#prue mortimer

Prue knelt on the kitchen floor, her body turned toward the wall, rigid and stiff with building pain. A layer of hard, uncooked grain coated the linoleum beneath her like shards of opaque glass. The grits dug into the pink of her knees, carving divots into her skin. She’d been kneeling there long enough to feel each granule grind against her bones. Hundreds of tiny knives. Her knees reddened as they swelled and blood pooled under the membrane of her skin. Adjusting her weight offered no relief, just drove the pain to another swath of dermis. Later, when her punishment was done, she would be allowed to brush away the grains and gather them into a jagged pile to be swept up and reused. Then, she would curl up on the cleared off tile with her knees bent, and she would gingerly pick out the grits nestled in the artificial dimples covering her skin. 

She refused to cry. The glass-like shards sent stinging pain swimming through the channels of her nervous system, and in response, an ache welled up in her throat, tightening and constricting. Her shoulders, looking like the stones that jutted out of the kitchen fireplace, angular and clad in a sooty black, rose in a sharp slant as she pulled in a deep breath. The lingering smell of cornmeal, fried oil, and milk touched her lungs. She pushed the breath out through her nose. With each slow breath, she forced the horrible tight ache of tears down. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give her father that. Staring at the wall, she imagined him sitting at his desk in the tepid green light of his office, surrounded by civil war memorabilia indicative of his antiquated, chauvinistic character, a twisted snarl of smile on his face as he ruminated over the torture he was inflicting on his youngest daughter. The evil in his heart would be reflected in his dark features, his low, thick brow shadowing his eyes, the visible discoloration of his teeth as his lips pulled back in that cruel smile. 

In truth, little Prue didn’t know what went on inside her father. The tyranny that to her seemed like bloodthirst and a deep set craving for inflicting agony instead stemmed from a tumultuous fear and love for the Lord. In the name of God, he passed judgment with righteous paternity, believing his high-handed guidance would force her into the way of the light and save her from holy wrath. The grits digging into her skin would be her salvation. 

A few short years ago, when Prudence was a few inches shorter but no less skinny and sharp-boned, she stood in the threshold of the kitchen and watched her sister, Mercy, a teenager at the time, endure in muffled agony the same punishment of kneeling on grits. Mercy had sniffled and kept her sobs quiet, trying not to incur more wrath as silent tears rolled past her puffy eyelids and down her reddened cheeks. Her crime had been sharing the same spacious, open air as a teenage boy in her class, without a chaperone. They’d been close enough that they could feel the comforting warmth of each other’s awkward bodies, but not close enough to feel the soft stroke of the other’s skin. 

The girls’ mother had watched passively, her pale features making her seem a detached ghostly apparition, as their father announced Mercy’s sentence. While Mercy was made to pour grits onto the floor, their mother had left the room, floating on silent feet, too faint of heart to abide the suffering of another, but too cowardly to emerge from her specter form to speak against her husband’s cruel idea of justice.

Prue’s expression twisted at the memory, her nose bunching and turning up, her small lips pinching together hard. She hated them. She hated her mother’s passivity. Her indifference. Her cowardice. She hated her father’s iron fist. His tyranny. His righteousness. She hated that Mercy had been too weak to hold back her tears, that she’d shown weakness in the face of their father. She hated all of them. 

Prudence let her resentment boil hotly, building within her like a wretched, bitter stew, festering in her heart. She focused her gaze on the wall, her dark eyes sliding over the thin paths in the wallpaper, spindly veins beneath thin, aged flesh. The pattern was a whisper of what it once was, the flowers now sickly shades of paled pink and green, the birds yellow-brown blemishes of death. At the baseboard, the wallpaper curled and pulled away on its seams, disgusted by itself. Her gaze fell on a moisture stain, a tawny blossom around bubbling, stiff paper. 

