FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Trigger Warnings: This story is heavily inspired by the murders of Andrew and Abby Borden, of which Lizzie is based originally. This story is a reimagining of the person Lizzie Borden with an early 20th century gothic horror twist. This story and character focuses on themes of self exploration through trauma and the physical degeneration of the mind. There will be heavy uses of gore, blood, homophobia, sexism, drug use, self harm, body dysmorphia, abuse, and parental abuse. This story is not suitable for all viewers.

Light began to shine through the barely covered window and off the ornate dresser mirror, beginning to light up the room. The room is small but heavily decorated, wood handcarved with elaborate patterns and metal inlays, designs which would pay rent in most homes plastered around the bedroom with casual intent. It was beautifully decorated, albeit somewhat dusty, dressers holding sparkling jewelry and exotic gems, photographs and painted portraits shimmering with gold accents and stained hardwoods sourced from the finest shops. The large wooden bed frame shifted as the groggy cat crawled from it, throwing off the cotton, white sheets and blankets to the side. She would turn to sit on the side of her bed, softly stretching and clutching the plush mattress she laid on. Once ready, she stood and began to walk to her wardrobe.

Elizabeth was quite an irregular woman for much of her life. She was not particularly social, wasn’t well known or generally liked, yet was the first daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Lowell Massachusetts by the turn of the 20th century. Amongst the wealthy, Elizabeth was rich, decorated and adorned in tailored clothing and iconic gems, in both temperament and style, she appeared like a porcelain doll. She was well skilled and intelligent, hardworking and creative, but built as a shadow of the Dewitt family, she never appeared to be herself, never Lizzie, always Elizabeth. From the outside, Elizabeth lived a sheltered and cozy life, bedazzled and one that was largely paid for before she was even born, though she was enslaved to her family name, paraded and used, a cold existence for any person.

An anxious drone, a nervous shell is all she was for much of her life. By adulthood, while all her peers had discovered themselves, Elizabeth still barely knew her own name. She would play the piano with every key striking at the perfect time, she would carve wooden structures as shown to her, down to the direction of the grain, dressed in purpose made clothing to hide any more masculine features, denying any and all selfhood she may have. She knew of no other life than the one forced on to her, barely knowing who else to blame for her suffrage than herself. She was only technically alive, and that life was simply not worth living.

Lizzie approached her wardrobe, her large hands grabbing the polished top, her claws gently scratching its finish as she strained, leaning into the furniture. While rested, she looked exhausted, bruised underneath her silky white fur, eyes sloppily wandering and glazed over with little strength to even keep them from rolling in her skull. Her shaky hand reached over the wardrobe, grabbing a silver and pearl brush. Slowly, her lazy head moved up and stared in the mirror, the cat seeing her reflection staring back down at her. Her hair had thick curls naturally, but several products on her table showed the extent she took to try and keep her hair straight. She must have been busy, or missed some days of self care as her hair coiled over itself. Lizzie grabbed a ball of her hair, beginning to run the brush through the tangled mess.

Time was confusing for Elizabeth, her mind had always struggled to remember even the most basic of details, but she knew very well how long ago it had been. March 2nd, 1903, 162 days ago, Elizabeth would first meet Madaline Ryan. It was a bright day and oddly warm day for New England, as Lizzie remembered it. She had spent much of the morning outside, gathering and chopping wood that had recently been delivered to her family home. She’d split the wood so it would fit in their fireplaces, chopping thick logs of centuries old wood into fuel to keep the home warm through winter. Snow covered parts of the town and decorated the ground, but was not anything difficult for the people who lived there, in fact, some hardy grass could be seen through patches of thin snow. As Elizabeth split her logs, a young deer would begin to walk down the brick road of their small inner-city estate, carrying bags from shops and dragging along a small sled of cleaning supplies and tools. She would approach Elizabeth, the frail feline slowly turning and looking at the deer.

“Good Morning madam!” Madaline called out as she approached. She would drop the ropes to her sled as she reached the side door, Elizabeth standing just a few meters away. Madaline was tiny compared to Elizabeth, naturally thin, brittle, and short. Still though, her brown fur was incredibly soft and thick, her body shape perfectly sculpted with fine detail and artful craftswork. Her face was gorgeous, one that men would envision and eagerly protect, and her eyes were forest green, rich and vast.

“Good morning.” Elizabeth spoke back in a hushed, polite voice. Her soft, pretty voice seemed to catch Madaline somewhat off guard given the Puma’s size. She was so much taller than any other woman in the city, yet looked just as uncomfortably thin as them all. She gently held the axe in her hand to her side. “How may I help you?”

“Oh, yes, right. I am here for Andrew Dewitt, the new housemaid. My name is Madline Ryan.” Madaline began to fidget with the several paper bags she held while Elizabeth watched with some curiosity. As she looked over with her head, the sinking of her cheeks and outlines of her shoulder bones became more obvious. “Mr.Dewitt had me retrieve some things for you all. Are you Emma?”

“No ma’am, that is my sister. I am Elizabeth.” Elizabeth would knock some of the chopped wood into a cart next to the chopping block. She placed the old axe on the block gently, turning to better face Madaline.

“Oh, pardon. I have your parcel too.” Madaline apologized and shifted the bags once again, isolating a particularly heavy looking bag. It sagged with liquid medicine and hard pills. Madaline stomped through the snow to approach Elizabeth with the bag from the corner store, Elizabeth walking to meet her. As she did, Madaline seemed to step on a pathway stone that had been covered by snow, her shoes slipping off the side of it and making the deer twist, starting to fall while clutching the bag, calling out a sharp yelp. Elizabeth took two large, quick steps as she held out her arms, quickly catching the deer and holding Madaline tightly to her chest.

“Oh- dear, I am so so sorry Miss!” Madaline called out, though Elizabeth seemed to be too distracted to respond. She held the deer close within her arms, feeling the deep warmth of Madaline through her clothes, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. Touch starved through most of her life, she had only had her cold sheets to hug tight. Elizabeth took a deep, long inhale as she held her, getting a whiff of the deer's cheap perfume. It wasn’t some exotic, toxic chemical musk, not some prudish or rich scent, but of simple fruits, apples and cherries. Elizabeth stared down at the deer with nervous eyes, watching as the smaller creature moved within her grasp, her head for just a moment resting over Elizabeth's jumpstarted heart. Madaline began to steady herself, holding Elizabeth’s broad shoulder as she did.

“Miss, please accept my apologies, I have lost my footing!” Madaline called, though noticed the blank, anxious Puma staring back. She paused for a moment, awaiting a reply that slowly built up in the Pumas throat before bursting over the bellcurve.

“Nonono, you are perfectly fine- Er.. you have done nothing to apologize for! Are you okay Madaline..? Is your ankle..- We have an ice box, shall I get you-” Elizabeth nervously spoke as her bony hands trembled, the Puma beginning to look over the deer somewhat frantically. Madaline quickly began to laugh, grabbing the Pumas hands and holding them tight as she looked up at the creature. Elizabeth stared back down, feeling her stomach sink as she stared into the green eyes looking back at her own dark blue eyes.

“Miss Elizabeth, I am okay.” Madaline spoke back, calmly trying to calm the nervous monstrous woman hunched above her. The deer would maneuver the paper bag into Elizabeth's hands and let go of them, Elizabeth though held her hands out for a few moments long, still having that puzzled look over her face. “Here is your bag, Miss. And please call me Maggie.”

Elizabeth continued to stare awkwardly at the deer, mouth gently open but with no words coming out. She fidgetted with the folded paper bag, trying to find the words or gain the confidence to muster a response, any. After some time, Maggie began to turn and walk back to her gear, the feline stepping forward towards Maggie as she did.

“You can call me Lizzie!” Lizzie nervously called out to Maggie, the deer giving a quick nod in reply before she gathered her things. She would make her way into the home to start her shift while Lizzie stood comatose outside, staring at the stone Maggie had slipped on. She still felt her warmth.

That was one of the warmest days of her life, though Lizzie stood cold in her room as she forced the brush through her hair. Little progress was made other than the Puma ripping out bundles of hair and making it frizzy, generally unpleasant. After some trials and many errors in her approach, Lizzie would let an exacerbated sigh out from her maw. With some frustration she would toss the brush on the table, leaving a dent in the wood and knocking several containers over, a mess of pills falling onto the table. She grabbed a loose ribbon and flipped her hair over her head, beginning to tie it up in a messy, frizzy bun. When she looked back in the mirror, her hair was deeply damaged, frizzy and spilling out from the ribbon. Lizzie would look back down at the table, eyes locked on to the medication that scattered across the table top. An awful gulp, like swallowing a stone of regret, seemed to flash over her for a second, her eyes dancing between pills of various sizes and full glass bottles of liquid medicine.

Several weeks after Lizzie first met Maggie, the Puma was found in her living room, playing on a piano as snow fell on the ground. It was one of the last snowstorms that winter, and one that made the streets of the town quiet. Still, Andrew stubbornly had left for work to his canning plant on the outskirts of the town. Abigail had visited her family for the morning, and Emma was at school in Boston. Lizzie was alone in the home that morning, having made herself a light breakfast, as prescribed by her father, stoked the fire for the home, and was now at her piano. She would start her metronome and begin to play the classical music she set out in front of her. Her large, emaciated fingers danced over the keys, listening to the old piano hum through the home with perfect tone and rhythm. Something flashed in her mind, and for a second, she played off rhythm, utterly unlike her! The Puma gave an annoyed sigh, displeased by the uncharacteristic mistake, and went back to continue. Before she could, she heard the side door open.

