introducing... Preacher's!Daughter!Reader
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... truly believes she had a normal upbringing. That's partly because she only remembers better pieces of her childhood, but also because it's all she's ever known. She likes to think about those memories. Her mama braiding her hair into two neat plaits every Sunday before church. The whole town gathered there later, singing hymns. The potlucks after, when she got to run around with all the little children. Helping her mama in the kitchen to make dinner. Reading scriptures with her father before bed, her substitution for a bedtime story.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... went to an extremely conservative and religious school. St. Joseph's was the only school in town, teaching kids religious practice above all else. She knew how to read the bible top to bottom before knowing how to do basic arithmetic, practising her handwriting through repeating verses on the page, over and over as per the teachers' instructions. She mostly stayed quiet, making a few friends over the years that her parents approved of, the kind of girls who followed the rules and had good manners. Of course, she was not allowed to talk to any boys, forbidden by her parents. The school made sure to have separate areas and classes after second grade.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... wears a gold chain with a cross on it. Her mother gifted it to her for her eighth birthday, telling her to always remember who she was and follow the way of God. Her fingers wrap around it subconsciously when she's anxious or stressed, twisting the chain gently. It helps to remind her to focus during church. To understand the importance of her duty. She's never taken it off since the day she first put it on.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... stayed at a farm with her parents for summer break when she was ten. It was owned by one of her Uncles. She loved all the animals, enjoyed spending her days helping with them. She grew particularly close with the horses and lambs, staying outside and just watching them until her mama called her in for dinner. There was no church. No school. She felt free for once. Like she had the choice of how to spend her day, picking what she wanted to help with. She recalls when one of the kittens gave birth to a litter. How tiny they were. Over the weeks, she grew attached to one and named it "Whiskers". When she had to leave, she begged her parents if they could stay a little longer or at least take the kitten. Her father refused, and her mama never tried to convince him. Sometimes she wonders what happened to Whiskers. If he's okay.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... can only recall the darker side of her childhood through flashbacks that occur occasionally. It started in her early teens. Sometimes when her father's voice rises, it's as though she's taken back to a place her mind keeps locked up. For a second, she remembers tiptoeing down the stairs because she couldn't sleep, watching with wide eyes as her father's anger came down on her mama. She remembers the sound of fists on skin, glass shattering. Her mama's silence and her own quiet sobs as she crept back up to her room, in fear of being seen. Over time, the glimpses started coming more frequently, as if her subconscious was trying to tell her something. She ignores it every time, telling herself that's she's imagining it.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... loves waking up early to go watch the sunrise amongst the misty forest behind her house. She slips out carefully through the back door whenever she can, a sweater wrapped tight around her, breath visible in the air. The world is so much more quieter when no one is around. When the rays of sunlight just slip beyond the horizon. She never goes too far, for fear of losing track of time. Just enough that her house is still largely visible. When she was lucky, deer would come by, weary at first. If they approached, she'd smile, gently touching them. It was as if they got her somehow. She'd head back within half an hour, hoping her parents weren't awake. If they were she'd tell them she was just in the garden, tending to the plants.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... slowly started slipping from the shell her parents had forced her into, one random night when she couldn't sleep. She'd always managed to keep herself and her mind in check. To accept what she was told and follow scriptures. She wondered why she was doing this. Why she had to follow these teachings. She froze as she realised what had crossed her mind, then squeezed her eyes shut. She assumed it was a one-time thing, but every night a new thought would come. One that she shouldn't be thinking. One that was forbidden. Why am I doing this? What happens if I just stop? What if I don't believe in this? She waited for the inevitable punishment to come in the form of her father's rage and beatings. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn't. She allowed herself the night to spew out every lingering thought. She'd be pure again once they emptied. But they never did.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... started smoking when she was sixteen as a form of escape. The thoughts weren't enough for long. She needed more to take her mind off everything. She knew this was a deadly sin, but she couldn't take constant pressure and guilt any longer. She'd seen people smoking around the town before. Walk out of certain stores with cigarettes. Her hands shook the day she bought her first pack with most of her monthly allowance. She could barely even take a drag before pulling back and coughing. Her inexperience was soon overcome with the need to take her mind to another place. Even just for a little bit.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... started living through other girls her age. She saw how some of them rebelled. Left Sunday morning church for the late-night bars. Kissed boys at school, hidden behind trees. Smoked a pack a day and chugged down bottles of beer. She knew she could never have any of that, so she took advantage of every second of those lives she got to witness. She'd memorise every detail, hoping to relive them in her mind later that night. They were just fantasies that could never come true, so there was no harm, right?
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... spent more time in church than at her own home. As the years passed, her responsibilities grew, passed down by her father. As if it were a privilege. She led the hymns, delivered the sermons and became the face of purity for the town. "When I'm gone, you and your husband will be in charge of this sacred place. It is important you learn." She knew where every piece of writing was located. Knew every creaking step of the floor. Knew every detail of the large cross that hung on the wall. Her father never thought it was enough. There was always more to know. She'd wake up at dawn and stay there till dusk, organising books and reading sacred texts. To prepare herself for the future. The church felt suffocating for a while. Or maybe that was the weight of her mama's expectations and her father's constant gaze. He would tell her, "It'll become your home one day." She never noticed when it did. But her father was right.
♱‧₊˚ Preacher's!Daughter!Reader who... believes the only part of the house that she can truly be herself in is her bedroom. The only place that's her, decorated how she wants in. With soft whites and natural wood, lace and cotton. It's where she keeps the secret that is her real self. It wasn't always like this, but as the pressure grew, she slowly learned to put on a facade. At some point in time, she went from being the obedient, dutiful preacher's daughter to just putting on a mask. Sometimes she forgets she has it on, that maybe she really is the good girl she's supposed to be. Then her mind comes up with another sinful thought, and she realises she's still playing pretend. That she might be someone different underneath. But she knows she'll never get the chance to find out.
FIND OUT MORE IN... WESTERN NIGHTS
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