#tdol

Canon Chris belongs to the Kratts bros obv

Khriz Varmitech belongs to @ranfordgallus

Reprogrammed Chris and Guardianship Chris belong to @littlecrittereli

chapter I: she wanted storms

The biting wind stings Lilith’s cheeks as the ferry she’s on chugs itself from the mainland to the disheveled little town of Crockett. Small towns have their appeal, in their own way, so it wasn’t as if she was completely dreading her stay. A new adventure was welcome, especially at this point in her life. This remote town in the middle of the sea offered one thing she knows she’ll never receive back home: anonymity.

Lilith was just as shocked as her parents to find that her Great Grandfather had made her a beneficiary in his will, leaving her the deed to his tiny house in the weathered town. She knew they’d shared a few lovely memories together, like walks to the ice cream parlor on the mainland and strolls along the beach near his house, but… it didn’t make much sense that she was the one inheriting his home. It was such a personal gesture. In addition, he’d left her a lump sum of money with a note in scribbled cursive that she'd instantly recognized from years of birthday cards and letters that she’d kept, carefully preserved, in her closet. She could never throw away any cards sent to her. It just felt wrong. 

She pulls the letter out of her coat pocket for what must be the fifth time today and squints with a furrowed brow against the wind to gaze upon the scrawled words of someone she can no longer seek answers from.

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

You are my granddaughter born of the sun.

Thank you for shining on me in this life.

Stay strong for what is to come.

Shine on, my little one.

Always,

Your Great Grandad

She feels her throat close up for what feels like the thousandth time while reading his very last message to her before gently folding the letter up again and storing it securely in her satchel. As for what is to come, she has no clue, but she assumes he’s simply meaning “what lies ahead in life”. She rubs her cold, runny nose against the sleeve of her black coat and shakes off any lingering unnecessary emotions.  

He left me this little house for a reason. I’m going to honor that.

Before she can dwell much longer on the past, the present brings her to her senses by way of a loud horn announcing the arrival to the island that makes her practically jump out of her skin.

“Jesus christ…” she mumbles with a light laugh at her own jumpiness, grabbing ahold of her suitcase on wheels and awkwardly making her way towards the dock. The air is even colder here against the shoreline and it feels as if the wind is snaking its icy fingers under her clothes, chilling her to the bone. It’s not until she wrestles her way down the ramp, almost slipping and busting her ass in the process, that she looks up at the tiny little town of Crockett before her.

Desolation. That’s the first word that comes to mind. The houses themselves seem so lonely, save for the few that have their owners relaxing on the porch. She feels a chill run down her spine as she crosses the threshold from dock to land, and somewhere deep inside of her, she knows that every step she takes carries more weight than the one before. It triggers a spike of anxiety, but nothing severe enough to make her turn back. It feels like a beckoning. The town almost seems to crackle with energy as her boots leave muddy indents behind her on the path to the house. The first rumble of thunder vibrates through the atmosphere and she shivers, instantly recalling a favorite poem.

“You will hear thunder and remember me...” she mumbles quietly to herself with a little grin on her face while waving goodbye to the ferrymen and thanking them for her safe arrival. Her Great Grandfather was apparently unconcerned with socializing, she realizes, as she stumbles in front of an incredibly worn little house sitting on the very cusp of town, as far away from other humans as possible. It sits not far from the wooded area to its left, its porch facing the water. It’s the only house that faces towards the sunrise that she’s seen yet.

Looking up at the worn abode has her gripping her bags so tightly her knuckles turn white. The handling of death has never been a strong suit of hers, but not for lack of trying. There was no one she wouldn’t comfort or help through their own journey with losing someone. It’s something she was quite good at, in fact: comforting others. But in her own life, death and all of its finality, well…for something so inevitable in this world, it scared her beyond belief. It never seemed natural to her, contrary to all recorded existence of life.

All at once, a sliver of a memory manifests and she recalls playing on the sandy bank, her Great Grandfather reading a book and lazily pushing himself to and frow on the porch swing as he kept an eye on her. She remembers it being cold, far too cold to swim, but jumping and splashing into the water with abandon all the same. Free and limitless and unburdened by life and its inevitable pain. She remembers warm arms holding her that night when she fell ill, crying for her mom, but eventually being soothed by the gentle motion of his rocking chair. She couldn’t have been more than five.

It feels like being punched in the chest, how strongly the memory resurfaces now that she’s here. She shakes herself off, squaring her shoulders and gazing towards the front door. Before she can second guess herself, she begins hauling her suitcase up the creaking wooden stairs leading to the front door. A moment of panic hits her as she realizes she doesn’t even have a key yet, but with a gentle turn of the knob, the door opens without protest.

She’s instantly relieved at how barren the living room is. No couch, no TV, no nick knacks, no pictures, no poignancy…she’d promised to help sell the property only. Her mom had handled all of the furniture and décor, making sure to ship certain sentimental objects or pictures that family members had requested.

Lilith can’t stop the quiver of her lips as she breathes heavily through her nose, trying to compose herself as the familiar pang of longing to see her mom and dad envelopes her heart. The ocean was healing to her mother and her illness, and after exhausting all other options, she had encouraged them to move to the Cayman Islands and find some peace, some relief. They fought her hard, but she knew it was the right thing to do, no matter how much it made her soul ache to be so far from them. She just wanted to see them happy and unburdened. A treacherous tear makes its way down her cheek and she hastily wipes it away in annoyance at herself.

They’re healthy. They’re happy. That is everything.

Another round of thunder rumbles through the house, rattling the windows as she digs out the blanket she’d bought for the plane ride and fans it out onto the floor, grabbing a hoodie while she’s at it to scrunch up and use as a pillow. It’s been a long journey, and she feels the exhaustion of traveling slipping into her bones, begging for rest. She raises the blinds on one of the front windows a bit so the lightning will flicker inside the house as she sleeps. Storms meant comfort. Storms meant not being alone.

She uses one of her feet to slide off her clunky combat boot and does the same with the other before stretching towards the ceiling, feeling some of her bones pop, and yawning obnoxiously. Crawling onto her blanket, she lets her heavy head fall, and as she fades into slumber, she briefly remembers the last words of the poem she’d been reminded of earlier.

“You will hear thunder and remember me…and think: she wanted storms…”