“Good morning Dewitts!” Maggie called out though got little response as she entered the home, purse slung over her shoulder but still dragging the sled behind her. She did not hesitate, having already been late, grabbing the items and began to bring them in while Lizzie quickly stood and made her way to the kitchen.

“Good… Afternoon Maggie.” Lizzie said as she walked over, eyes staring at the deer as she worked, a small permanent smile forming over the felines face. Lizzie had a near elated look, like a child who’d been promised an ice cream cone on a hot summer's day.

“Afternoon..?- Yes, sorry, it took me far longer to get here than I wanted to…” Maggie’s voice trailed off slightly as she continued to work, bringing in items requested by Andrew or supplies needed to perform her job. “You.. won’t tell Andrew, right?” Maggie half asked, partially assuming that Lizzie wouldn’t, but still worried regardless.

“I will not. My father does not need to know.” Lizzie reaffirmed Maggie, knowing full well that he would be agitated that Maggie was late. She went to go help Maggie with the items, though the deer would grab them before Lizzie had a chance to help. Before Lizzie could protest, Maggie would cut through the peaceful silence.

“I thought I heard a piano, do you play?” The deer spoke under her breath as she brought in the last of her items, looking fairly worn from the adventure she had making it to the home. Lizzie quickly replied, “Yes. I have played it all my life.”

“Well, I would love to hear you play.” Maggie stated softly as she rummaged through her bag. Lizzie seemed somewhat indifferent to show her, though still made her way back to the piano bench and began to skim through her music book to find a song to play. As she did, Maggie began to pull out glass bottles of medication. “Here you go, we have.. La..laudanum, ff- phenobarbital… dini…trophenol…lithium salts.. Arsenic diet..” Maggie's voice trailed off, growing more and more concerned with Lizzie, the feline not giving much mind to the chemical cocktail fed to her.

No wonder why she always looked so corpselike!, Maggie thought, clutching the bag tightly in her hand. The deer looked up with a deeply uncomfortable stare while Lizzie still looked through her book. “Do… you really use all these?” Maggie asked and Lizzie turned to look back at Maggie, meeting her concerned look with a confused glare.

“Of course. These are to help me stay thin and healthy.” Lizzie commented but was only met with an awful, unnerved look of fear, one that made Lizzie's heart sink in her shallow ribcage. With the way she spoke, it almost sounded like she was reciting a talking point about the meds she heard from someone else.

“...Are you healthy? You look… ill. You’re so.. so thin..” As Maggie commented, something seemed to click in Lizzie's head. She rubbed her fingers together, feeling the bones in them, her stretchy skin, and how pale her skin was. She could feel her ribs against her skin as she breathed, her muscles, despite her size, were atrophied. Both stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, an awkwardness which Maggie simply could not handle.

“I.. I am sorry Lizzie, I should not have said anything, that was disrespectful. I am… just tired from my travels!” Maggie excitedly stated, trying to quickly move past the heavy atmosphere she created. The doe turned to begin her work, though Lizzie would reach out and grab the deer's hand, her bone and skin barely grasping.

“It’s okay Maggie, your input is important to me. Why don’t you take a seat?” Lizzie offered and shifted over on her piano bench, leaving a spot for Maggie. The deer gave a small smile, warmed by the notion she mattered more than just being the broomstick she was hired to be. Slowly and carefully, Maggie moved to sit with the Puma. As she did, it showed the true scale of their size difference between the two, Maggie’s head was just at Lizzie's shoulders. While firm and clearly wider than most, it seemed that her shoulders were permanently tied back with her shirt, trying to mask the true size of them,

“Thank you Lizzie.” Maggie spoke, rubbing the wooden seat with her hands. Again, Lizzie could feel the warmth of the creature next to her, just an inch between the two of them. The doe turned to face Lizzie, a wider grin filling her face. “Well, I would love to hear you play, still.”

Lizzie nodded and focused her attention back to the piano, feet pressed against the pedals, hands aligned with the keys. She stared for a few seconds, looking down at the deer before coming to and quickly shaking off the rust from her withering brain. She tightened her posture, clicked her metronome on, and began to play the instrument. Like before, everything seemed perfect, on time, chords progressing with little difficulty and no mistakes. It was delightful and pretty, though uninteresting, unoriginal, at least until Lizzie began to miss her timings and her fingers began to slip on the wrong keys, creating the wrong chords, something new. Rather suddenly, Lizzie would stop playing with an annoyed and embarrassed look over her face. She narrowed her eyes and began to pick at her fingers with frustration, though the deer would reach over, holding Lizzie's hand and stopping her from picking.

“Is something wrong?” Maggie asked, holding the puma's large hand tightly. Lizzie would recoil slightly, though Maggie would not let go of the feline, holding firm. Of course, both had drastically different hand sizes, Maggie’s were absolutely petite, Lizzie’s astonishingly huge, certainly making playing the piano a far easier experience.

“I made a mistake, it wasn’t right.” The Puma commented softly, like an ashamed kid confronting their temptation to eat from the cookie jar. The soberness of Lizzie’s voice seemed to make Maggie laugh, a laugh that made Lizzie stare with discomfort, almost as much frustration as she had felt before. Lizzie stammered gently as she tried to speak in reply, but Maggie would wave her hand towards Lizzie’s face, the deer covering her mouth to stop her unprompted cackling.

“My dear, it was splendid!” Maggie stopped her laughing and instead replaced it with a stern, warm smile staring back at the Puma. “I’ve not noticed any mistake, just a creative artist. Please, continue.”

My…. Dear..? Lizzie anxiously looked down at the deer, near sweating bullets, then shakily moved her hands to the keys once again. She began to play again with an awkward, clunky tone, one that made Maggie seem more interested to experience. The deer would listen and kick her feet, then resting her head on the puma’s large, bony shoulders. A flush of warmth shot through the feline, yet her shakiness seemed to calm, her playing developing further into something far more abstract, almost jazzy, hip, new, a sound she began to embrace. They stayed together for a few minutes, Maggie resting her eyes until Lizzie had finished, turning a short psalm into a concert symphony just to savor the time they shared. Maggie would stand from the wooden chair, gently rubbing the felines back and beginning to start her cleaning of the home. Lizzie stayed sat on the wooden chair, as if paralyzed, lost, yet feeling her heart warmly pump blood through her body. She must have forgotten what that felt like.

Hours later, Maggie would finish her cleaning of the home with Lizzie still aimlessly sitting around in the living room. The feline tried to pick up a book, trying to play her piano further, but she was far too distracted, butterflies fluttering around her empty stomach. She would listen to the deer's soft shoes tap along the floor, occasionally peeking around corners to watch as Maggie cleaned, bent over and scrubbing the floor on her tiny hands and knees. Lizzie stood at the foot of the stairs just to listen to the doe work in the bedrooms, her body nearly swaying along to the melody the deer hummed to herself. The house never felt more fresh, more safe. Throughout the day, Andrew, Abigail, and Emma would make it back to the home. By dinner time, the family had crowded in the dining room, Maggie beginning to serve the family. Dinner that night was meatloaf, gravy, green beans and corn.

Maggie would give each Dewitt their plate, the large ornate plates holding very little food. Maggie would give Lizzie her plate last, having the largest portion at the table, two slices of meatloaf with generous portions of vegetables. Andrew would clear his throat for attention, snapping his fingers at Maggie.

“Madaline, no. Elizabeth can not eat all of that. Give her a reasonable plate.” Lizzie looked up from her plate with some slight disappointment, but did not dare to utter a protest. Maggie stared at Andrew for a moment and then gave a short, defeated nod, taking the plate back to the kitchen. Moments later, she would give Lizzie a plate with half the food, a thin slice of meatloaf, 2 green beans, and a tablespoon full of corn. Prisoners of war would eat better than she possibly ever had.

The family said grace as Maggie cleaned up the kitchen, then began to eat. The hot food seemed to grow cold quickly in the loveless, silent room. Andrew, the head of the table, would be the only person with the power to initiate conversation, which he typically used sparingly. “Abigail, how is your mother?” Andrew asked his wife with little interest, yet the older woman would turn to look at Andrew with near excitement to share her day. Despite her passive aggressive speech, she spoke so chirpy she almost seemed pleasant to be around.

“Oh she is just manic.” Abigail began, Lizzie and Emma finishing their plates of food. Lizzie would look up to politely listen to the conversation, Emma though kept her head down. “She still thinks about Robert, haven’t even cleaned up the kitchen of his last coffee.” Abigail commented with Andrew giving a small grunt in response. “She has really let herself go, I have had to buy her new clothing, though we can always donate Elizabeth's old wardrobe. She barely wears any of them anyway!”