The stain bloomed, waxing and ebbing in time with Prue’s deep breaths like an alien living thing, the lacy edges devouring the flowers and birds with a cold, inhuman hunger. The small leaves printed on the wallpaper faded further, blinking into pale, ice-white stars. The blossom spread until it had consumed the entire kitchen. The pain of gritty grains gouging into her knees spread up Prue’s thighs, pockmarking her skin with holes of a dried lotus pod. The sharp stabbing dug into the soft meat of her thighs and the potbelly pouch of baby fat she still carried, over her bony chest, carving into her ribs and sternum, up her neck and cheeks, down the sensitive skin of her upper arms, pricking the veins of her forearms. It spread and burned until she could feel nothing else at all. 

And then, any semblance of the kitchen was gone, and the pain sloughed off, and her skin was smooth and unmarked. She knelt in the vastness of space, surrounded by uncaring stars and impersonal dark matter. Everything between her ears felt electric, fritzing and popping as she let go and sank into the madness. 

The cold disconnection of being settled into her madness was uncomfortable but not unfamiliar. Even at her young age, she had grown accustomed to slipping into this void, guided by a detached, unknowable being. She blinked and looked around. There was nothing and there was everything. Any possibility, any future, any connection to her lay within her reach. Too many possibilities. A nervous queasiness seized her, bile spinning within her. Her heartbeat quickened, a frightened rabbit thumping away.

The unknowable being, formless and bodiless, placed handless hands on her shoulders and guided her. There was no direction in this cosmos. No up or down, no left or right. One turn and she’d lost all sense of orientation. But the unknowable being guided her, still teaching her young mind how to navigate this directionless infinity. 

Above her, one of the stars, a small green one, glowed brighter. A tense buzzing filled the void. Prue’s small frame vibrated. A second cosmos superimposed over the stars, flickering uneasily, as uncertain as the future it would show her. The star grew, burning and crackling. It grew hotter and hotter until suddenly, it ripped open with an angry, burning violence that stung Prue’s skin with millions of tiny pinpricks. Her very cells vibrated and burned. The light of the furious tear blazed white-hot, snapping and sizzling and blinding her. She shrank away instinctively. 

It happened in a fraction of a second. And then she was standing in the plantation house. There was the feeling that Prue always had in this house: the house was alive with something horrible, deep-seated and evil, raised on generations of spilled blood. A heavy, pungent sweat hung in the air. Deep, earthy breathing from somewhere deep inside the foundation. But, at the same time, there was something else. An encroaching lifelessness. A feeling that soon this home, if it could be called such a thing, would have no creature in it but the plantation itself. That dreaded beast would always hang heavy on this land. But soon nothing human would remain. 

In the upstairs office, Prue and her father were the only human inhabitants of the house. And soon, he would be gone too. The stark red of the confederate flags that adorned the walls and desk contrasted darkly with the swampy green light that hung over the room. Prue stood in a body that was hers but not the her of today. Though the bones of her shoulders still jutted out at aggressive angles, the sharp edges of her ribs and pelvis had blurred and softened into something gentler, the round baby fat of her belly had shifted, plushly fattening her thighs and hips. The skin of her arms was covered by modest sleeves, but she could see faint, agitated seams of red haloed by white on her pale hands.

In this woman’s body that didn’t yet belong to her, Prue stood above her father. The man that was once a mountainous tyrant cowered pathetically against the balcony windows, reduced to a wretched, sniveling piglet of a man. Prue watched with the cold passivity she’d inherited from her mother as she inflicted a tortuous end upon him. Her expression stayed disconnected, but a fountain of childlike glee bubbled in her chest, airy and light.

The unknowable being guided her through untold futures of daydreams come true, each one ripping open with a blinding, searing light that seemed to tear open the fabric of reality. As she watched her father, her mother, and sometimes her siblings, come to grievous ends at her own hand, the message was made clear. There was hope. There were futures where she gave herself everything she wanted. Everything she’d ever deserved. Everything they deserved.

With another blinding light, these happy visions sealed themselves away behind the inky fabric of space, and Prue again knelt in the vastness, surrounded by fading stars. As she breathed, the stars morphed, curling into old, printed leaves, and the blackness slowly slipped away, waning and sliding away over a dingy, decaying old wallpaper. Birds and flowers sprouted on the milky green paper, leaving marks like ugly, week-old bruises, mottled sickly yellows and greens. The kitchen reformed and she escaped the recesses of her own mind.

