Work Text:
It’s over.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been holding her breath for. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over. I’m safe, it’s okay, I’m okay…
All at once, despite the rapid repetition of thoughts working in a moot attempt to calm her racing nerves, the child’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.
That experience, horrifying in all senses of the word, had her the most terrified she’d been in her entire life.
What’s a child meant to do in such a situation? Signs her soul away in a panic, is pointed in the direction of a dark, looming manor, and is then left quivering in closets or hiding under tables… all whilst a ghastly woman— a creature, she was more akin to, with how she moved throughout the house – stalked her, taunted her, beckoned her to peel away from the safety of hiding and right into her cold, unwelcoming grasp.
God, the cold. No matter where the child hid, the unrelenting, freezing cold followed her. Her fingers were so numb she hardly felt the keys in her hands, or the handles to the doors. The sound of her teeth chattering frightened her, as though the manor’s owner could hear such a faint sound, no matter her attempts to suppress it. That clenching of her jaw now left it unbearably sore, paired with how tense she’d been through that entire ordeal…
Everything hurt. Her heart was still hammering, her breath was uneven and shaky, and no matter how tightly she curled in on herself, she still felt cold.
But it was over. It was over. She needed to calm down. She needs to calm down. The monster isn’t here, she cannot reach you, you’re on your ship, you’re home, you’re safe, you’re okay.
…Unfortunately, such rationality isn’t as present in a child her age. All that plagued her was a fearful confusion, questioning what she’d done to deserve that level of peril. She made it out alive, sure – but the memory of this would haunt her forever.
She felt a sob well up in her throat, and despite her best efforts to hold it down, she ultimately failed. She choked, broke, and the tears fell.
Later, she’d suppose the lack of a soul had no bearing on the ever-present emotions a child could still maintain. As there she was; Soulless, cold, alone, and pitifully crying on the floor of her ship.
Her hat had fallen off, too. But she wasn’t about to stand up and grab it again.
And so she wept to herself. How much time passed, she wasn’t certain. The emotions of her visit to the manor were descending on her with full force, releasing all that she contained while struggling to stay alive. Had she cried then, who knows what could have happened? What would that piercing red stare have done to her were it any closer?
The sound of a door opening made her freeze in place.
Her cries stopped, she halted all movement, and she processed what she heard.
The door at the end of the corridor… the door leading to her room. It opened. Someone was in the hall. Someone was coming. Someone was on her ship, someone was walking towards her, stomping, maybe, distorting the world around them as they creeped ever closer – could she hear a cackle echoing off her ship’s walls? Was that her imagination?
No. No, no, no, no, no. She can’t be here, she can’t be here, she can’t be here.
The child scrambled to her feet, clutching her umbrella tightly in her grasp, staring wide-eyed at the entrance to her room.
She couldn’t lock it. She never had a reason to lock it before. It only locked when the timepieces had fallen from the ship, causing an automatic lockdown. What was she going to do? She couldn’t hide. She turned to the pillows – she’s getting closer she’s getting closer she’s getting closer hurry hurry hurry – but she couldn’t possibly hide in there! She would still be trapped on her ship with her! Under her bed? In the closet? No, no, no, no, she’ll open it, freeze me, like she did to –
The softest, quietest hum could be heard in the corridor. But it was just noticeable enough for the child to hear. It didn’t matter what the voice sounded like, she only heard her tone, only her daunting footsteps approaching.
She didn’t have time; she didn’t have time. In such an ironic twist of fate, she didn’t have time. She couldn’t move. Her feet stayed stuck as though held by glue, she could see the cold plumes of fog seeping through the plates of her door. She felt the air get chillier, the room got darker, darker, a red glow shone through, she could hear her laugh, her voice, her taunts, her stare her –
The door opened.
Her fate was sealed.
She couldn’t even lift her umbrella in any last-ditch effort to protect herself. Instead, she simply stared, eyes wide, as death came to claim her… enveloping her in its frigid, unyielding cold.
A gasp.
“Oh, my!”
The chef was so taken aback by what she saw, she had to double-take.
Before Cookie stood a child. Eyes wet with tears, face red as a beet yet paling with fear, gripping an umbrella in one hand… and facing her with a look of horror so intense that it was almost enough to make her step back.
She’d never seen the child without her hat before.