“No, her clothes certainly wouldn't fit.” Andrew commented with Lizzie in earshot, the Puma blankly staring, she’d become used to biting her tongue and smiling; it was surprising she could speak at all. Abigail continued. “Well, beauty is just skin deep. Even Elizabeth has been holding herself better than her.” Maggie, who had kept an ear close to the doorway, entered the room and began collecting the plates, trying to make casual conversation in hopes to distract from the disrespect Lizzie was catching.

“Sir, may I get you more-” Maggie stopped speaking as Andrew placed his hand up in the deer's face, speaking above her. Maggie would continue to clean off the table, hiding her frustration with a masked resting face.

“Its only a moment on the lips but a lifetime on the hips.” Andrew commented with Addy giving a generous laugh in response. “If she is truly in need we can get her medicine for her fat. If that doesn’t help, I heard of a new treatment for mania, a surgery for the brain could do her wonders.”

“Oh, we could never test something so sevre on her! Though…” Abigail commented and gestured towards Lizzie with a nod in her direction. “We can certainly try it on someone else first.”

Andrew gave a half assed rebuttal. “Oh please, Elizabeth has been fine.” Both of the parents would laugh with Lizzie awkwardly watching and Maggie cleaning the table, hiding the sickened look developing on her face. Still, Emma did not pay attention, something that seemed to catch Abigail’s attention.

“Though, maybe Emma could use something of the likes. She has been coming home with new ideas from Simmons University.” Abigail commented, disdain for the idea of a women’s college, something that made Emma finally raise her head. Before Andrew could reply in full, Emma would begin to argue with Abigail. “Why don’t you get one Abby? This dinner would settle easier without your gawking.”

“Oh, I actually think the dinner was quite nice-” Lizzie tried to interject, though closed her jaw tight as Andrew slammed his fist on the table, grinding his teeth towards Emma. “Emma, she is your mother. You will treat her with respect.” Andrew commented, Abigail now crossing her arms and raising her head, looking down at Emma.

“Some mother, though I wouldn’t expect much better from someone who's such a lousy daughter too.” Emma snapped back with an audible gasp leaving Abigail's maw. Andrew and Emma began to raise their voices at one another, Abigail joining in within the fight.

Maggie would quickly grab the last of the plates from the table and beckenned Lizzie to follow to the kitchen. The Puma quickly stood from the table and left to the kitchen as the family was distracted in fight. As she entered, she noticed another plate set up near the sink holding the food that Maggie was instructed not to feed to Lizzie. The deer waved Lizzie to come eat, which the feline partook with eagerly.

That dinner would restart a hunger long lost in Lizzie, but inspired by Maggie, would also help to bring a fresh soul back into the lifeless woman. This desire would not leave Lizzie, even as she stood in her quiet room. Lizzie stared at the pills for some time, eyes dancing around anxiously. She hadn’t taken her medicine since Maggie pointed out just how bad they had seemed, dropping them cold turkey and bearing the withdrawal that came after. Lizzie was sick for months, bedridden from secretly halting her medication, yet Maggie never skipped a day to clean the Puma’s room, spending hours with the ghostly figure to keep her company. Andrew and Abigail would only occasionally check the room to make sure a rotten corpse hadn’t replaced their daughter.

Lizzie slammed her arm on the table and swiped the medication off from it, pills and liquid bottles flying and slamming to the floor, taking out other items from the wardrobe, including a now broken decorated photo frame holding a family portrait of the Dewitts. Lizzie watched the frame leave the table, gasping while she quickly threw herself to the floor to grab the frame. She held it in her firm hands, the glass cracked. Lizzie reached for the glass, her raw fingers pulling shards from the broken frame, the glass pressing and cutting into her hands. She threw the shards across the room until the frame was free of large obstructions, then ripping out the photograph of the family. Behind it sat a much smaller, blurred photo of Lizzie and Maggie. Lizzie grabbed the photo, her bleeding hand soon dripping down the face of the photo.

After Lizzie's recovery, the Puma would finally start to put on more weight. Her ribs would become covered, arms growing with muscle and her legs bulking out as they should. Her arms and hands finally looked right, plump and meaty, like the feline was born to be. Much of her clothing would become unbearable to wear, but she would cut relief slits into the sleeves and work with Maggie to restitch much of the clothing to fit easier. She had pushback from her father and stepmother, the father even increasing her medications to try and “fix” Lizzie, yet she would just throw the medicine away. With the help of Maggie, she began to eat as her body needed to, a healthy glow coming from the former emaciated woman.

The summer of 1903 was easily the warmest, most comfortable summers that Lizzie had ever experienced. The flowers seemed to bloom in her honor, the sun radiated off her healthy body, the industrial city never smelled more clean. Lizzie and Maggie would see each other regularly, behind the backs of both the Dewitts and Ryans, behind all of Maggie's friends, and the members of Andrews church. It may have been unpleasant to live such a life in secret, but neither had any better choice and in truth, that life only made their relationship that much stronger.

As usual, Lizzie would meet Maggie at the predetermined location, this time deep within the forest north of the city. That Afternoon's itinerary was fairly modest compared to other adventures they took in the spring. On the menu was roast beef sandwiches, jellies, bananas, and wine. Maggie provided the main course and the blanket while Lizzie brought the sides, drinks, and plates which she figured wouldn’t be noticed missing from the home china, or cellar. Abigail never cared for possessions, just the possibility of becoming the owner of them. Andrew was normally attentive, but had been far more busy at the meat plant he owned in the city.

“There you are!” Maggie called as the puma walked up, basket carried in her left hand. The Puma made her way up to the old pine tree, a large, almost goofy smile plastered on her face as she greeted the deer. They would hug and begin to set up on the cool grass, sitting on the quilt and began to partake in the food offered. “You seem mighty happy today. Have your migraines been better?” Maggie asked, holding the sandwich she brought. Lizzie grabbed hers, the wrapped package looking thicker, more full than what Maggie had got herself.

“No, I still have been having those pains. I think it's been affecting my hearing.”Lizzie replied in passing and took the sliced bananas, using her hands to eat them. Occasionally, her ears would twitch, as if she heard something that caught their attention, but she wouldn’t feed attention into it. “Of course I'm mighty happy, everything feels merry while I'm held in your gravity.”

Maggie let a smile slip from her opening mouth as she spoke in reply, pulling a bottle of wine from the basket. “Hah, that makes me feel just gay!” Both would snicker slightly as Maggie took out the cork from the bottle and poured two glasses. She handed one to Lizzie, hitting the glasses together before taking a long sip. Maggie would gesture towards the bottle as she spoke. “Thanks for stealing this. I must have dusted that bottle a thousand times, yet your father hasn’t asked for it once.”

“Well, I think it's better for him, to cut down his silhouette, right?” Lizzie joked with Maggie laughing at the expense of Andrew, the Puma joining with a chuckle. Lizzie took her sandwich, unwrapped it and began to eat. She took a large bite from her sandwich, nearly a third gone and swallowed with no time wasted. Maggie would look deep at the Puma as Lizzie ate, who seemed to be a bit too distracted, taking down the sandwich brought for her. The area was so somber, quiet and peaceful, an area that Lizzie had loved the moment she saw Maggie there the first time, dressed in the short spotted summer dress. Maggie took a bite and was readying to speak, though this time, Lizzie spoke first.

“I got you something.” She wiped her hands roughly on a free cloth, then reached the bottom of the basket. She moved the cloth lining the wicker, taking out a thick, small sheet of laminated paper. She kept it flipped upside down, handing it to Maggie. The deer took the paper and flipped it, showing a grainy, low quality photograph of the two sitting next to one another at Simmons University during a showcase of the newer technology on the campus. A bright smile overcame the doe’s face.

“Wow! I didn't think it would turn out, there was nothing there last time I saw it!” Maggie held the picture close as she explored it, staring at the pair. Both were in modest clothing, looking like any other student prospect who’d visit the school, hands to themselves as they stood proud. While they weren’t holding each other as they wished to be, Maggie leaned on Lizzie, near resting her head against the broad shoulders she grew to love. Maggie was in some disbelief as to how easy it was snapping the photo of the two, she looked at the side with Lizzie, while the Puma drank more of the wine she brought.

As Maggie watched the photo with intrigue, Lizzie was distracted with a drink she rarely got the treat to be spoiled with. Unlike the food, she seemed to savor the wine more, taking short sips, letting it sit in her big mouth and dance across her taste buds, a tart zing ringing within her jaw. Lizzie couldn’t help but to stare at Maggie while she drank, attracted to every aspect of the doe, from the mundane to the spectacular, an emotion that she truthfully didn't have the pleasure of feeling. She would spin the glass in her hand, letting the wine cling to the edges as she watched her partner, until something caught the attention of her ear, a voice she thought she heard approaching them.

Lizzie turned to look over her shoulder, maw deep in the wine glass, eyes scanning around and catching on movement which wasn’t there. Somewhat confused, and certainly struck with nerves, she nervously watched around, Maggie beginning to notice the frantic look growing in the Puma’s eyes. Lizzie pulled the wine glass from her face, her arm jerking across her body beyond her direct control while she continued to look over her shoulder, the glass smashing against the bottle of wine.