Breaching into consciousness from a black void, Prue slowly opened her eyes. She instantly regretted it as a wave vertigo slammed into her. Everything within her sight was tripled, shadowed by a hue of drunk purplish-blue and highlighted by violent pink, not unlike the layered colors of a 3D movie. The outlines of objects vibrated uneasily. A bottle of Gatorade on the nightstand flickered in and out of reality like a dying neon sign. Multiple realities layered on top of each other, and nothing was sure if it was meant to exist. As her brain instinctively tried to make sense of the images, a sharp needling sensation erupted behind her eyes and ripped her mind open with a searing and blinding pain. She mentally wrestled between the layered realities in front of her and the burning light that was bleeding into her brain.

She shut her eyes, blocking out the confused images, and took a deep, slow breath. Imagining a threaded needle, she sewed the tear in her mind shut, matching the timing of her slow breaths with each stitch piercing the fabric of her mind. With deliberate care, she turned away the overwhelming amount of information trying to infiltrate her thoughts.

That done, she turned her attention to her emotions, gauging their stability. Exhaustion and numbness hung over her. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Her eyes closed, she kept her breathing even and slow, and grasped for memories of what she’d been doing before she was unconscious. She must have had a fit of madness. It would explain the emotional exhaustion and the gaps in her memory. She breathed out a long breath and opened her eyes again.

This time, Prue’s vision was normal. She was only seeing one reality, the reality she lived in. And she was in a room she recognized. Lou’s bedroom. She let out a relieved sigh, and without moving, she glanced around the room. Lou was across the room leaning back in their desk chair with one leg propped up on their desk and the other bent up so they could rest their journal against it. Their pen moved smoothly across the page. Prue watched as they pulled back and tilted their head, rereading what they’d written. They tapped their pen against their lower lip and hummed to themself. Prue was fairly certain Lou wasn’t messing with her brain chemistry, and the feeling of appreciation and admiration she had for them in that moment was completely organic. 

Their considerate expression slipped into a smile as they looked up and their warm brown eyes met hers.

“Hey! You’re awake,” Lou said. They pulled their leg off their desk, then closed their journal and placed it on a stack of notebooks. They took a seat beside Prue on the bed and asked, “How are you feeling?”

She was feeling awful. In addition to the emotional hangover, the skin on her arms and back felt chafed and uncomfortable, feeling like a shirt that didn’t fit quite right. There was a deep ache in her muscles that made her feel weak and fragile. Though she couldn’t remember it, Prue knew she must’ve transformed.

Prue braced herself, then pushed herself into a sitting position, ignoring the deep ache. The thin blanket that had been draped over her fell from her shoulders and puddled in her lap. She tensed the muscles in her arms, then relaxed, trying to get even a small amount of relief from the ache.

The pain and emotional hangover were bad, but nothing that anyone else needed to be concerned about. 

“It’s nothing to fret about,” she said to Lou, her voice soft. 

Lou laughed, a warm, good-natured sound that sent a surge of comfort through Prue. She ignored the feeling, figuring it was manufactured by them.

“That doesn’t answer the question,” they said, their tone light and friendly. “What—”

Whatever Lou was going to ask was cut off by a soft, startled noise from Prue.

She was looking down at her body. The slate blue dress she’d put on that morning no longer covered her frame. Instead, she wore a gray t-shirt that was a few sizes too big and a pair of thick, white tights. Her arms were bare, and though the tights kept her skin covered, they fit to the shape of her legs and made her feel exposed. She might as well have been nude. Her cheeks flushing, she covered her thighs completely with the thin blanket, then turned her gaze to Lou.

“I transformed, didn’t I?” Prue said.

Lou nodded, their expression sympathetic. Prue straightened her back and tilted her chin up, trying to regather her dignity and fight off the flustered, embarrassed feeling that was mounting within her.

“I don’t remember what happened,” she said.

