Redemption (1/3)interrobamAugust 13 2012, 00:54:45 UTC
(A/N: This is probably the opposite of what you wanted. Nonetheless, I hope you like it.)
Redemption The De Ville family is old money, thick furs around shoulders and glowing pearls around necks. Cruella grows up in a mansion in Paris, summerhouses in Spain. She grows up with lace gloves and starched cotton collars, calling cards in golden plates and kisses to the backs of hands. It is the only world she knows: so tight and suffocating that, if she tries very hard, she can nearly mistake it for a hug. As it is, she has the woods behind her house: with rivers and enchanted clearings, with toadstools and woodland things, she can breathe fresh life into her lungs. She can move between the two Cruellas, one in the house and one in the garden, she can keep them in their own compartments
( ... )
Redemption (2/3)interrobamAugust 13 2012, 00:55:43 UTC
Her sister, Pamela, is born in the winter and becomes the target of her immediate and profound scorn. A squirming red thing, a maggot of a person with curling blonde hair, she sucks up any praise Cruella might have supped on instead. Every teatime conversation is about her tiny toes, her wet eyes. Cruella wines relentlessly about being bored, about being ignored twice over. Her father buys her a white kitten. It does not heal the pain from Pamela's arrival, the narcissistic wound to her breast, but it is a soothing salve to watch the eager, fluffy thing give chase to mice and lap from a saucer. Cruella plays with it with a length of yarn, a crumpled up page from her ledger. She lets it out into the garden to bat at butterflies. It purrs in her lap, sleeps peacefully in her bed. Cruella, after all her years as an orphan, has something to love and something to love her
( ... )
Redemption (3/3)interrobamAugust 13 2012, 00:56:34 UTC
She watches: paralyzed, bleeding, afraid, as the dog bows its head to the baby in the basket. As the blood and screaming fills the air. Cruella struggles to her feet and her life pumps hot out of her arm, cradled unconsciously to her stomach. Her knees feel tight, unresponsive like a doll's, as her sister cries and cries, as the dog feasts and feasts. She wants to be brave, she thought she could be brave. Her stockings feel warm and wet over her wooden joints: she's wet herself. Cruella yells for her papa, her mama, but she is too far into the woods, too far into her sanctuary, to be saved. What feels like an eternity later, once the crying has stopped and given way to crunching and gurgling, Cruella unsticks her bloody bones and tackles the animal nearly her size, beats it away with her fists and her mourning cries. Appetite sated, the dog glances briefly at the wailing thing at its side and slowly makes its way back into the shrubbery. Cruella gathers the pieces of her sister into the basket: she carries them carefully, all the
( ... )
Oh my goodness... I don't even know what to say. I'm not sure what I had in mind when I wrote that prompt, but never could I have seen such a gruesome and tragic yet engaging story in Cruella's childhood. Thank you so much for this peek into a possible explanation for Cruella's obsession with furs and rather lose grip on sanity. Your writing is so rich and full, peppered with details that really drew me into the world of this lonely child. I especially liked the "tight and suffocating hug" simile in the opening as it really set the tone, and the way she scribbles over the eyes of the children of her books was such a sad and broken childlike image. Poor thing doesn't know how strong and brave she is, tackling a huge dog to try to save her sister, even if she was afraid... Once again, I thank you! I'll have this story in mind whenever I see Cruella from now on.
I'm so glad you like it! Your appreciation of the little details I put into this fic makes me feel warm and fuzzy. And I will admit, writing this changed the way I saw Cruella too.
Prompt word: Redemption.
Do with that what you will, anon.
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Redemption The De Ville family is old money, thick furs around shoulders and glowing pearls around necks. Cruella grows up in a mansion in Paris, summerhouses in Spain. She grows up with lace gloves and starched cotton collars, calling cards in golden plates and kisses to the backs of hands. It is the only world she knows: so tight and suffocating that, if she tries very hard, she can nearly mistake it for a hug. As it is, she has the woods behind her house: with rivers and enchanted clearings, with toadstools and woodland things, she can breathe fresh life into her lungs. She can move between the two Cruellas, one in the house and one in the garden, she can keep them in their own compartments ( ... )
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Once again, I thank you! I'll have this story in mind whenever I see Cruella from now on.
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I've read several of your fills now, and I must say, I really love your writing.
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I'm glad you're enjoying my fills. :D
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