Both jumped a bit at the sound of the crashing glass, one that seemed to snap Lizzie out from her lapse into mania. Lizzie’s arms began to shake softly as she started collecting the shattered pieces of glass on the blanket, piling them in her bare palm and dropping them into the wicker basket. She muttered to herself, frustration and anger starting to fester on her face as she cleaned her mess, blaming herself for the mistake. Maggie watched with some worry, beginning to speak up towards the Puma.

“Liz..? It isn’t your fault Lizzie..” Maggie tried to reassure the Puma, though was not given a reply, trapped watching the nerved feline clean the mess, hand beginning to ball in frustration around the glass shards. With a defiant sigh, Maggie would tightly grip her own glass and firmly grab Lizzie’s muzzle, trapping the disparaging words she held for herself inside. Before Lizzie could protest, Maggie smashed her own glass against the tree, shards of glass sticking in the bark, wine pouring down to the roots.

Dumbfounded, Lizzie stampered trying to find a reply to the erratic response from Maggie, nearly mute that she would do something as stupid as that. Why would you break another glass? She thought, the frustration on her face spiraling between confusion and annoyance. The whole situation had only made her mistaken ears more unreliable, hearing more fake noises than before, yet too entrenched in shock to give them any more attention than they deserved. All the while, the doe just stared with a half assured lopsided grin, tossing the stem and base of the wine glass to the grass. Maggie let a laugh leave her mouth and reached her hand to the Puma, now both hands rubbing against the side of the feline's face.

“Darling, I did not want you to be alone in your mistake. It’s only a glass.” Maggie spoke softly and held Lizzie’s big head tightly, squeezing the sides of it like a helmet protecting her from the noise which so often overwhelmed her head. Lizzie’s nerves began to calm, a smile replacing the otherwise genetic look of anger which she inherited from her father. She pushed the last of the glass aside to move closer to the deer, the two finishing their food. The two would cuddle under the tree, legs stretched against the grass. Lizzie seemed to savor every second in the mostly quiet woods, holding Maggie tightly against her warmed body. While with her, within her gravity, Lizzie would feel like herself.

“I could wish for nothing more..” Lizzie poured the words from her muzzle, head nuzzled, resting on the top of the deer's soft hair. Maggie smiled warmly, pressing herself back into the feline further. Lizzie closed her eyes, giving up agency of her surroundings as Maggie watched springtails and grasshoppers dance around blades of grass. Lost in her warmth and perfume, Lizzie’s muscles were nearly completely relaxed, having little tension within them, slouching comfortably against the tiny doe.

“I guess I have one wish.” Maggie began, Lizzie opening her eyes and raising her head, looking back down at the doe. Lizzie stared down at the beautifully bright, innocent green eyes of the doe while Maggie stared back, seeing the depth of the lightening blue eyes Lizzie had. Maggie bit her bottom lip gently, lowering her head to add to the new atmosphere she was creating. Lizzie waited patiently, though it did not take much longer for Maggie to ask the feline. “Your parents aren’t home, right?”

……

Later that night, both Lizzie and Maggie would make their way back to the empty Dewitt household, expecting no one else to be there until after the weekend. Both left their shoes at the front door and ran upstairs to Lizzie’s room, giggling and gasping as they moved. Neither wanted to waste what little time they had, undressing themselves with clothes becoming scattered across the room with reckless care. They both nearly leaped to the bed in the corner, Maggie assuming a position above the Puma, both just giddy in each other's company.

Maggie intended to have more intimate fun with Lizzie, expecting and excited to be crushed by the Puma. Oddly though, Lizzie seemed to have little sexual interest. Instead, she just toyed with the doe’s thighs, squeezing them within her massive hands, rubbing her fingers against the soft fur of the deer. Even as Maggie gestured to something deeper, Lizzie seemed all too content with how they were spending their time already. Deep in the back of Maggiee’s mind, this was a disappointing outcome, but Maggie would not wish to cut Lizzie off from her fun, her comfort. Plus, the smile on Lizzie’s face was too great to ignore.

Lizzie aimlessly played with Maggie’s thighs, occasionally rubbing near the doe’s hips, rounding past her rear then back to the legs. She continued for some time, the widest smile thought to be impossible on a creature such as her. Soon she reached up and grabbed Maggie’s waist, pulling the deer down to the bed, forcing the smaller creature in a deep, warm hug. They laid face to face, Lizzie staring at her eyes, playing with her nose, her ears, occasionally playfully biting with her lips at the doe’s cheek. In each other's company, they often found it all too easy to talk, but at this moment, neither wanted to block out the sound of their gentle breathing. Both would fall asleep together, held tight against one another.

That night felt so hazy, like a fog resting upon a stream. The sweet heat of their bodies warming up the room like the golden ray of sun glowing from the room's window. Sleeping angles upon a bed of shimmering feathers, the comfort of safety from each other's presence like a veil of armour from the lord. The sun began to kiss the horizon, yet neither cared to wake with him, that bed was far too comfortable with their company to willingly leave.

As the sun began to rise over the horizon, the back door of the Dewitt house would swing open. A heavy bag was tossed, slumped against the sofa in the living room. The creature walked across the room, bottle in hand, their heavy dress shoes tapping on the floor. The cellar door opened, with the creature walking down and placing a work gift in the cabinet with other liquors. Their hand reached over, hovering over two empty wine glass holders.

Lizzie held Maggie like a stuffed toy, spooning the creature tightly within her chest. Maggie would feel safe inside the width of the heavy shoulders which kept her close. Lizzie’s hands grabbed the smaller creature, Maggie holding on to the Puma’s large arms in response. Their fur tangled and interlaced, fingers curled and buried to the skin of one another. The gentle breathing and occasional snoring with melodic tone, whispering in each other's bare ears.

The figure left the cellar, a list of missing items in mind. It explored the kitchen, finding missing plates and food alike, a pattern forming. It slunk around the home as the sun fully raised over the land, looking for more clues to their developing theory. Soon, this creature stumbled upon a set of two dirty shoes at the foot of the stairs. Dirt littered near the front door, whoever’s shoes they were had not been attentive enough to clean them off.

Addicted to the sweetness of her skin, nose pressed against the soft muscles of the deer, Lizzie slept, dreaming. She saw them living a long life together, pouring pitchers on their doorstep as they heard children run and play outside, singing their nursery songs. She could smell cookies in the oven, and the old wood creak as the deer approached with a tray of goodies, made with love and care. They were not having to hide, no one was there to tell them who to be, or how to be. There wasn’t a single pill bottle or emaciated woman in sight, hell, no men at all, just the peaceful world Lizzie dreamed for. Lizzie could feel a kiss placed upon her cheek as a cookie was slipped into her hand. In her bed, the Puma gave a kiss to the sleeping deer she held, a final taste so sweet.

The old wood of the stairs creaked as the darkened creature walked on them, hand sliding along the wall, ears perked and alert. It was faint but felines have always had a good set of ears on their heads, so it heard the sound of an unknown sleeping breath. It made its way to the top, starting to walk along the hallway, passing Emma’s room and to Elizabeth's room. Their hand reached to the brass door knob, turning the mechanism with a click, the door slowly opening away from it. Right in view of the open doorway sat Lizzie’s sagging bed and the two ignorant lovers.

“Elizabeth Dewitt!” Andrew screamed with shock awe as a cold breeze flew across the room to the bed. The door rapidly slammed into the wall, the doorknob denting the wooden wall and slicing into the wall paper. Both Lizzie and Maggie shot up from the bed, Lizzie covering the two midsections with the blanket, trying to move herself over the Doe to defend her.

“Father, please-” Lizzie tried to explain the unexplainable, something impossible to succeed with against such an irate opponent. Her speech was halted as the looming feline stormed to the bed, heavy shoes shaking the bedframe as he walked. His claws grabbed at the comforter, ripping the blanket from Lizzie’s hands and tossing it aside, revealing the near naked ladies who had been sharing a bed with one another.

“Tsk! Spinsters! I knew you were defective Elizabeth, you’re sick!” Andrew screamed, skin so red it began to show through his thinning fur. He reached over the bed, grabbing Maggie's arm with claws hooking into the Doe’s flesh, yanking her out from the bed. Maggie reached to Lizzie, holding on to the Puma while Lizzie grabbed Maggie's free arm, claws tearing at her skin as she was pulled away. Maggie tried to fight back against Andrew, though the large male only drugged her across the floor, pulling her from the room while Lizzie chased after them, both women calling out desperately.

“Andrew, unhand me! Let me go!”

“Stop, you don’t have to do this!”

“You’re hurting me Andrew!”

“Please let her go daddy, she does not deserve your cruelty!”

Andrew swung the doe, slamming the woman into the wardrobe as he turned to speak to Lizzie, grabbing her muzzle, claws pulling at her skin. Lizzie immediately tried to grab at her fathers hand, pulling at his fingers, only causing his claws to rip further into her muzzle. “MY cruelty? I have spent twenty years of my patience with you, my money, and my time. You are a cancer to this family. I would waste more money to have your brain scooped out, but you aren’t worth the spoon!” Andrew called, screaming centimeters from Lizzie’s face.