“I wasn’t there,” Lou said, moving closer to Prue, but not close enough to touch her.  “Truck brought you home.” At the word home, Lou hit her with a rush of pleasure. “They said you were okay one minute, then, well, you snapped. They got you back to yourself pretty quickly, but not before you grew a few tendrils. It must have exhausted you.” The sympathy in their voice was palpable. But perhaps that was as manufactured as the chemical releases they controlled in Prue’s brain. “You could barely stand when Truck brought you home.”

“Truck,” Prue said quietly. The color drained from her face, then her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink than before as she processed what that meant. “This is their shirt?” she pinched the fabric of the t-shirt between her forefinger and thumb.

Lou nodded and bent their head toward her. Prue caught the scent of their perfume, an alluring scent that she couldn’t quite place. “You were wearing it when you got home.” Another rush of comfort and pleasure at the word home. Prue did her best to ignore it. 

She had transformed without planning to, which of course meant her clothes ripped off. And that meant she’d been all but nude in front of Truck, and who knows who else. Where had they been when it had happened? Who had seen? This was the second time this had happened, but last time Truck hadn’t thought to give her his shirt and they’d brought Prue home in just her bra and tights. Her cheeks grew warmer at the memory. She touched her bra strap through the gray t-shirt. It appeared that her bra had again survived the destruction her tendrils had caused, which was a small comfort. She was mortified regardless.

Lou held out their hand, their palm facing up. Prue wasn’t keen on being touched by other people, or any living creature at all, if she was being honest. Even the gentlest brush against her would make her bristle. But, Lou knew this. They were inviting physical contact, but letting Prue make the decision to initiate. Touch, something that usually made her uncomfortable and put her on edge, seemed okay right now, maybe even nice, if it was coming from Lou. She placed her hand in Lou’s and a warm, happy feeling flooded her brain. The feeling eased the discomfort and embarrassment of being practically naked in front of Truck and who knows who else. This time, she didn’t try to resist the chemical release Lou was undoubtedly causing.

Lou stroked their thumb over the back of Prue’s hand, passing over the pale red scars that marked where her skin split open every time her arms morphed into inky black tendrils. Though her muscles and bones pieced themselves back together as soon as she retracted her tendrils, her nerves always seemed to take longer to get back into order. She could barely feel Lou’s touch. But, in a few hours, she would be on the opposite end of that spectrum. She would be over-sensitive, and even the brush of sheets against her legs would hurt. The pain and ache in her muscles would worsen. Her skin would feel unbearably tight and itchy. But for now, she could enjoy the unobtrusive sensation of Lou gently caressing her hand.

“You need to hydrate,” Lou said. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine,” Prue said reflexively. 

Lou smiled and massaged their thumb between Prue’s knuckles. “Are you?” they asked.

In truth, she could benefit from something to eat, but a lifetime of conditioning had taught her not to impose. 

“If something is already made, I’ll eat that,” she said. 

“If you could eat anything, what would you want?” they asked. Prue felt herself getting more relaxed the longer she sat with them.

She wanted to say that anything would be fine, but that wasn’t the answer they wanted. For a few seconds she said nothing, then said, “Oatmeal? Or toast with jam. Nothing rich or heavy, please.”

Episodes of madness could leave her feeling queasy. She wanted comfort food. 

“Okay, easy. I can get that for you. What else do you need?” they asked.

Prue noted the way Lou has asked the question. Not do you need anything else? The way they phrased things was deliberate, and in this case, they were trying to convince Prue to let go of her ingrained habit of deferring to others on things that didn’t heavily impact her. There were many things Prue would never trust about Lou, but at this point she knew that they genuinely didn’t see helping their friends as a bother.

“Do you have the balm I use?”

“Of course,” Lou said. With a smile, they added, “What is this, amateur hour?”

They turned, letting go of Prue’s hand to grab the bottle of Gatorade and a small, cylindrical tub off the nightstand. They handed both to her. 

“Anything else?”

Prue hesitated, bringing the Gatorade bottle to her lips. She didn’t need anything else, but she knew Lou wasn’t actually asking what she needed; she was asking what she wanted. What would make her most comfortable. What would be helpful.

“May I have a cup of ice, please?” Prue asked. 

“Of course,” they said. “I’ll be right back.”

