Before I leaped up above him. 
A curse left my lips as he managed to slip right past from being impaled by the point of my heel. My heel, which broke. My feet that bled bare on glass.

"You were always good at running away," My shoulders rolled as gold burned every detail of the broken, demolished surroundings in center of which I stood. The Mime was perched up on a column pillar. He swung, bringing the cement structure down with him. Blocking the only way off leaving.

I never planned to leave.

My hands went to the sides of my dress. I held up the very fan, glazed in scarlet red. I intended to use it right back at its gifter. Shards flew across my face, cuts and scratches. Stung. I was out of practice.

Good for me, I didn't need to practice. Everything was already drilled into me.

Arthur lunged at me, all it took was one swipe of the fan and the boy lost his arm. All over again. The prosthetic limb clattered on the roughed-up floor. Its owner long gone. 

I whirled around, plucking a feather blade and throwing it with the accuracy of an arrow. Its pointed tip slicing through the air as if a hot knife through butter. It missed. 

It hit a fly passing by at exactly in half. 
It managed to miss the clown with super speed.

After all, the show ran only because of freaks like me.

I wonder how useful his superspeed would be.
If he lost his legs and had none to run.

This time the arrow hit its mark. He lost his second prosthetic. The Mime stumbled on his one organic leg, but that did not stop him from swinging his crystal knife at me. If only he felt even a tinge of my anger in that sea of ecstasy he was drowning in.

The Mime was amazing at fighting with one pair of limbs. I would know, I taught him how to.

On one leg he was faster, quicker. Deadlier.
And yet like a hundred times before, he never managed to win. After all, he was disabled in ways I wasn't.

He blocked all those jabs at his side. He blocked and blocked until he realized that his only one hand couldn't block a hit on his ribs. And his face at the same time.

Blood coughed itself out of his mouth. The clown fell back on his back and his head was pinned down against the blazing stone. I was covered in red. My dress found time to tear itself to shreds amongst the chaos. Where once was a beautiful red rose of fabric, a fall of translucent tulle, gliding down my waist and pooling onto the floor, now was a chopped, slashed, singed, and deeply stained mess of cloth that barely covered my upper thighs.

Thighs, from which fake skin melted off.

It made me want to laugh. I didn't. 
Instead, I stabbed the final feather blade into his stomach.

He screamed. He did. And then he smiled so brightly. "You're back," his lips curled too high, and his eyes were too dark with glee. "Oh, you're back."

"I thought mimes had a thing of keeping their mouths... shut. You really are more of a useless little circus clown, huh?" Deeper. The blade went in deeper.

The shrill scream of agony didn't faze me. Nothing did anymore. Nothing troubled me. I've been through it all. Four years were not so long ago; more like yesterday, if you see.

What did tick me off was the immediate creeping grin that came back onto his face. How stubborn.

"Doll," he drawled, "Oh sweet, sweet dolly." His white-painted face leaned disgustingly closer. "I missed you so so much, sweetheart."

I couldn't help it.
I twisted the blade.

"I should've finished you off," The growl escaping my throat was inhumane. I felt inhumane. "I should have finished all of you off."

The Mime—The Clown, Arthur. My... No. No, he wasn't. Not anymore. I didn't feel anything, not when his bony fingers wrapped around my free hand, not when his cracked lips pressed against my knuckles. "Oh Rosa," He cooed. I didn't feel anything. I wasn't fourteen anymore. Nothing. "I hope you liked your vacation. But the curtains are about to reveal."

I wished. I wished so bad...
That Arlene Amira Grambs could have been real.

"The show is about to begin and we need our doll back."

I stabbed him.
I did. Again and again and again.
Until I was covered in him.

But he never stopped laughing. 
I should have known. 
I raised him.

I walked away. I left him there, bleeding, as the sky fell upon me. As the flames towered around me. After all, no matter who I became, where I went, or when I left. There was one thing I could never escape.

The Deadly Doll never kills, but she makes them wish she did anyway.

·······•✦•······

PRESENTLY

[ GRAYSON ]

The fall was hard. The pain was searing. 
But the only thing keeping Grayson grounded was the fact that he just kissed her.

He just kissed the dazed girl in his arms.

Was it guilt in his chest that made it so hard to breathe? Was it the adrenaline rush from jumping from so many feet up in the air? Or was it the memory of her.