Lizzie clawed at the heavy hand holding her maw, trying to rip it off while screaming and thrashing, all while Maggie did the same, though looking fairly dazed. Andrew tossed Lizzie aside to the floor, trying her best to rebound as quickly as she could. Before she could stand, he would backhand her across the side of her head, knuckle striking deep against her temple, sending the feline to fall to the floor. Andrew turned again, grabbing the deer's neck, still holding her arm and throwing her outside the room. Her body hit the wall, shaking picture frames loose and smashing against the hallway floor.

“You sodomite!” Andrew began, stepping outside the room with hands in a fist. “I gave you a career, a livelihood, a way for you to be something other than a burden. Still, you roll around in the putrid sod that my daughter was born in.” He raised his hand, nearing to strike Maggie.

“Let God strike you through my hand, vile monster-” Before Andrew could finish, Lizzie charged out the door, nearly tackling him into the wall. He would fall forward, Lizzie throwing aimless punches into the feline's stomach, over and over again with insatiable ferocity. Maggie tried to crawl away from the two, getting a meter or two down the hall. Andrew would rip at Lizzie's arms, clawing into her shoulder and skin, then pulling at her hand, trying to free himself from the manic creature. After a few failed attempts, he aimed his elbow and swiftly struck down to the side of Lizzie's head, knocking her to the ground.

“You Bitch!” Andrew yelled down at the stunned feline, head swaying and vision blurring with unease. He quickly stomped on the floor to catch up with Maggie, kicking at the deer's stomach, forcing her to roll over onto her back. He leaned down and grabbed her again by her fragile neck, lifting her up with nearly no effort. He slammed Maggie to the wall, the house near shuttering, bearing his teeth and again began screaming in her face.

“It was you wasn’t it, Madaline? You gave her these ideas.” Andrew squeezed at the deer's throat, gurgling and choking noises coming from the weak woman. She struggled to breath, weakly taking in stale air through her closed throat, all while Andrew treated her like a cheap whore. He raised his arm, curling it down and punching Maggie across her face, blood rolling down from her nose with an audible crack from the dislodged bone.

“You prayed on her stupidity, you fed into her instability!” He struck Maggie again, this time across the eye. A crunch could be heard from her deforming eyesocket, her eyelids popping open from the pressure of her eye being squeezed in the collapsing socket. He repositioned, now holding both his hands against her throat, squeezing the life from her eyes.

“May God save you from the death you deserve, for I am dry of mercy.” Andrew squeezed, the deer's bloodshot eyes dancing with fear as she looked up to the roof, awaiting God to save her. Her face seemed to deflate, cheeks hollowing, skin under her blood stained fur going blue.

Lizzie yelled before throwing a stern punch against Andrew, a tooth jostling loose from his mouth. He fell to the ground, Lizzie pouncing on top of him. She began to slam her fists down with Andrew holding his arms up in defense to block the attack, all while Maggie swayed, vaguely conscious as she stood. Lizzie was too distracted enacting her revenge upon her father, an angle of vengeance against the presumed protector of God, fists beginning to grow bloody. Unaware, Maggie would begin to fall again, unprotected head leaning towards the narrow stairs.

Lizzie looked up and watched as Maggie collapsed down the stairs, her assault on her father slowing. Everything went quiet, even Andrew stopped in his tracks, unable to look away like a mangled car wreck. Maggie’s head landed on the first step, her unsupported neck snapping as the weight of her body recoiled down with gravity. Her limp body ragdolled down the stairs, arms bending backwards, legs flailing and neck bouncing around like a bobblehead supported on a bent spring. Step after step, snap and break, Lizzie could count each fracture of Maggie’s body as she slowly got up from her father and nearly threw herself down the stairs to try and help Maggie. Before she could, Andrew would grab Lizzie in a choke hold, holding back the tearing Puma who stretched her arms out, desperate to catch the uncatchable.

Maggie’s body collapsed on the stairs landing, laying on her back. She was looking up at the stairs, eyes barely open, but blank and still. Her chest raised for the final time, before compressing and remaining collapsed, following suit with her heart. Her body was a wreckage of showing bones and ripped flesh, snapped vertebrae and smashed skull. Blood leaked from her nose, her mouth, from the side of her head, and from the bone poking through the skin of her arm. Lizzie squirmed weakly in the grasp of her father, her own vision blurring from both tears and the lack of oxygen. She called out to Maggie with a broken, shaky voice, begging for her to respond, for her to get up, but no movement came from the broken doe. Soon, Lizzie would fall unconscious from her dads chokehold, the vision of Maggie’s still body burned in her head.

Lizzie’s bedroom lies cold and ragged, layers of dust forming over furniture with little to no care in its upkeep. The room was musty, linen unwashed and clothes thrown around, ripped and torn, all but the work outfit Maggie had often worn, resting on a rocking chair near the bed. Voices echoed in the room, whispering around like vultures circling a corpse, cawing with giddy delight in the tasteful rot below.

Lizzie’s arms shook as she held the photo, looking down at the late Maggie. She had zoned out again, lost in memories of the past, of what could have been, and brought back to what was now. She looked at the photo, seeing wide faces and big smiles dancing around the paper, causing the nervous creature to drop the photo, heart beginning to race. Lizzie stood and grabbed the wardrobe, looking at herself in the mirror. She was a wreck, clothes ripped just to fit her increased size, hair frizzy, tangled and messy, and fur matted, torn, or otherwise ripped out. She continued to analyse herself, up until her ear caught a noise, another which wasn’t there, that of a bell ringing, a phone call.

Lizzie gasped and grabbed her pounding chest, frantically looking around the room for anything related to a telephone, running to the wall, scratching off wall paper as if to peel away a free receiver. Her head spun, voices screaming and echoing within her ears while she looked. Faces floated around her, most just being abstract smiles and big eyes, but some began to look familiar. Her eyes turned to her wardrobe, seeing a dusty glass, sending the creature running to it. She grabbed it, quickly placing it against her ear.

“...Hello?” Lizzie asked in a crackling, gravely voice.

“Hello. This is Doctor Tillis. Lizzie, do you have a moment?”

“A… Yes. What do you want?”

“It isn’t what I want Lizzie, it's what you wanted.” He paused as Lizzie scratched at her head, nicking scabs and cutting into the skin. “I would like to run a few tests. Do you have a minute?” He asked, with Lizzie nodding to herself. “Good. I see here you have been taking some.. Medication. How long have you been prescribed these?”

“I.. I don’t-”

“I believe it's been a decade, a few years after your mother died.” The doctor commented as Lizzie walked around her room, her legs barely keeping balance of the swaying weight of the world spinning beneath her.

“That feeling of your heart beating in your throat, that taste of iron, the smell of burning bread, my, when’s the last time you’ve taken your medication? Father always said it was important.”

“He did.” Lizzie commented, claws scratching at the surface of the glass she held. She felt a ball start to grow in her throat, choking the voice coming from it. “But he was wrong, it only made me a living corpse, I was so much better.”

“Better to have your mind unweave in front of you?”

“No, before that.” Lizzie quickly interjected, frustration blending over her face.

“With Maggie?”

“No!” Lizzie pulled the glass from her ear, holding it in her hands as she looked down at it. She twirled it in her hand slightly, staring down before putting it back to her ear. “When I was a child. I was normal. I was safe. Those pills did this to me!”

“Now Lizzie, you mustn’t blame your actions on silly little tablets.”

“I’m not, I’m blaming my father.”

“So that excuses what you’ve done?” The doctor asked, with Lizzie staying near silent, her heart beating off rhythm. He continued. “That’s okay, we have plenty of time to come back to that. Have the voices been growing any worse?”

“Yes. I can hear my subconscious wailing, pulling itself apart. I don’t know what is fact or fiction.. I’m scared.” Lizzie choked on her words, her arms shaking and rattling the glass on her ear. She’d step on the photo of the two, looking down as it stuck to the bottom of her foot.

“She made them sound so quiet when she was around.” The doctor commented as Lizzie pulled the photo up, looking down at Maggie. “Alas, you’ll never know what it’s like to feel that again.”

“What are you saying?” Lizzie asked, gripping the photo in her hand.

“Your case is terminal, Elizabeth.” The voice of the doctor seemed to change, like it was someone else, somewhere else. “With or without her, your mind would have degraded past the point of no return. No medicine will fix what you’ve done, who you have become. You will die, so why did you take the lives…”

“That- THAT'S NOT FAIR!” Lizzie screamed and turned, fur puffing out with anger from her deformed back. She held the glass with her hands close to one another, hearing the clash of chain handcuffs which weren’t there. “There must be something you can do for me, it's killing me!”

“I don’t think we should be talking about fairness, Miss Dewitt-” Lizzie growled and thrashed her arms, hearing the snapping of metal as she pulled them apart. She threw the glass across the room, smashing it against the bedframe. Lizzie propped herself with the wardrobe, staring at her reflection once again.

“Damn my eyes for seeing what's not there, damn my ears, damn it all!” Lizzie called and pulled her arm back, slamming her fist into the center of the mirror. Glass shattered, blanketing the wardrobe in shimmering, dusty shards. As Lizzie looked back at the mirror, she could see several splintered fragments of herself, a new face within each section of the mirror. Some would mumble to one another aimlessly, others just stared at Lizzie proper. Some were old, some were young, some were drenched in the blood of the damned, others in the process of killing themselves. All were lost, all looked scared.