As Lou left their bedroom, Prue unscrewed the lid of the balm they had handed her, then rubbed a generous amount on her arms. It would lessen the discomfort she was bound to feel later. 

She was about to attempt to rub some on her back as well when Lou returned and handed her the cup of ice.

“Want help?” Lou asked. They nodded at the balm, and their hair fell like a dark curtain over their shoulder. Often Prue couldn’t be sure if she found Lou genuinely charming or if they’d trained her into feeling that way. But she was fairly certain at that moment that the warmth in their eyes and their friendly smile still would have made her feel more at ease, regardless of whether Lou used their power. Defying her usual aversion to touch, Prue nodded and turned so her back faced them. 

Lou sat on the bed again. Prue pulled her hair over her shoulder as Lou lifted the gray t-shirt and rubbed the balm over the scars that covered Prue’s back. Their touch felt far away, thanks to her numbed nerves. 

Prue stuck her fingers into the cup Lou handed her, fishing for an ice cube. She put one in her mouth, then gripped an ice cube in each hand. The ice in her mouth was cold enough to elicit the beginnings of a brain freeze. Which was good. The cold of the ice would help her stay grounded. 

With a slow, deep breath, Prue closed her eyes. She relaxed the walls she’d put up, letting the knowledge of the cosmos seep through a crack. Beneath her eyelids, her eyes rolled back. The sounds of the Haven melted away. There was a far away cold feeling tingling her hands and mouth, reminding her of her body, reminding her not to let herself slip. She was more susceptible to fits of madness after she’d recently had one, but she wanted to remember what happened. 

She’d had years to practice navigating the vast, seemingly endless visions she had access to, and it didn’t take her long to find the event of that afternoon. She watched, forcing herself to remain emotionless, as she and Truck left the Haven. A viewer of her own life, she followed them to a professor’s office. Something about the professor made her feel weird. Uneasy and on edge. Frazzled. Was it his mannerisms? She couldn’t pin down what was wrong. She tried to prod deeper, to see what effect this professor could have on her life, but as soon as she did, the crack she’d opened her mind widened. Her heartbeat quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm. She regained control; it was easier than she’d anticipated. Something at the edge of her consciousness suggested that she’d had help keeping her emotions in check.

For now, Prue would leave the professor be. She could look into him later. She followed herself and Truck away from campus. Prue from earlier that day was walking stiffly. The professor had affected her more than she realized and she was struggling to maintain her control over her mind. Prue watched herself lose control. Watched her eyes roll back into her head as her consciousness was overwhelmed. She wasn’t sure what did it, and she wasn’t confident enough in her control to try to check at that moment, but something she’d seen had made her react physically. Her skin peeled back and the snaps that ran up the length of her sleeves burst open as her muscles morphed into dark back tendrils. If she’d only grown them from her arms, her dress would’ve survived. The fabric ripped apart as more tendrils sprouted from her back. 

Prue had seen enough. She knew what happened next. Truck managed to get her back to herself, gave her his t-shirt, then took her back to the Haven. She could watch it again in more detail later, when she felt more confident in her control. 

She forced the crack in her mind closed, then focused on the cold of the ice in her palms and mouth. The homey sounds of the Haven reaches her ears again, and she could feel Lou’s hands on her back, their fingers massaging her tense, achy muscles. She opened her eyes. 

The ice cube in her mouth was water and the ice in her hands were almost entirely melted. She poured the cold water and slivers of ice back into the cup Lou had handed her, then wiped her palms on the blanket that covered her lap. 

There was a knock on Lou’s door. Startled, Prue pulled the blanket up to cover her arms and torso and stared at the door. 

“Yeah?” Lou called out.

“I brought food for Prue!” Truck called back. 

Lou pulled their hands away from Prue and said, “You can come in.”

The door cracked as Truck peered in. They pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped into the room, holding out a spoon and a white ceramic bowl to Prue.

“Here you go, Prue,” he said with a beaming smile. 

Prue still held the blanket over her body, so Lou took the bowl and spoon from him. Prue smiled at him kindly. There was no real feeling behind the smile, but he didn’t need to know that. 