Her bright, mischievous, and yet oh-so-large smile as he spun her around in his arms in their dance.
Her annoyed, sour expression whenever he kept the glass out of her reach.
Her perfectly controlled face breaking into that wide-eyed, comical look whenever he would touch her side. 
The way the shape of her body just felt against the form of his fingers.

The way her lips moved against his a few minutes ago.

Grayson had no fears. He was a Hawthorne. But maybe, a small, locked away little boy with the same name in his heart had one. He did this before.

Falling for someone.

And, although he was absolutely, undoubtedly, unquestionably sure that this was not it...
The last time it ever happened to him...
It ruined him.
Destroyed him.

He never dared tell anyone, but he still felt it. The weight of losing his only.

So he blamed it on guilt. He decided the cause of such difficulty in respiration was his guilt. Useless, unworthy guilt.

Said he to himself as he watched her limp ahead of him. They managed to climb out of the chasm they jumped in to save themselves the fate of being crushed to death by the blown-up building. It was rough and messy. Grayson allowed himself some self-appreciation for keeping his attire spotless. He half expected Arlene to fuss about how stupid it was to be at this level of quintessence.

But she didn't. 

She seemed duller. Sure, the night was something that would drain out the hopes of even the happiest child alive. But there was something deeper with her.

She was cut up, bruised in so many places, Her face was bleeding, legs were gashed and red. This could not have been mere injuries from the explosion, chandelier, or climb. She seemed less like herself. Her eyes were downcasted and sullen. Her skin was melting off from all over her body. Not to reveal gruesome flesh or blood, but hidden skin. Skin covered with marks and scars of burns.

Just like her ripped-open back.

 The girl looked as if she had just been through hell and again. 

If the old man were alive, he would give Grayson an earful for it. But Grayson couldn't help but wish that everything that happened to the brunette in front of him never did. That she would go back to the annoying, overly charismatic, obnoxiously in love with her sisters, cheeky, and happy girl she had been when he first laid eyes on her.

Every step she took was hurting him just to see. He couldn't imagine the pain she was experiencing. The old man—were he alive—would really give Grayson a nice lecture for feeling so much for a chess piece like her.

And when he saw her bare feet, dragging across the sharp, ragged gravel, bleeding a trail of red behind her, he couldn't bear it anymore. 

He took two long strides to catch up to her. Before she could even turn her head around, he bent down, hooking one of his arms under the back of her knees and the other; the flat of her waist, hoisting her up in his arms. 

"What are you—" He hated how his heart seemed to shrivel up at the exhaustion in her voice. 

Grayson adjusted her in his grip before simply walking ahead toward the blue-red lights and sirens. The police were already stationed, exceptionally late, but there nonetheless. His eyes stayed glued to the faded shine ahead, his legs working like well-oiled gears.

"Rest, Arlene." He said, his voice soft. Soft as it hadn't been in years, "rest. You'll be home soon."

Arlene stayed quiet for a simple moment, before scoffing in a humorless manner. "Home? What home do I have, Hawthorne?" 

"Your home," His arm tightened around her, "Your home, Arlene. With Avery and Libby." Him. For a terrifying second, he was going to say him. For a terrifying second, he wanted it to be him. Him and his brothers.

But mostly him.

The girl in his arms stayed quiet before she curled up a piece of his coat between her fingers. "Would you say the same," she began, "If you knew who I really was?" Who she really was? Arlene shook her head, chuckling. 

It took him a moment to realize she was trying not to cry.

"You don't even know me, Pretty Boy." She looked up to meet his eyes. When gold clashed with silver and for a moment the globe stopped spinning. Grayson's lips caught themselves from almost letting something from the bottom of his pitless heart escape.

He wanted to. He wanted to know her.

When he offered her no reply, gold swept away from him. The colors of the world seemed much more greyer than before. "Chess piece," She let go of his coat, "remember? Care enough to know its value, not enough to not sacrifice it."

Grayson didn't get to make mistakes. Because those mistakes would always come back to bite him. Hard. Inevitably, when this one came, he regretted it. A little more than usual. He held her up firmer, closer to him. To his beating, irrationally quickening heart. 

She could hear him. Loud and clear. 

So he said it, for once. He said what he wanted to. Not had to.