“Are you trying to replace yourself?” The doctor spoke inside of Lizzie’s head, almost making the feline recoil from fear and rage. She grabbed her head with her bloodied knuckles, a low growl leaving her throat. No matter how hard she squeezed her head, the voices still spoke, the doctor continued. “What you feel and what you do, are those things really you?”

Lizzie stepped back, stumbling away from the mirror and to the foot of her bed, collapsing on the floor with her back against it, huddled up to herself. She watched as faces appeared from the mirror, floating around her room, some of her face, others of the dead. “I never asked for this- I NEVER-NEVER NEVER-NEVER WANTED THIS!” Lizzie called, eyes watering as she coiled, trying to hide herself from the surrounding faces. Even as she covered her face, closed her eyes, she still saw those bodiless heads floating around her. She could hide all she wanted, try and protect herself from what haunted her, but it was fruitless fighting against the decay creeping between ear to ear.

“My God, what's wrong with me? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? WHAT AM I? WHY-WHY-WHY-WHY-” Her speech began to continue as the incoherent ramblings of a lunatic, ticks bouncing from her throat with the force of vomit on each syllable. She felt sick, her body acting beyond what she wished, beyond her control, muscles spasming, punching herself, the bed, grinding her teeth to near splinters as she thrashed where she sat. She could taste her heart in her mouth beating so fast, it felt like the constant explosions of a car engine.

“Lizzie! focus.” The doctor calmly, yet sternly spoke to Lizzie. The words did little to stop her heart racing, or her twitching muscles, yet it seemed to stop the incoherent mumble that now replaced her growing sore throat. The Puma snapped her head back, slamming it into the footboard of the bed with a powerful THUNK, forcing her eyes to shoot open. She stared to the ceiling, eyes nervously snapping back and fourth, seeing every face surround her, yet seeming to start to calm somewhat, forced by the misfiring of her heart. She felt like she was back in the hospital, speaking with her intake doctor while handcuffed to the bed, nurses preparing a large enough straight jacket to restrain her fully.

“Miss. Dewitt, What did you do?”

August 3, 1903, another beautiful sunny day for most, but soulless for the disheveled Feline. Life moved on alongside the arrow of time for all but Lizzie. Andrew had left for his morning run, Abigail lazily slept in and had temporarily taken over the workload of the dead doe, and Emma, well, she luckily wasn’t around much anyway. Children played outside, skipping rope and hopping along chalk outlines, cheering and singing nursery rhymes to their friends. For most, it was an average day in summer.

Lizzie had not slept much in the past few weeks following Maggie's death, hoping to wake from the nightmare which took her lover. She was constantly hungry but couldn’t hold down more than water or a sugared lemon, her fingers dirty, her hair unkept, matted, and filthy. Andrew had given some space to Lizzie, though in the background and with support from Abigail, planned to hospitalize the unstable creature. Even as conversations bled in the halls of the home, down the stairs where Lizzie often stared at the refinished step landing, she did not protest moving to an asylum. Seemingly, there was nothing left of her to fight her upcoming sentence.

Still, Lizzie aimlessly spent her time outside the house, often within the shed. She had spent much time there before, so much so that the family joked it was her home, especially as Andrew grew tired of pretending to be a laborer. Unmonitored, the shelves of the dusty shed were filled with hand carved statues and boxes. Unfinished projects of chairs and tool handles littered tables and the ground. A small carved figure of a tree sat behind other pieces, carved in the tree, two initials, “M” and “L” with a note beneath it.

Lizzie was not working on any new project or anything necessarily productive. She had been cutting shavings off a large log with a hatchet, inching closer and closer with the blade nearing the fingers which held the log in place. Thousands of these wooden shavings littered the ground, like tinder for a house on fire. The axeblade was nearly dull by the work, a tool that Lizzie had neglected to care for. Finally, Lizzie pressed the axe down against the wood, barely cutting into the log. With aimless frustration, she pulled the axe high, striking down against the log at the top, splitting it with the axe falling against the hand holding the log. The blade barely cut her skin, yet blood would pour from her hand on the table all the same.

Lizzie stared at her hand, watching the blood trail from the wound, then pooling to the table. She soon snapped from the trance, taking out the axehead from the skin and dropping it on the table. She took a shop cloth, usually used to stain wood with oil or wax, and wrapped it around her hand, tying it off tightly. With a disappointed sigh, she pulled out a soaked sharpening stone from a bucket of water, placed the saturated brick on the table and began to sharpen the blade.

In rhythm, the blade grinded against the stone, refining its edge and bringing the shine back into the matted metal. Lizzie hovered over the table, her head swaying, focused on the sound of the scrapping until interrupted by the noise of boots walking outside the shed, heading to the home. Lizzie looked up, assuming her father had finished his run and went inside through the back. As she looked back down to the axe, she would see faces begin to form in the wake of the blade, most subsiding within the brick, but others beginning to drift away and around the shed. Lizzie pulled the axe from the stone and backed into the wall of the shed, anxiously looking around the room as she began to see faces forming around her.

“Lizzie, you’re okay.” A voice echoed in her ears, one that brought a chill down the feline's spine. She went near pale, hearing her subconscious speak with someone else's voice, one that should be long dead, one she watched put beneath the earth. For the past few months, even before Maggie had been killed, Lizzie could see things no one else did, hear faint things others were deaf to, but this was too real to ignore, an idea too tempting to resist.

“... Maggie..?” Lizzie gripped the axe, her head swinging frantically around to find the source of the voice she heard. Faces began to cackle around her, floating in her vision wherever she looked, some taunting her, others beckoning her to look outside the shed. The Puma stepped forward and slowly opened the door, her legs wobbling from low blood sugar and nerves, almost desperate to actually see someone appear this time. As she wished, a figure slowly walked across her line of sight, small, thin, warm.

“Wait-!” Lizzie called and shoved herself through the door, quickly trying to run out the shed. Before she could make it far, she tripped and fell off the stone path, landing hard against the ground. For that brief moment, all of the voices, faces in Lizzie’s head seemed to vanish, a time Lizzie savored for as long as the spoiled lump of meat in her head allowed. Stunted, her arms trembled as she tried to push her body off the floor.

“Sorry, I guess I wasn’t able to catch you..” Maggie’s voice trailed off with an awkward chuckle, giving energy back to the Puma to get up and greet the deer once again. Lizzie pushed herself off the ground, dazed as she got to her feet. She quickly looked around, trembling with pain to say what was left unsaid, looking for Maggie to speak to, but nothing.

“Where- Maggie please, where did you-” Lizzie asked, eyes narrowed as they dug into the surroundings, desperate for any face which looked like the deer she loved, but none did, instead she was met with aimless, grinning floating faces dancing in her vision. With frustration she stormed ahead towards the house, tears beginning to ball up around the corners of her eyes.

She knew she was sick, and deep down, truly knew of her coming death from it. No one could live past such a sick cook feeding poisoned ideas to their host, even the most stubborn idiot. “You’re not really here, aren’t you?” Lizzie asked, placing her hand against her eyes, the axe limply swinging in her palm. Some short sniffles came from the feline as she struggled to regain some amount of composure. She knew damn well that Maggie was gone, but God… she began reminiscing her claws latched in the doe’s skin.

“No. I’m not.” Maggie’s voice crawled in her ear and bounced along her head before sinking in the rot that replaced the feline's brain, a sickly sweet jolt shooting down her winding spine. She was desperate to see Maggie gallop down her driveway again, to watch her fall off the brick again in her arms, even to see her dead, rotting body lay fair in the casket.

“It’s not your fault, Lizzie.” The speech slowed, becoming raspy, like the sound of a phone's speaker cackling along the withered line that passed its signal. Lizzie pulled her hand from her eyes and stared to the floor, her vision shaking with some of the faces beginning to shade away. Light headed, Lizzie stumbled forwards and put her weight against the house, peering into the home through the living room window.

“You won’t ever see me again, as much as you crave to come upon my rancid flesh.” Maggie’s voice was nearly incomprehensible, dark and distorted, one that made Lizzie’s head throb. With some pain, Lizzie gripped the handle of the axe and pressed her head against the glass of the window, eyes beginning to focus on the darkened creature laying on the sofa, sleeping.

“Look at father lie there, blessed in ignorance. My blood sits under his fucking claws, paying others to wash away his sin.” The voice was like gravel as it rolled around Lizzie’s head, the feline struggling to keep a steady kiel, but unable to not listen as her subconscious scattered and uncoiled around her. “A monster like that, my killer does not get to avoid the consequences of my death.”

“What-, No. What am I to do?” Lizzie barely muttered to herself, curled up against the window while she stared at her father. What faces were left in her vision all looked down at the sleeping cat, laughing at the slumbering fool.

“Let judgement come upon him as you demand.” Lizzie felt her stomach turn, an uncomfortable queasy feeling in her gut, almost in fear as she battled with her psyche “An… eye for an eye..?” She asked as if nervous, but deep within her, she knew what she wished to do.

“An eye would be too generous. My dear, don’t enact my vengeance aimlessly, give glory to my name, show me your devotion to the dead.” Lizzie’s claws dug in the thick paint against the side of the house, gouging groves in the wood as she pulled her hand down. Lizzie began to pant where she stood, drool nearly dripping from her hung maw.