“Thank you, Truck,” she said. She felt her cheeks flush and she added, “and thank you for lending me your shirt. It was very kind of you.”

“No problemo,” Truck said. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Prue said, smiling with a warmth she didn’t feel. “I appreciate you asking.”

“That’s all, thank you, Truck,” Lou said. Prue knew from the way Truck stood straighter that Lou had hit them with some feel-good brain chemicals. 

As they left, they closed the door behind them, and Prue let the blanket drop back into her lap. Lou handed the bowl of oatmeal and spoon to her, then slowly pushed up the t-shirt again, paying close attention to how Prue reacted. Prue was sure Lou had finished applying the balm while she’d been revisiting the day’s events, but the massage they’d been giving her wasn’t unpleasant, and she didn’t pull away when Lou started again.

When she finished her oatmeal, she leaned away from Lou’s touch, and that was enough of a sign for them to pull away. Prue shifted, turning to face her friend.

“Do you still have the dresses I left here?” Prue asked, though she knew the answer. 

“Of course!” Lou said. “What kind of a friend would I be to get rid of them?” 

They hopped off the bed and pulled open their closet doors. At the far end of the closet, tucked against the wall, three dresses hung from hangers. Prue had left a few dresses at the Haven after the last time she’d transformed and had to wear a pair of pants from Lou and a long sleeve shirt from Sadie. She hadn’t expected Lou to store the dresses in their own closet. It was a kind gesture of friendship and closeness that Prue would not replicate if she were in Lou’s position. 

“Which one do you want?” Lou asked. 

“You can choose,” Prue said. Lou pulled a long-sleeved black dress from the closet and held it out to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, taking the hanger from them. 

Lou flopped down in their desk chair and rotated it so they didn’t face Prue, knowing she would want privacy to get dressed. Prue took her time, not wanting to strain her already aching muscles. She managed to zip up the zipper that ran along her spine, but the dress had a high collar with buttons above the zipper, and she struggled to lift her sore arms and fasten them. 

“Let me help,” Lou said, their voice low and warm and suddenly close. 

Their tone made Prue feel warm. She reminded herself that this is what Lou did; they charmed people. Despite that knowledge, she pulled her hands away from the buttons and let them fasten them for her. 

“There you go,” Lou said, briefly putting their hand on Prue’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Lou didn’t step back as Prue turned to face them, and though her base instinct was to put distance between them, she didn’t even sway. She wasn’t used to this kind of proximity, but she was emboldened for reasons she couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the post-madness haze, or the moments of physical closeness she’d already had with them today. 

Oh, but they were so close to her. Their shirt was parted open, the top few buttons undone. It was distracting. And attractive. There were very few moments where Prue found herself attracted to anyone, but she’d be lying if she said Lou didn’t have an allure. She looked up at them, meeting their gaze. The warmth in their eyes made Prue feel bold and defiant. Defiant of her usual behavior. She reached out and deliberately, slowly, she readjusted the collar of Lou’s shirt where it had folded out of place. She could feel the heat of Lou’s body radiating off them. Holding their gaze, she flattened her palm against them, below their shoulder.

“Thank you, Lou,” she said. “For everything you did today.”

“It was nothing,” Lou’s voice was quiet and Prue knew they meant what they said. “This is what friends are for.”

They placed their hand on top of Prue’s. Just as Prue had, they held her gaze, then they brought Prue’s hand to their lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. 

This was not something Prue could win. She couldn’t escalate beyond this. Not with someone she actually cared about. Did she care about Lou? Actually care?

Yes, she decided, she did. Despite her best efforts, the small, unhardened part of her that could feel affection did care about them. 