“Young’un, are you…” She started, then immediately stopped. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if this alien was a child. For all she knew, aliens of this race just looked young. But the appearance of someone so small and otherwise youthfully cheerful… now ruined by the tears streaming down her face, disheveled hair, and horrified expression to match… it worried her. A lot.
She leveled her voice to be softer, taking a slow, careful step forward so not to scare the girl any worse.
“Are you alright?”
The child blinked once or twice, seemingly taking a moment to realize what was being asked of her, before shaking. The umbrella dropped out of her hand, her eyes welled up further, and there she went. You’d think she was dry of tears by now, but… apparently not.
Crying out for the chef, she barreled towards her with open arms, crashing straight into her with nearly enough force to knock her over. With a shout of “woah, now!” Cookie managed to stay upright, catching the girl in her arms as she grasped onto her apron.
“Easy, easy…” The cat, though surprised by the sudden contact, opted to just soothe the child to the best of her ability. She returned the embrace, placing one of her paws atop the girl’s head and gently combing through her hair. “You’re alright, now. You’re okay.”
For a few moments, that was all there was. The sound of the child’s stifled sobs into the chef’s uniform, periodically calmed with soft shushes until it was reduced to a sniffle. Seeing her bettering mood, Cookie began to quietly purr, which was evidently more comforting than anything else. The kid’s breathing settled, her heartbeat began to slow, and no more tears fell.
“There ya go, hun… You’re alright, aren’tcha?”
The child whimpered incoherently, then nodded, all while keeping her face buried in the cat’s apron.
“Ah, that’s good, now…” Cookie gently placed her paws on the child’s shoulders, using just the tiniest movement to indicate that she wanted her to lift her face so she could see. The child did just that, though not letting go of the chef as her head lifted, and her dried, red eyes made contact with the chef’s.
Though not crying anymore, her face still looked so incredibly sad, stained by tears. Cookie’s heart just about broke at the sight of it, left to wonder bewilderedly what could’ve had such an impact on an otherwise optimistic little girl.
“Now… d’ya mind tellin’ me what that was all about?” She tried, though didn’t expect much of an answer. The kid frowned, shaking her head before placing it back where it was on Cookie’s chest, now facing to the side. She had a little stuttered breath at the mere thought of speaking, leaving the cat to gently pat her back in comfort.
“Well, alright then,” And it was brushed away, tucked underneath the rug for the time being. “I’m not too knowledgeable on you aliens, so I’m not certain what sort’a events could cause such a reaction like youse just had, scarin’ you somethin’ fierce… but if you’re ever fixin’ to tell somebody, I’ll be here for ya, hun.”
The child finally spoke, then. A mumbled “thank you,” noticeably hoarse and pathetic… likely due to all the crying.
“Oh, now that just won’t do,” Cookie pulled the child away again, this time using one paw to lift up her chin. “All that cryin’s got ya dehydrated, hasn’t it? C’mon, I’m gonna cook up something real nice for you – how’s a pipin’ hot soup sound?”
The girl’s eyes visibly lit up as she regained an excited smile. As though her worries were completely forgotten, she pulled away, dashed back to grab her hat, and placed it neatly upon her head. She then turned expectantly to Cookie, as though checking to make sure she was serious.
The chef laughed, “Well, on your way to the kitchen, then!” and watched as the child ran from the room, hearing as her footsteps thrummed down the corridor. How easily children can bounce back with a little bit of persuasion.
Cookie went to follow after her, but then stopped. She took a moment to scan the room, taking in all the details… A comfortable pile of pillows, a snug, cozy bed to doze on, pictures and drawings adorning the walls… A child’s room, no doubt about it.
What happened to her? Cookie couldn’t help but wonder. She would never press if the child was uncomfortable with sharing, but… the thought lingered in her mind. Something awful must have happened, for that sort of fear to take hold of her. When the chef had walked into the room, she looked scared half to death, for crying out loud.
As though afraid of me, or someone else, coming for her.
Hm. She supposed she shouldn’t dwell too much on this sort of thing. Alien business isn’t much of hers. She’s just here to hopefully impress the young’un with her meals. After all, it’s not every day one gets to cook fine dishes for an extraterrestrial.
With a gentle sigh, she finally turned away and walked out of the room, responding to the child’s impatient calls with a hearty “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!”
Perhaps one day they’d share stories between them. But until then, a warm, tasty soup would suffice, alongside the feeling of safety with one another.