#overprotectivedadnald

@overprotective-dadnald

Restlessness… Darkness… There was fear here, there was sorrow here, and in the night it was devouring the world. Selene wept, she sobbed into the clouds. Gentle crystals that fell from the sky, the tears she had sobbed into the atmosphere now blanketed the world in white. The moon’s goddess had long since sealed her ever present light from them, perhaps it was punishment for all that they had done. Reliving her story in the present… History repeats itself, and now despite the beautiful tears that fell to the Earth, everything felt so ugly. At least to her, at least to Goldie. Surrounded by the tapestries, the gold, the gems, the art, she still felt so lost. There was no north star to guide her home, there wasn’t even the faintest twinkle, she felt lost– had felt that way as soon as she stepped into the foyer and saw him for the first time in however many years. Still strong and powerful as he was mining that gold in the Klondike, but at the same time she felt such distance. She saw it sting him just as bad as it stung her, which made it all the worse.

The night had eclipsed not just the light from the sun but also the light she had wanted to see for so long. She had thought that when she was invited to McDuck manor by the ‘king’s’ nephew, that she would find that light shine brightly upon her– but that didn’t happen. That didn’t happen at all. All that came with it were depressing memories of times that were so fond in her heart. She could remember being scolded, being grabbed roughly by the arm, and being dragged to the courthouse. She remembered being embraced so tightly by warm arms that were filled with passion and rage. She remembered the loud booming voice as he chased away ‘unfavorable’ individuals. She remembered how protective, how angry, how strong he was… And yet here she sat, in his house, and all she felt was alone. She was worried, frightened even. She had loved him with her whole heart, the man who took her into his arms and painted her monochrome world with pastels of hope, and she knew that he did too. He felt the same way, he made her a promise that he didn’t realize he couldn’t possibly keep.

She had given him her heart to hold, and he had given her his. She took such gentle care of it as he did her own. They treated each other so well in private even though they fought in the public eye– best friends truly whom found a pleasant place with each other. But then he told her that he must leave– she understood even though she didn’t want him to go. It spiraled out of control and next thing she knew, his heart was in a thousand pieces on the ground before her. He never cried outwardly but she saw it; saw it in his eyes and right into his soul. The blood that poured from that broken heart, a festering wound would form in his chest, and he would be without that feeling for a long time. She was the one who had scarred him, marking him, just as he did her, and so he would never forget her. When she saw him again, immediate guilt flashed between the both of them before a mixture of hatred and love appeared, standing there in that foyer with their eyes locked. Donald beside her, Beakley beside him, but there were no words to be said before them.

Now that night came she found herself escaping his bed where he was fast asleep, the heartbeat she heard from his chest was weak, faint, and elegant in all respects. She had heard that heartbeat so many times, heard it ring in her ears like the toll of a church bell. It made her body shake with anxiety and so she slipped from the comforter, the silky nightgown he had given her providing little to warm her chilly body. The cold night was more than enough to make her shiver without the need for the emotions that bit at her all the same. He had stirred, as he always had, and she assured him that she was just going to the bathroom and getting a drink– a complete lie. She sat on the window sill, she looked so picturesque there. Staring outside the window with a glass of wine in her hand. She wasn’t drinking it though, more like she was filling it with something else. Another fluid that was diluting the over exaggerated, blood colored grape juice. Just like Selene in heaven, her eyes were revealing crystals of her own, they fell to the glass with gentle ‘plip’ sounds. She hurt inside, everything hurt inside even though she was so happy.

Her tears fell down her face, her body trembled only a bit, but what really gave her away was her hitched breaths. Otherwise she was quiet and just as picturesque as a model in a famous painting, one that bested the Mona Lisa in beauty and pristine. She was, by all means, gorgeous from where she sat. With that silky gold nightgown that faded to a beautiful crimson, it flowed over her legs and down the edge of where she sat, something she had loved when Scrooge gave it to her. She hadn’t packed much and he refused to let her sleep without something on. As such this was what she liked, what she was most comfortable with, spaghetti straps exposing quite more than her normal clothing. She sat at that window sill, her golden locks still short and sloppy in it’s cut, and yet despite that rugged look her elegance took over. Maybe that’s why he had loved her, she was tough and she knew that she was beautiful, and yet despite all of that she was sitting there crying without him knowing… Crying with Selene, goddess of the moon, as the snow fell outside.

She jumped when the gentle footsteps sounded, turning abruptly her eyes fell upon one of the many characters that resided alongside Scrooge in the manor. She remembered him, Donald, mostly because he was the one who had brought her here, who had arranged for her to come see Scrooge. Like a mother who didn’t want her child to see her cry, she brushed away her tears, but found more would just replace them. “What’s wrong? Why are you up?” She asked, her eyes glossy with tears and her breath shaky. She didn’t want them to see her, didn’t want them to realize she was upset. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, like the boys and Webbigail?”

@overprotective-dadnald​

It was no secret, was it ever going to be? No… It was pretty obvious to anyone who knew the old duck, he never tried to show his emotions. Unless it was the very basic feelings, he never let them show through. He was always calm, collected, and wise. Sure he would get angry, he would snap, and he would find himself screaming and shouting but that was as far as it went to genuine emotions. All of his emotions came through a logical filter when they appeared out of him, projected into an image or scenario. He hid it all away so aggressively and yet. Here he was, expressing them so deliberately. There was only one time where his heart controlled him, where his emotions bled out into the world that held him captive. A cruel world that he found himself loathing every day, a world he was sure he had overstayed his welcome at least twice over within.

His fingers pressed against the wooden keys, the pounding of the piano strings were releasing droplets of emotions through invisible music notes. There was no sheet music in front of him as he played, there was no sign of a coherent and neat melody. How he played, it seemed, was completely by improve. It made the tone more real, more true, and more unique. And yet he did nothing to write down the notes. Why? Because he didn’t want people seeing into his heard. That beast that was kept in his rib cage, if he let it out it would maul anyone it could just to relieve Scrooge’s pain. The pain of loosing Della, the pain of regret, the pain that his parents had inflicted upon him without even realizing that they were shaping him into the beginning of a monster. He was a product of both nature and nurture, a grinning demon who masked themselves as an angel– at least that’s how his song portrayed him. Whether that was true or not he wasn’t sure, but there was a heavy sense of self-loathing, of depressive thoughts, and of ugly images.

But it was the true him– it was the only window into his emotions. As he was entangled in the melody, the pain visible on his face as he played the notes, he was unawares of his nephew watching him. Eyes sealed shut to prevent the tears from blossoming from his lower eyelids, it worked for the most part other than the moistening of those eyelids. None would be all the wiser as he played about death, abandonment, betrayal– he played about love, about his worst fears and most beloved dreams. He poured it all out into the world, a world that he didn’t love and that didn’t love him back. All the while the vase that sat atop the piano was empty of it’s water, the flowers were wilting, an image that encompassed the melody perfectly. Could it be that he was dying from the inside out?

Judging by the fact that he was blissfully unaware of Donald, perhaps that was the case.