Chapter Text
Red thought fixing the past would solve her problems. Red had thought fixing the past would make her life happier. That if she could erase her mother's past, she would be happy. She thought she could finally breathe without that constant weight on her chest. Be happy. Be okay.
She no longer had a tyrannical queen for a mother, but Bridget: warm, clumsy at times, but genuine in her love. A mother who stroked her hair when she had nightmares, who baked her cookies as sweet as her love. Who was touched when she saw her smile, even over a silly thing.
But still... Red wasn't happy.
Red wanted to be the only child she always dreamed of being.
But everything was ruined when she suddenly had a younger sister. Pink.
Pink had appeared like an unexpected spark in the new life Red had struggled to build. She was small, cheerful, and had the same sparkle in her eyes as Bridget. Red remembered the first day she saw her: Bridget had called out to her excitedly, and Pink had held out her arms as if she'd known her all her life. As if she should love her.
And Red... she couldn't. Not right away.
She had watched her suspiciously, with that cold pang that lurks behind the smile. Why? Why did she have to share something she'd never had before? Why, just when she was beginning to feel secure, did she have to divide that love?
That attention. That peace.
Pink wasn't mean. She wasn't annoying. It wasn't anything that warranted Red's discomfort. But still, every laugh from Pink, every time Bridget proudly remarked on something Pink had done, every little "look what your little sister did" made her feel like she was losing something she'd only just gained.
Because Red had rebuilt her world from the ashes. She had bled for a mother who now embraced her, she had fought against the echo of a tyrannical queen. And when she finally thought everything was right, Pink arrived, with her easy, unscathed love, her unscarred life.
It wasn't fair.
And Red knew it.
But even so, when Bridget asked to spend time with Pink, Red would sometimes say she was busy. When Pink would seek her out, Red would take a little longer than expected to approach her. Because deep down... it still hurt.
And Red wondered, on those silent nights, why the past didn't seem to hurt as much, and at the same time, didn't seem to heal.
The first time she hurt Pink, it wasn't her intention. She was in a bad mood after an argument with Chloe, and Red didn't want any interruptions while she was peacefully in her room. Her safe place.
And when she didn't want interruptions, she meant them. Somehow, she became more volatile over time. If something didn't go her way, her attitude changed like never before. She'd never felt so angry and furious. It felt like her body was moving on its own.
She was like her mother.
As she was before.
Angry. Out of control. Full of rage.
But that woman was no more. Bridget, the woman who raised her amidst shouts and orders, was now a sweet, loving mother. A queen beloved by the people. Patient. Fair. Smiling.
A walking lie.
This wasn't the mother Red had grown up with. This queen was created thanks to her; she should be thanking her for not being the villain in a storybook. She was now the good queen. The Queen of Hearts must be disgusted by the lack of elegance and grandeur Bridget displayed in her wardrobe.
Red could hear her complaining. Bridget didn't command respect. She seemed like a simple citizen, a citizen who ruled a country.
A humiliation to the crown.
Red was so deep in her mind that she didn't hear the door open with a soft creak.
"Red?" said a soft voice, so sweet it made her stomach turn.
Pink. The girl who had had everything she wanted was now bothering her.
She didn't react with tenderness. Or with relief. She was fed up with her. She reacted with weariness, like a rose raising its thorns, before finally attacking.
"What are you doing here?" she spat out, in such a cold voice that it left Pink breathless, making the atmosphere feel even worse. "Who gave you permission to come in?"
Pink took a staggering step back.
"I just... wanted to check on you," she murmured, unsure of her words. She'd never expected her sister to respond like that, and suddenly, she'd lost all courage to have a conversation with her.
Red sat up so quickly it almost felt like a leap. Her eyes turned completely red, as if she'd been crying for hours. But she hadn't shed a single tear. It wasn't sadness she felt, it was anger. So much anger that it couldn't hold enough in her chest.
It was a rage that was consuming her, and it was taking with it everything Red had ever thought she was. It was a rage so intense, it was devouring her, begging to get out just once to see the outside.
"I told you I don't want to see anyone!" she bellowed, so loudly that it seemed like the voice wasn't her own. She didn't even recognize herself in that.
Pink opened her mouth to speak. She didn't have a chance to react before Red took action again.
Red didn't even think about what she did, she just screamed, and before she could imagine, a book crossed her room like a projectile, hitting Pink's arm, and making a wound in it.
The silence that followed was far worse than the scream and the action itself. Pink looked down at the book on the floor. She put her hand to her arm, not saying a word, as if she were afraid that if she let out a moan, or a tear, her sister would hurt her again.
Red looked at her. And then she realized everything she'd done. She'd hurt her sister. She'd hurt Pink.
Pink said nothing. She just backed away, step by step, until she disappeared through the door. She closed it carefully, as if the noise might break something else or unleash the rage that was devastating everything around her.
Red was left alone, her heart pounding in her ears, the air so thick she felt like she was breathing mud, and it was getting stuck in her lungs. She wasn't her mother. But she was starting to look like her.
She was becoming everything her mother had ever wanted, the person her mother had longed for and would make her proud... And it was all because of that damn anomaly.
Pink shouldn't exist; it was a mistake. She shouldn't have been born; she wasn't part of that world. She should pay homage to it, because it was thanks to her that she was born. She should stay away from her mother, because her mother belonged only to her.
The Queen of Hearts had only had one daughter. She was an only child.
Incomplete, but unique.
All her pain, the anger, the guilt, the emptiness, was her fault.
From her sister.
Only from Pink.
It was Pink's fault. If she'd hurt her, it was Pink's fault, not hers.