Grew up in Louisiana on a plantation that has been in her family for years

Much of the plantation is decrepit and falling apart; their actual house is fine for the most part, aside from some unused rooms

They can’t afford to fix it up; they present as wealthier than they actually are

Prue’s father, Ezekiel and her oldest brother, Credence are huge civil war buffs; there’s a lot of confederate memorabilia in their house

There’s some deep-seated racism in Prue’s family

Has four siblings (Credence, Verity, Prosper, and Mercy) that are all 10+ years older than she is; Prue was an accident baby

Faith (Prue’s mother) and Ezekiel were not attentive parents. They were more attentive with Prue’s siblings, but by the time Prue is born, they don’t have any interest in raising any more children

Faith has similar powers to Prue, but she thinks they’re the work of the devil and suppresses them with medication and alcohol. Her power is weaker than Prue’s and doesn’t give her insight into other dimensions or realities

Prosper also has powers, though his are less unnerving. He can see/visit other people’s dreams and influence the dreams.

Verity can “read” people with a glance. She’ll know if they’re a threat, have a sense of what they like/dislike, and how best to talk to them. It’s definitely a power but she doesn’t admit that to herself and passes it off as just being very people-savvy and empathetic.

Prue deeply resents her family, especially her parents, though that’s not at all apparent from her interactions with them

Ezekiel is a misogynist, racist, and when he’s drunk, he’s physically abusive

Prue is the ideal daughter for Ezekiel: obsequious, quiet, doesn’t speak unless spoken to, doesn’t rebel, doesn’t complain

It’s a mask

She’s actually very manipulative, and uses her siblings and mother to help her manipulate Ezekiel, without any of them realizing that’s what she’s doing

Acts sweet and obedient, but she’s very vindictive and bitter. Pessimistic, though she doesn’t often voice her opinion. Wants to hurt people, especially people that remind her of her family

Though she’ll do almost anything that’s asked of her without complaint, she will never offer assistance or voluntarily help someone

Preys on people that are used to getting what they want and that also assume she’s just an obedient religious girl. Will gaslight and manipulate these people until she breaks them

The first time she did this was to a boy from her church who kept sexually harassing her. She drove him to the point of su*cide

Completely straight-edge. Acts like this is because of her religious upbringing but really alcohol and drugs would make her more susceptible to madness. Also addiction and alcoholism runs in her family

The Mortimer children, and especially Prue, were essentially raised by Eudora, their live-in nanny/house-keeper

Eudora’s mother also worked for the Mortimer family when she was alive

Ezekiel never has anything nice to say Eudora, and it’s definitely racial-based. This is part of Prue’s ~villain origin story~ bc as far as she’s concerned Eudora is the best person she’s ever met and is certainly better than her family.

It’s because of Eudora that Prue never went fully mad

Prue’s hyper-cosmic awareness power starts manifesting when she’s a toddler, though it’s very mild until she’s around five or six years old. Eudora notices her behavior and listens to the stories Prue tells her and takes them seriously.

The first time Prue goes temporarily mad because of her powers, she’s six years old. Eudora keeps it hidden from the Mortimers, knowing they’ll see it as the devil’s work or something like that. She starts working with Prue to help her learn to control her powers

Powers

Her powers are Eldritch based. She has hyper-cosmic awareness and is able to see anything and everything that could affect her, even into other dimensions and realities.

When she focuses, it can provide really useful information

However, if she doesn’t keep it under control, she’ll go temporarily mad with the potential to permanently go mad

She’s pretty sure most of the information she gets through the hyper-cosmic awareness is usually from a cosmic deity/deities

In day-to-day life, she blocks out the information. This control she has over her mind has allowed her to get to a point where she is impervious to mind readers and some forms of mind control

Depending on what she wants to know, she can either let a little information in and maintain full consciousness, or she can go into a meditative state and learn more

If she tries to really tap into her hyper-cosmic awareness without going into a meditative state, she will go mad

There are a few ways she can escape the madness but none of them are guaranteed to work. Options include: waiting it out (higher potential for her to go permanently mad), a shock to her system (doused in ice water, an electric shock, a slap to the face, etc.), mind-controlling her back to sanity, very strong sedatives

When she’s around nine years old, she accepts an offer from a cosmic deity in order to escape a painful episode of madness. The deity gives her the ability to grow tendrils from her arms and back, but it’s horrific and painful. Her skin rips apart on her arms and back every time she uses this power. When she recalls the tendrils, her skin heals back together immediately, but she has scars from where her skin repeatedly splits open.