"Go and start digging while we carry them over."

October chill. Dark field. Floodlights right behind her. 

Her shadow stretched all the way to hell.

Each step shook her more as she ventured into the unwelcoming space behind their mansion. Entirely too big for comfort during the day, even with so much of it taken up by a training court. Endless abyss at night, the lights from the building not even reaching the distant treeline.

She could barely feel her hands.

Different patch of dirt. Loose. Barren. Has to be here.

Her motions were much too slow and her body too weak to get any real progress done in time. An involuntary flinch went though her once she heard steps and shuffling start catching up to her. Would he be angry at her? For not having done enough? Silence. Anticipation. Another shovel joining in on stabbing the cold dirt.

There were three bags behind them.

Black. Shiny. Heavy. 

Full.

Dylan and Father made more headway in seconds than she got done in minutes. The inside of the stretched hole was pitch black, shovels sinking into the abyss only to emerge with more sandy loam each time. It stared at them. They were being judged. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Quick glance at Dylan. Annoyed. Guileless. She didn't need to look at Father.

The bags were of his making.

They were done.

She stepped aside, shielding her eyes from the glare of the floodlights. The man and almost man moved to grab the nearest bag. They spoke, she couldn't remember what exactly. Complaints from Dylan. Scolding from Father. None of it was aimed at her. Would've remembered cowering if it was. One, two, up the bag went. Hit the bottom of the hole with a thud and a splat. Back to the remaining two.

One twitched.

They grabbed it all the same.

It left blood behind.

Father gruffed something, something she couldn't hear. She could only stare at the small puddle, at the red sheen. The red sheens. Each slightly different. It reeked. She tried to breathe, but there was only blood. Her hands dripped it. It flowed out of the shovel she'd dropped in panic. Flooded the field, to her ankles, to her knees, to her lungs.

She couldn't breathe.

Dylan and Father laughed.

Anne woke up with a shriek, grasping her head. Had to clean the blood off her hands. Now. Now. Now. Out of breath. She took in no oxygen, but couldn't stop breathing. Stumble towards the bathroom, red stain on the door handle. Slip and fall onto her knees towards the sink. They hurt, but she couldn't hear. She grasped the knob, the old pipes shrieked, cold water on her hands.

Painfully cold.

They hurt less this way.

Tears streaked down Anne's face as she continued to hyperventilate, her hands an increasingly freezing blur. It was completely dark, but she could still feel it on her hands. Burning hot, deep crimson, forever staring at her. Nothing she could do would ever undo it. The stars would remember. They'd judge her once the time came. She would remember. All she could do was try to push the needle of sin in the other direction through the rest of her life. Hope her deeds would ever amount to anything virtuous.

And try she was going to.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Freezing cold. Exhale.

The more Anne unwound her mind from around the nightmare of a memory, the more she realized she hurt. Her hands, her knee, her head, her conscience, her soul. Her innocence. It was eight years ago and the sight of a body bag still sent her half step away from a panic attack. Will have to get over that for the med school once she finally starts there. 

Seventy four days.

Not even a full one until she's out of here.

With shaky motions, Anne finally picked herself back up onto her feet, splashing some more cold water onto her face before finally turning the faucet off. Her hands hurt so much, but they were clean. They were always clean. She didn't even bother flicking the small light on, blindly wiping her hands and face dry before stepping back into her room. Faint, reflected light poured in from the backyard window.

She hated even looking in its direction.

Father poured concrete over the mass graves three years ago.

Her bed croaked as Anne half sat down, half collapsed onto it. The Clefable that took up most of it thankfully didn't notice. She was particularly thankful Pippi couldn't hear her on nights like these. The fairy worried about her human enough as is, the last thing she needed was the awareness of just how many times nightmares like these had woken up her lately.

Almost too many to count.

3:42 AM.

She still had over fourteen hours. 

Mom and Father still think she's just taking a breather after her finals. Almost all A's, pride of her class, books and accolades. Father was disappointed she wouldn't become a trainer like Dylan. At one point she would cry at his disapproval. She cried a lot. All she wanted to do now was to go against his every wish, every action, every last inch of his rotten legacy as a Gym Leader. 

He loved nothing more than to hurt those that couldn't strike back.

Her mother got better at covering up the bruises, but never good enough.

The acceptance letter from Castelia City Veterinary College laid on top of her desk. She staked the front lobby for days once it was set to arrive, nobody else present as it fell through the chute and right into her hands. Ninety seven percent on the entrance exam. She let out a breath she'd been holding for over two months. Afterwards, an evening of respite. The morning after, the start of the plan that would be finally set in motion tomorrow. 

In a bit over fourteen hours, she would leave this place and never go back.

The alarm goes off at six.

Might as well try to get some more sleep in before then.