the other students.
"Y-yes, Mrs. Brown, I understand, I will try harder..."
There was an unpleasant stinging sensation in her eyes. Violet forced herself to suppress the lump in her throat. She looked down to avoid making eye contact, especially with those who mocked her again.
The girl sat down on the bench, placing the ball on her knees and clutching it so tightly in her palms that her fingertips turned white. Her own impotence angered her more than anything. No matter how much she fought back, she was brought to her knees again and again by the system that supported Mrs.Brown's methods and the influence of Laura's parents, who managed to ruin Violet's life not only here but also at school, as her classmate.
Mrs. Brown clearly favored other girls, those whose parents could provide additional advantages. Mitchell loved gymnastics, but she couldn't stand the bullying and oppressive atmosphere of helplessness. Objectively, the girl was a good gymnast, but her fear of Mrs. Brown and Laura seemed to break something inside her, preventing her from soaring higher. Violet couldn't afford to flirt with the coach using her influence and money; she didn't have the opportunity, and she didn't want to buy her affection.
"Laura Morgan, I hope you perform well in the upcoming competition. At least someone in this group knows a thing or two about gymnastics," Coach Brown said, flatteringly. She rarely praised anyone, but always Laura.
Violet pursed her lips, frowning as she listened to so many people flatter young Miss Morgan, who often made mistakes but always remained the favorite. It seemed like the ball in the girl's hands was about to burst.
The lesson ended. Violet changed into casual clothes, throwing a gray-blue jacket witch the hood, sleeves, and hem trimmed with white fur. It was supposed to be cold today; the forecast called for heavy snowfall, which doesn't happen very often.
"Damn! Where's my phone…" Mitchell muttered, cursing under her breath and rummaging through her purse. She didn't want to lose such an expensive item; after all, her family didn't have much money. The most unpleasant and disturbing thoughts crept into her head: had one of the girls stolen it?
"Is this what you're looking for?" Laura stood in the corner of the locker room. Her lips, painted with
bright lipstick, twisted into a mocking grin. Morgan was twirling the phone in her hands, and next to her stood two the girls are her friends, ready to support any of her pranks.
"Laura…" Violet muttered through her teeth, "Give it back right now." She frowned and stepped
forward, trying to snatch the phone, but the girl grabbed Vi tightly by the wrist.
"You have no right! It's my thing!"
"So try to take it back," Morgan’s cheeky smile never left her face, "You know, you irritate me so much, trying to stand out, showing off… Do you think Mrs. Brown will pay attention to you?" She sharply tugged Violet’s wrist.
"You're talking nonsense, I've never shown off. Give it back!" Vi freed her hand from the strong Laura's grip and took the phone. The girl was shaking. Not only from fear, but also from the anger that accumulated with the bullying, with every laugh and kick in her direction. She's tired of all this. She's tired of being afraid. She's tired of feeling like a little animal, cornered. Did she really deserve all this? Hadn't she tried to be understanding of the people around her, hadn't she been patient and kind?
"Naive bitch. Do you think you can be on equal terms with us? They know that, nothing will change. Mrs. Brown will always choose me. Won't that be true, girls?" Morgan and her friends laughed, pushing Mitchell against the wall of lockers, "You're so naive, you're so pathetic. And that's why you don't belong here," Laura hissed, pinning Violet against the wall. Then, opening her sports bottle, she poured the water over Vi's head while the two girls held her hands.
Violet trudged home slowly, the cold cutting right through her wet clothes, small snowflakes, driven by the wind, cut my cheeks like shards. The sky was already deepening into pink-orange hues. The phone was broken, as was the girl's lip. She resisted, although she knew she would lose, but she still left several deep scratches on bitchy face Laura.
On the way home, Mitchell bought cat food with her remaining pocket money and fed it stray cats that lived nearby. The cats were affectionate and gentle, already accustomed to this strange girl coming to feed them every day. These tiny furry creatures were always happy to see her, unlike people. Violet understood the loneliness of these cats. They had all once been domesticated, but had ended up here—on the cold, snowy street.
Since childhood, Vi was a very sympathetic person, unable to pass by those who needed warmth and care, be it animals or people in need. Her smile shone brighter than the sun's rays and would have shone to this day if she had not paid for her naivety. She was born with a gentle nature into an environment unsuited to such behavior, where you had to literally claw your way into this world, clinging to it with all your might, mercilessly pushing anyone who aspired to the top over the edge. Of course, she tried to change herself, to resist and be resilient, but in doing so, she also broke herself, deep down not wanting to become cruel.