“Do you want to kill him Lizzie?” The voice clawed at Lizzie's ears, a pressure against her skull like puss pushing against the thin layer of skin, ready to pop out. Lizzie huffed, eyes beginning to dilate while she looked inside the window. Her grip on the axe firmed. She had little words left to say, and what little word said was too small to save the life of her father. Her axe's edge gleamed in the sunlight.

“Good. Give him forty wacks.”

The back door of the home slowly opened, Lizzie lumbering within the doorway. The faces she once saw in her vision were now gone, the voices and laughter in her head, near mute. All she could see was her father resting on the couch, the smell of cheap perfume lingering in her nose as if she was being followed by the dead to see the show. She stalked through the kitchen, past the china she stole from, then towards the living room. She passed her piano, dusty, untouched. She stepped on the old floor, soon standing above her fathers sleeping body. Even the ruthless sleep like innocent lamb, yet Lizzie was beyond blinded to give a damn. She grabbed the axe handle with both of her hands, raising her arms in the air, the weapon craned, loaded. There wasn’t even a second thought which flashed against her mind that could save the shithead.

WACK!

The heavy axehead flew down and cut through the air, lodging into the front of the skull of Lizzie’s father. His skull split with an audible crack, shards of the skull bulging under the skin to make room for the steel now stuck in his head. Andrew’s eyes shot open from the force to his frontal lobe, legs bouncing from the force, his white eyes already beginning to gloss over as they stared at the ceiling, then drifting to look at Lizzie. It would be expected that he would see a face of shock and horror from his daughter, but instead, all he saw was a growing smile. Lizzie pulled the axe up, unlatching it from the edge of Andrew's thick skull.

WACK!

Again, the axe struck down, slicing through the frontal skull and next to the fathers eye socket. His eye would begin to pop from its socket, deflating as fragments of skull embedded inside the loose organ. Andrew's body shuttered as the blade reached deeper in his head. Already, enough damage had come to the head that the axe no longer neatly sheathed against its bone as sloppy chunks rained from his enlightened mind.

WACK!

The last of the front lobe had broken away, giving way to a soft, squishy matter, now bleeding from the side of his head. Blood leaked from the exposed head and began to puddle along the floor, some splashed against the wall. A wider smile began to form on Lizzie's face as she purposely twisted flesh around her axe, pulling it across the male's body and splattering it across the living room, a mass landing on her piano. An artist tends to carry over their creativity to all fields of work, and Lizzie was already a proud painter, using her fathers expelled blood.

WACK!

The axe blasted through the side of the jaw, shattering the joint and slicing into the cheek. Lizzie twisted the axe, forcing the maw of the beast to open, exposing further the mass of teeth dislodged, tongue sliced, blood leaking into the throat and slowly pouring down into bloating lungs. Lizzie moved the axe and hooked the blade to the body's bottom jaw, leveraging it upwards to dislodge the jaw full from its connections, tearing muscles and tendons along the way, meat stringing and pulling from his face like the taut string of a bow.

WACK! WACK!

Andrew’s jaw hung on just barely by a thin layer of skin, his muzzle split like a log fending the force of its destroyer. Blood squirted from ripped arteries with his head barely supported by the heavy neck beneath it, chunks sagging by its own weight and pouring with blood and matter. Ironically, the sweet, quiet girl who Andrew had mindlessly neglected for two decades now had a straining wide smile across her face. The sides of her cheeks pulled taught, ripping barely by the force of the evil grin she trained to him.

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

Each hit of the axe ripped apart more of the raw meat Lizzie was playing with. Fur, skin, blood, bone, all becoming intermingled and mashed together like meat through an industrial shredder. The body was becoming nearly unidentifiable, though DNA evidence, if the technology was used, would certainly be readily available all across the living room. Skin sagged from its skeleton like a fat coat on a sold prostitute.

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!!

Blood sprayed around the living room as Andrew’s flesh was rendered from the bones, minced in a pile along the hard couch. Even a bastard, Godless and daft would be too cruel to fall beneath Lizzie's blade, no monster would be worth compared to the wrath of the young lady. Lizzie’s hands were soaked and dripping, her casual clothing steeped in her fathers blood, Lizzie’s white fur beginning to curl together as blood dried against the hair.

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

Godless while crosses watched the murder in full view, Lizzie made her fathers head nothing more than a pile of spilled organs and fresh meat. Only God may know just how long Lizzie spent on her assault, just how many times her axe had hit down upon the pile of lost thoughts, though dozens of individual slices had pierced into the couch, letting meat slip into the gaps left behind. His exposed spin sat poking from the ripped flesh of his neck, the body headless and now stiffly laying along the sofa. Lizzie swayed as she stood, arm throbbing as she loosely held her axe in hand. She reached out with her left hand, eyes wide as her fingers dug under the puddle of doughed meat, holding it within her grasp with near surprise growing on her face, like something began to click again within her destructive mind, until brought back to the distorted world Lizzie committed her crimes in as she heard a voice in the home.

“Andrew!” Abigail called from upstairs, across the home. She was always a slow riser, one who’d take all too long to leave bed, and even then, would spend an hour in the shared bedroom to clean it up. “If you are done in the kitchen, come up the stairs! I have something to give to you before..”

Lizzie’s hearing, ringing with the sound of metal slicing through ragged meat, had left the Puma nearly deaf to the world around her. Her eyes were blank and void of life, mindlessly acting on animalistic instincts rather than refined motor functions that she had prioritized all her life. Lizzie took a few tired steps forward and towards the stairs, placing her hand against the railing of the stairs as she looked up them.

“Andrew…?” Abigail called again, seeming to poke her head from the bedroom to call out again by the way the voice echoed in the hall. Lizzie’s hand slowly slipped off the railing, blood dripping to the floor of the stairs railing.

“He’s outside.” Lizzie spoke plainly, unnervingly lifeless, like a ghost wailing from a failed futile life. With some surprise and greater disappointment, Abigail let out a small gasp from the room. She had not expected to hear Lizzie, the young woman had been quiet for the past two weeks, though even the miraculous response from Lizzie seemed to be of little true interest to the widow.

“Oh! Elizabeth. Fine. I needed to see you anyway, it's about your bedroom.” Lizzie began to slump up the stairs as Abigail called from her bedroom, continuing her passive lambasting of Lizzie’s sudden lack of help around the house.

“I saw your room today, too dusty! Too dirty! I am not going to clean it much longer, you need to start working there again instead of playing in the shed, or on that piano.” Abigail called as she folded clothing in the master bedroom, unaware of who she was truly speaking to. Blood followed and trailed with Lizzie as she drifted further and further up the stairs, splattering off the ground from the tip of the blade.

“I am too overwhelmed working on this house alone! You have no job, no work, and no man to take care of. You will be helping me more, I'll see to it!” Selfassured, Abigail demanded of Lizzie to contribute around the house in replacement of the lover she lost, ignorant to how she treated the last moments of life promised to her by the approaching reaper. Lizzie may have not been aware of what her fractured mind was up to, but she certainly deemed Abigail to die as she lived, an unhappy, unfulfilled stupid sod. Lizzie reached the top of the stairs, stepping over the dented wood which dislocated Maggie's head.

“I mean, it just isn’t fair of you taking all our resources like that. If you’re gonna waste a room, might as well make yourself useful. If you don’t, we may have no other good option than to send you to Boston with the other lunatics.” The blissful fool wouldn’t shut her damn mouth, not giving a second of self reflection for the angle of death approaching her room. Lizzie reached the open doorway, seeing Abigail standing near the back of the room, on Andrew’s side of the bed. She was fixing his night stand, replacing medicine and collecting random clothing and tissues aside the bed. She began to turn, hearing the floor creek with the weight of Lizzie reaching the room. The smell of iron began to linger in the room.

“It may be best for you regardless-”

Abigail turned, eyes growing huge as her pupils dilated, desperately looking across the monster standing at the door. Lizzie’s white fur had become dark red with the dye of blood, crusted blood drying at the base of her hair as fresh liquid continued to drip on the floor she stood. Her hands trembled, shaking bloody dust from the ridges and valleys within her skin. Her previous wrapped up hand now was dangling and barely attached, saturated in the same plasma which covered her shaking body. There were no recognizable patterns of her clothing, raised details now smoothed by a layer of blood which she seemed to wear with pride. Her pants and legs were fairly clean, but her head was just as messy, splatters decorating her face like a sick makeup sourced from the dead. She had an emotionless look over her face, though the corners of her mouth were still ripped from the prolonged, exaggerated smile she held previously. The axe in her hand, stained and wet, swung tediously back and forth as she barely took hold of the now largely red wooden handle.

Paralysis had crawled through the chattering bones of Abigail, terror set and sealed her tendons like a trapped coiled spring. She was not looking at the child she casually observed growing up, but a demon soaked in the blood of the man she had made love with the night after Maggie’s murder. Her jaw clenched, near locking in place as Abigail began to utter a question she, truthfully, did not ever wish to know the answer of. “W-wha..- What…. Have…. You… d-”

“I killed my father.” Lizzie didn’t give Abigail to ask her hopeless question, interrupting her with little emotion, regret, or remorse. The revolution of Andrew’s death began to bring tears to Abigail's eyes, whether faked, real, or from fear, Lizzie did not flinch to the unnatural emotion her stepmother showed. Abigail had no response, or little thought behind her panicked eyes, standing with rigor mortis in her limbs. All she could do was mouth the word, “why.”

