#caligaried

               ❝ i know you feel like you have to put on a strong face for the family, but what happened with blackwood... ❞ but he cant finish a single sentence before he trails off, lost for words. he wants to lend an ear, but he’s not quite sure how to offer it. so he’s left with his tail flicking back & forth in thought for a moment before he continues. ❝ are you really alright after all that? ❞

“Well, if there is one thing more difficult to deal with than even the most defiant and stubborn of demons...it’s the teenage witch,” Lilith reasoned with a roll of the eyes, along with a smile that seemed to be placed there directly rather than appearing naturally. “I, of course, do what I can to guide Sabrina when she is at Greendale High, not just in my role as teacher, of course, but as...I would hope, confidante....witchly support. But, alas,” She gave Zelda Spellman a sigh that was  filled with effort and a hint of the over-dramatic, “teenagers are teenagers and she will be so set on all her decisions. Or perhaps she’s simply....” Lilith gave a shrug of the shoulders, another playful eyeroll, “her Father’s daughter. Or perhaps her Aunty’s niece,” She added, picking up her cup of tea and sipping it gently, blue eyes remaining on Zelda throughout. 

“I hear your sister is also spending more time with the mortals since her...unfortunate excommunication. I believe I saw her in actual costume the other day as she was walking down the street alongside side that man who owns the....bookshop. Or is it a diner?” Lilith waved a hand as if the details didn’t matter...and in truth, they didn’t. “Either way....you Spellmans, well,” She concluded brightly, “you don’t do things like everyone else”

♟- The first time they knew they were in love.

She was beautiful.

Her hair was long and flowed like silk. Her smile was heart-achingly perfect, teeth dentist-portrait white. Her laugh-- thats how Chloe came to call her an angel, her angel. Rachel Amber. Even the name sent her stomach fluttering, her heart stuttering, her knees wobbling. Being with her was better than any high she’d ever experienced, and having her disappear was...

Unbearable.

♜ - Having children and Parenthood

Chloe doesn’t want kids. If she ever had any, it would probably have been from an accident; a broken condom or a drunk one night stand. Still, if she couldn’t get an abortion, or take a morning after pill, she would treat her child with love and respect. She would sacrifice everything for them without a second thought, and always put them first-- she would believe that there was no other way to live, and she wouldn’t want to.

taking care of children

One would think it would be a terrible idea to let the tattooed, blue-haired girl babysit, but Chloe is actually a fairly good caretaker. While she lacks the patience to take care of kids for more than a few hours, her own childishness helps in making activities fun for both her and the kid.

art

She actually went to a prestigious art school, Blackwell, presumably for drawing and art. During the game Max finds some of Chloe’s drawings scattered around her room, and mentions how good they are.

But Chloe hates chalk pastels.

scientific pursuits

Besides making things that can explode as pranks, like a mentos in a coke, no. Just no.

When she first saw him, she did not think much of it. She passively enjoyed the sight of someone so young appreciating the beauty of flowers. It was one of her favorite activities. On the surface, so long ago, she loved to have gardens that were arranged with a beautiful and diverse cast of flowers, but in the Underground they were much more of a rare luxury than anything. She tried to cultivate some, but many of the flowers she had in the first years died, and then there were no more seeds to plant.

More than anything, that was what reminded her of their exile. The death of those flowers meant things would never be the same. They still tried their best to make a happy home life, but since they’d never see the sky again, it was hard to ever forget what the sun felt like. Stepping in meadows and feeling the soft grass beneath her feet, and the smell of beautiful flowers...

She was getting old, wasn’t she? An old woman like her reminiscing about the good days again, maybe it was proof she really was a little lonely. It would have been nice to have company. The boy was also alone, and perhaps he could use a friend. So, she decided to strike up a conversation with him. 

“Are you interested in the chrysanthemums?” she said softly, “They are beautiful, but a bit solemn, don’t you think?”

She knelt down to eye level with him. 

“I personally enjoy gladiolus. Do you enjoy gardening?”

Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Somehow, it was little relief to know that this child would live in at least one timeline.

She had thought about how strict she had been with him in the past. He had never appeared to her as a monster, but she had also not understood every meaning in the way he withdrew, the purpose of why he spoke with such venom. Sometimes, in hindsight, her scolding could have been considered cruel. Perhaps not to the average passerby, for what this child did was worthy of punishment to an objective view, but it was never quite that simple, was it?

When he snapped, she responded with harshness, when he lashed out in retaliation, it had become a misunderstanding that neither had been able to work through, and it ended with conflict. Maybe that’s why he started to avoid her. Maybe that’s why he lashed out so furiously when she had tried to reach out to him about it.

She did not claim to fully grasp his own experiences, or to fully understand it, but it tired her immensely to know such pain was capable of being inflicted on a child. It was something she kept going back to in her head. Feeling guilt, and anguish, and disgust that were things she had never quite felt-especially to such an extent-in quite some time.

If she had understood his own experiences better, maybe the two wouldn’t have drifted like they had. After all, how could she expect him to trust another ignorant adult?

How could she expect him to see these as not attacks or ploys against him, but as genuine concern?

When his own love had been used as a weapon against himself, when the authority in his life had no care for his own well being... the way she had struggled to adjust him had only rung like a gunshot through his eardrums.

In many ways, she had failed, but it wasn’t her own wounded pride that troubled her, but the lack of help she was able to give to him.

There would always be the reminder that she could have done more. If she had known, if she had known... every time she remembers, it’s coupled with his suffering. Coupled with so many other dead children.

She thinks, if he had come to her in the Ruins, would she have been able to save him? And some part of her knows that no, he would have fought her and died long before she had come to understand.