She finally reached home. It was night, and only the dim light of the street lamps illuminated the street; the moon was barely visible behind the clouds, which clearly didn't improve her mood. Violet wanted to quietly slip into her room unnoticed.
It was too late. She didn't want to be punished by her mother, and she certainly didn't want to talk to her uncle more. But, unfortunately, the plan failed, and the girl's pleas were not heard. Her uncle James stood in the corridor on the first floor.
"Where are you going so late? Why the hell are you wandering around at night without permission? Little slut…" His voice took on a threatening tone. All he needed was to find another excuse to seize on some trivial matter to once again demonstrate his power. James was a former military man, clearly a control freak, not only because of his own paranoia, but also because control brought him a certain pleasure, boosting his ego and self-importance. He hadn't been in good physical shape for a long time, drinking cheap booze every day. He reeked of alcohol even now.
"I was at gymnastics practice," Violet replied distantly, avoiding her uncle's gaze and slowly backing away toward the stairs leading to the second floor. While she might have been able to put up some resistance against Laura and her entourage, she was so terrified of her uncle that she caught her breath and her body froze in numbness.
"At practice?" the man smirked, his smile turning into a hideous grimace. "So how are you doing at your practice?" He slowly began to walk toward the girl. "Did you get a split lip at practice, or were you making out with someone until late?"
Sick bastard. He's never had a decent thought. How dare he say such things?
"Please…" Vi’s voice trembled.
"Please?" He took another step closer, and the light in the hallway illuminated James from behind, casting a shadow on his niece.
The girl froze. Her breathing became heavy, and her eyes were frozen in genuine horror. Violet tried to hide from him, avoided meeting this monster who lived in her house and wore a title of "uncle" that he didn't truly deserve. No, this man certainly didn't deserve to be her father's brother; it was hard to believe they were even related.
"If my mother sees this, she'll… She'll throw you out. Don't come any closer."
"Your mother? She doesn't even know who she lives with. I can control all of this, and you won't have to worry about anything you can do anything about it" there was something wild in him that became more and more wild with every word and step stronger and more dangerous. He came up to her, grabbed her by the throat and pressed against the wall. Mitchell hit her back against the wall. There was a fire in his gaze that Violet recognized it perfectly well - that same fire that he had lit in himself many years ago when his brother is missing and the girl's mother began to see James not as a loser who always remained in his brother's shadow, but as the man she fell in love with. For Uncle she was a reminder of his own weakness, his bruised ego, and his jealousy. However, this man was never particularly kind. James was a hypocritical and domineering bastard, capable of doing anything to achieve his goals. It's no wonder he rose so quickly through the ranks of the service.
"Let... Let go..." Violet croaked in a choked voice, kicking her legs in the air and trying to to pry the man's fingers from her throat. Eventually, she managed to kick her uncle hard. in the groin, and, taking advantage of the moment, she ran up the stairs to the second floor.
"Bitch! Damn it!" The man howled in pain and doubled over. Before he could recover, Mitchell slammed the door and locked herself in her room.
Violet's mother woke up to the loud noise and cursing, quickly running downstairs to her lover.
"James, what's going on?!"
"That little b... Damn... Violet's gone crazy, just got home with a busted lip and soaking wet. I told her I was worried about her and that she should come home on time, not after dark. She was being rude and started fighting, turning into some kind of damn hooligan. Someone needed to finally take charge of her upbringing."
"Okay, James. I'll talk to her," the woman frowned, determined to give her daughter a proper dressing down as she walked up to the second floor and stopped outside Vi's room.
"Violet! What's going on?! You come home at night and hit your stepfather. Explain yourself! You have a split lip, your grades at school have been poor lately, and Mrs.Brown has been complaining to me for a while now that you're fighting with everyone at school and are completely unmanageable.
"I… It's not like that, I… I swear, he attacked me! And… My grades at school… I'm so sorry, I'm trying, it's just all been so overwhelming. I don't know why Mrs. Brown disliked me, but I'm really trying! It's complicated…"
"So you can't really explain your behavior? You'll be deprived of your allowance for a month! I'm fed up with everyone complaining about you; you've become unbearable. I work hard and earn money to provide for all your desires and hobbies, and you haven't even bothered to try to improve your grades," the woman sneered and went off to her room, angry at her daughter and unwilling to listen to her any longer.