Lizzie’s shoulders jolted and twitched as her lungs began to expel a sinister laughter, one that left an unnatural chill roll down Abigail’s trembling spine. Lizzie grabbed her maw and clenched her stomach as she began to laugh silently, as if trying to stop the full on outburst brewing, though, this lapse of control was all but a suggestion to the Puma. She ripped her hand away from her maw, claws pulling at her muzzle's skin as if trying to clench to something long gone.

“eHehEhhhehe.. HAHAHA-! ARE-, ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID ABBY?” Lizzie, stunned by her absurdly myopic question, swung her axe around, blood from Andrew flying towards and landing on Abigail. The doomed woman began to scream a desperate call for help, instinctively taking a step back before reeling and trying to bull rush past Lizzie. It was of little use. As Abigail made it to Lizzie, the larger creature grabbed at the base of Abigail's hair, pulling her and swinging her back deeper into the room like waving a rag off to soldiers for war. As she swung, Abigail’s head struck the side of the bed, its sharp corners leaving fractures in her fragile skull. Lizzie did not let go of Abigail, rather, the older woman’s hair failed, patches ripping out at the base as she fell to the floor. She looked so stunned, the poor lady barely knew where she was.

“No no no NO NO! SOMEONE- ANYONE HELP!” Abigail called a pathetic, hopeless cry while trying to crawl away desperately from Lizzie. Lizzie simply watched, a smile forming on her face as she played with her prey, watching the fear build greater within the woman. Lizzie took a long step forward and dropped her knee onto Abigail’s chest, twisting it against the woman’s lungs as crackles began to be heard from her collapsing ribs. Abigail gasped trying to take in as much air as she could, but no matter how deep of a breath she took, it felt like it went nowhere.

“Go on Abby.” Lizzie gritted her teeth as she looked down at the woman, who now was thrashing, throwing hopeless attacks against Lizzie’s strong legs. Abigail tried to scream for help again, though this time her voice was too faint to even echo along the home's walls. Lizzie continued to smile, ripping open the vaguely healed sides of her lips again from the size of her growing grin. She leaned down, their faces near inches apart as she began to scream into her face, spit flying onto Abigail. “Try and squeal like a trolley wheel. CRY LIKE A BABY and BEG ME to spare YOUR MEANINGLESS LIFE!”

“I-..” Abigail gasped a horse breath, her weak arms beginning to lose what little strength they had. Tears balled at the corner of her eyes before rolling down her cheek, the older woman staring at her killer with a frantic, desperate look. “I’m so-.. Sorry… please… Elizabeth..”

Lizzie was nearly stunned, having never heard this woman mutter any apology throughout her whole life, let alone to Lizzie. The Puma was nearing a pause, giving a false hope to the creature under her knee, yet this moment became replaced with a deep growl in Lizzie's chest and a sharp downturn of her eyebrows. The chemical bonds of her mind had already fallen apart long before this moment, Abigail was just luckily enough to witness the birth of the experiment she helped to create.

“Hahaha…Sorry? You bitch.” Lizzie gripped her axe and aligned it between Abigail’s eyes, what shine was left on the blade vaguely reflecting the last image she would ever get to see of herself, cowering. Lizzie made sure Abigail could see her fuzzy reflection. “If beauty is just skin deep Abby, then I guess I want to see your bones.”

Lizzie raised the axe above her head once again, holding it in place to get a good look at Abigail one last time, soaking in the fear, hopelessness pouring from her eyes. Abigail gave one last struggle, reaching up and grabbing at Lizzie’s face, trying to hit towards her eyes or claw at her face, but she had little strength to do more than leave shallow cuts on the surface of her skin. She grabbed at Lizzie’s falling hair draping over her head, pulling patches of hair from its base, though Lizzie didn’t so much as blink to the pointless attempt made by her step mother. Clueless and too overwhelmed to understand the irony of the situation, Abigail came to the end of her final fleeting performance, one that Lizzie seemed to savor more than she had ever hoped to.

“Go fucking die.” Calmly, Lizzie spoke the final words Abigail would hear as the last of her tears rolled to the floor next to them. She took in the last of her shallow breath, her lungs beginning to pop from the weight of Lizzie. Lizzie knew that she didn’t need to do much to finish off the woman, or really needed to do anything else regardless, but truthfully, this was far more personal than cleaning up witnesses. Lizzie took one final deep breath, a somber smile of relief replacing her otherwise manic grin. She looked deep into Abigail's eyes, making sure to watch the life leave her eyes. With a twitch of her muscles, the axe would swing down, lodging several inches into her head.

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!

“Wow..” The doctor muttered in the near quiet room as Lizzie sat on the floor, her heart still off beat, but now manageably steady. Her eyes were no longer frantic, though unnerved and calm. Her body had stopped its thrashing, though only added to the bruises under her fur.

“Miss Dewitt, may I prescribe you a drug for your hallucinations?” Lizzie recoiled somewhat at the notion of taking the medicine, rubbing her arm as if she had recently been injected by some needle, one that made her arm awfully numb. She began to stand, feeling part of her body heavier than the rest of it.

“No sir..” She spoke softly, eyes looking around at the faces which haunted her. In her weakened state, so alone, outcast from the society and culture around her, they were the closest things to comfort that she could hold on to. They knew better than the doctor, hell, they watched Lizzie murder her parents.

“Well, I believe it to be necessary before you may stand trial. No one wants to see a young girl waving at ghosts.” He commented, almost sounding concerned for Lizzie, though Lizzie was far too exhausted to give the same respect back. She waved her hand in the air, presumably in front of where the doctor would have been sitting, though she was alone in her wrecked room.

“My lawyer thinks it’s perfect, he said how I am will save my life. What is there to fix?” Lizzie made her way to the wardrobe for the final time, grabbing a small handbag off the side of it. She began to pack various, eclectic items. Some notes, some cash, the photo of the two, and the letter she had intended to give to Maggie. A metal ring sat threaded inside the paper.

“Elizabeth, wouldn’t you want to remember your identity? Remember who you were? You aren’t this killer you think you are, you were forced to action. It wasn’t right, but it wasn’t you.” This comment seemed to rub the feline the wrong way, who reached her hand up and grabbed at her head, gripping it with frustration.

“Cry my name all you want, remind my brain of Elizabeth. It was never me. He took that from me.” Lizzie commented in somber quietness, one that seemed to shut up the doctor's voice which rang in her head. She remembered that conversation far more than she remembered most, especially most after the murders. He was truly a nice guy, one who ignorantly supplied Lizzie with the drugs which would kill the girl in her. He tried to plead with the Puma while she sat behind bars, though Elizabeth was dead. “I killed dad because I needed to. Abby, she was for fun. They plan to send me to the electric chair?”

She asked, but again, the voice had gone mute. Lizzie gathered a coat and some more supplies and walked out from her room. She walked past her sister's room for the last time, down the stairs which doomed her lover, and to the living room of the home. She stared at the white outline of the couch which once was there. “I have no regrets sir.” She mumbled, walking along the living room.

The Puma made it to the piano and dragged her hand across the keys, bringing it from the highest key to the lowest C, holding it there and listening to the note ring out. Other than Maggie, she would miss that damn thing more than anyone or anything else. She walked to the kitchen, paper bags from the local shops thrown loosely across the floor. Much of the kitchen and home in general had been thoroughly picked and looted through by the police.

“I truly believe what I did was right. When my brain dies and I am brought to the pearly gates, know it is against my will that I am given a halo.” She commented through her teeth and began to walk down to the cellar, another room which had been largely destroyed and picked clean in the search for the murder weapon. Though, they had done a lousy job in the hunt.

“The only crime I will commit is running, doctor. I am destined to die by the means my dad planted in me.” She commented while hearing a light gasp from the doctor in her ear. The Puma walked across the cellar and to the wine rack, much of it being pillaged by the police which picked through the home. She continued and walked towards the base of the stairs, the third vertical baseboard from the floor up.

“Elizabeth, no! You mustn’t leave, stay and stand trial, you can not run from what you have done. Your name is known all over New England!” The doctors plea fell on deaf ears as Lizzie leaned down, knee to the ground. She reached to the board and began to pull it from the base, nails giving way once again and revealing a small hiding spot carved into the wood. Inside sat random candies, treats, things Lizzie was never allowed to have. She reached back into it, pushing the wrapped sugars aside as he hand graced a wooden handle deep within it.

“Do you intend to tell, Doctor Tillis?” Lizzie asked, the doctor swallowing a stone down his throat. She grabbed the hatchet from the hidden compartment and pulled it free. The metal had been washed of blood, but the handle was permanently stained with a crimson patina. She let the axe swing beneath her, loosely holding it to her side as she began to crawl up the stairs, light from the kitchen shining down the haunted stairs.

“If you do, know that I will not spare you the mercy of the quick death I gave Andrew Dewitt.”