"Fuck …" Violet leaned her back against the door. The girl slowly slid down, sinking onto floor. Her heart was pounding. Her mother always blamed her, telling her she wasn't trying hard enough, and that's why Vi couldn't bring herself to share what was happening to her. Come to think of it, she couldn't share her problems, fears, and worries with anyone. Her father had disappeared several years ago, and he was the only one Mitchell trusted. She sat like that for about an hour, staring into space.
Having calmed down a little, Violet stood up with difficulty, quietly crept into the bathroom, and washed her hair and went back inside to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. Only in this small room, in the fragile illusion of safety, could she allow herself to relax a little.
Mitchell walked over to the huge antique clock that stood on the floor in her room. This clock belonged to her father, but they were not as ordinary as they seemed at first glance. There was a secret compartment inside the watch. The girl lightly, almost weightlessly, ran her fingers over the watch case, which had many different decorative elements, including several decorative rings, in the center of which the different phases of the moon were carved from wood, and stopped at one of the rings. Pulling it, Violet turned left, a soft sound was heard click, and part of the back panel slid smoothly down, revealing a small niche where it lay a light blue notebook with a strange eye symbol depicted on the front.
The girl opened the notebook and took it in her hands. Torn, yellowed pages, some of them some of which were stained with ink, while others were covered with arrows, incomprehensible symbols and sketches, did not originally belong to this notebook, so the pages were hand-drawn carefully punched holes to insert them into a notebook. These were the notes of Violet's father, a man she remembered as kind, intelligent, a little absent-minded, but incredibly passionate about work. It was he who created this secret hiding place in the watch. Father Vi taught her to see the world differently from how others portrayed it and said that behind the veil of the familiar, there are things many prefer to keep silent.
One of the pages depicted a tall silhouette of a man with disproportionately long with his hands, in a black suit, without a face. Even just looking at this drawing, Violet experienced a strange, mixed feeling: something drew her like a magnet, but at the same time frightened her. The girl couldn't tear her eyes away from this page, and goosebumps ran across her skin.
"He watches. He waits. Time is in his power."
Father Vi wrote of him as a creature that does not so much hunt as find those who are already broken. Sometimes he himself came for people, sometimes he showed them the way, gave hope to
those who he lost her, or completely deprived them of hope, taking her away forever. And no one knew where exactly. Perhaps the people who encountered him have sunk into oblivion, or perhaps their lives were now in his hands, and they carried out orders like puppets in the hands of a puppeteer. In any case, most people consider "Slenderman" to be just a children's horror story, which would be perfect to tell on a dark night by the fire. Violet thought so herself. But the more she studied her father's notes, the more strange things she began to notice around her.
The girl found some of these pages in the most unexpected places while solving riddles, hidden in the texts, drawings, symbols and codes on every page. It seemed as if the father left a mark on her, messages that no one but her was supposed to understand.
Violet clutched the pages to her chest and closed her eyes. If only her father were here… Everything was it would have been different. Maybe he would have protected her. He would have gathered the remains of his family and given them a chance to a normal life. She had to find out what happened to her father.
The next day, the girl came to school. School was always hell, but today was especially so. She knew that young Miss Morgan wouldn't let her scratched face go unnoticed. Despite her resistance, Laura's friends dragged Mitchell to the restroom. Someone kicked Violet in the back, forcing her to kneel in front of the toilet. Laura, her face frozen in a grimace, with a mixture of pleasure and schadenfreude, she kicked Violet's head into the toilet. Everything was a blur: the girls' laughter, the cold, the disgust, the humiliation. Vi gasped for breath, but they only laughed louder.
At one point, trying to get out, the girl hit her head on the mirror hanging above the sink. The mirror cracked, and blood began to flow from Mitchell's forehead. The girl's uniform was in tatters: pockets turned inside out, sleeves cut off, and her back covered in ink. They left Violet lying on the floor. She slowly rose, clinging to the walls, and looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. What a pitiful sight. The girl hated herself for being weak, hated herself for not being able to break herself before others could. Usually she loved people, but over time, she no longer understood what she felt. It seemed she now loved them as much as she hated them. The soul-crushing extremes made her want to rip off her skin so she wouldn't feel anything anymore. "I hate..." Mitchell said quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but now she had only one desire: revenge. Revenge for all the humiliations, revenge for the unbearable life, revenge for the cruelty of people to all the defenseless, to those who didn't want to be involved in an aggressive struggle for survival, but wanted a normal life.
When Violet returned home, she knew that nothing good awaited her. Her uncle was standing on in the kitchen, holding the girl's notebook. How did he find it? Did he guess about the hiding place, or did Vi herself, overwhelmed by stress, simply forget to put the notebook back?