"Some pawns, and pieces," He let the lights illuminate her face, "turn out to be unfavorable favorites you cannot help but be too fond of to let go."

Her silence was different. It was thoughtful. It was welcoming, before ending with an even more awaited sound. A giggle. Lighter. Softer. Happier. Like her. The one he'd longed to hear for years. 

"You know," Grayson was never more pleased to have his shirt be wrinkled in between her fingers, "I had this bad habit when I used to play with Harry—the homeless dude I befriended, whenever too many pawns would be taken away from me, around the sixth or seventh one, I would hold it out."

"My tiny fingers would wrap around the wooden piece just before that old hag would try to take it from me. And I would pout, saying," Arlene looked up at him, "'I like him. Don't take him away from me.', always." 

Oxygen was an overrated bastard to Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Why close your eyes for even a fraction of a second, when such pure gold is in front of it?

"And then he'd stop the game," She placed her head against his shoulders, "And he'd give me every pawn back, holding me close to him. Always."

"Sarina..." Grayson breathed out that name like a fresh breath after holding it in so long. Just her name. Just his dove's name was enough to shatter him. "Rina used to do that too." And I used to be the one to give her her pawns back and hold her as she would hug each one of them to her.

"Oh?" So sleepy. When did the most insufferable person known to him start to look so breathtaking? "Is that so? ya know..." Arlene yawned, a soft curve playing on her lips, "I'd like to meet your Rina one day. I'd love..." she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. And he might have heard it wrong. He had to have. Because she said, "I'd love to be your everything... one day..."

Her arms snaked around the length of his shoulders and he couldn't help but instinctively hold her impossibly closer. As if he could shield her from the brutality of this world just for a moment longer. Just let her have that expression—her expression, for a second longer. 

Was it so hard for god to hold time still for an eternity more?

·······•✦•······

[ EZRA ]

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

Ezra cursed as he ran to the two figures walking into the light—well, one figure walking, and the other being carried by said figure. And both of them looked wrecked, one physically and the other mentally.

He was more worried about the physically wrecked figure since, well, she was his boss. And he was supposed to make sure that she was not wrecked because protecting her was his job and he was fucking terrible at it.

"Oh I'm so so getting fired," Ezra held out his hand to take Arlene from the Hawthorne. Aside from the obvious fear of losing his job, he was struck with guilt and remorse when he saw the state of her. So bruised up, cut up, and hurt. His fingers couldn't even graze her skin before the Hawthorne moved her back.

Something changed in those grey eyes. Something more protective. It was a clear sky warning; touch her and I will stylishly rip out your throat and make you swallow it all over again.

"Woah, woah!" The Martin boy held up his hands in surrender, "No touching my half-dead boss. Got it."

The Hawthorne looked like a Ken doll, business version, packaged and made straight from heaven, serving hell like it was a stroll in the park. Only a tad bit more possessive. 

"Get the car ready, Martin." He said nothing more, his eyes always on the sleeping girl in his arms. A lot can change in the course of a few hours, huh?

Ezra—deciding best not to argue with the man who looked just about a step away from murdering for the one he had his eyes on—nodded and led them toward the vehicle. He opened the gate wordlessly, got in the driver's seat, and watched as Grayson sat in the backseat. The spacious backseat that could comfortably fit at least four people, five if squished.

And kept Arlene close on his lap, in his arms, the entire time.

How the hours blurred by in traffic, ask Jesus because Ezra did not have enough fucks to give about it. 

The gates of the Hawthorne Manor never felt more homely to be in than when he drove the car in. Ezra parked the car in front of the main gate, got out, and opened the door for his boss and her rent-less house occupier.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauties. Time to wake up, we're..." Ezra bent over with a teasing and equally weary smirk. Hoping to find two moping, bickering, and tired idiots. Instead, the sight before him made him trail off his words. "...home..."

Before Ezra could even process what he was seeing, the main door burst open. 

"LEENA!" The second heiress called, tears of worry and fear rolling down her cheeks as she ran towards the car. The blue-haired gothic older sister, having the same expression as her sister, followed just as quickly and desperately behind.

"Leena—" Avery Kylie Grambs practically was ready to pounce onto Ezra if it wasn't for Oren—who seemed on his last nerve himself—gently holding her back. Libby on the other hand had no such compunction. 

"Where is she?!" Demanded the oldest Grambs, holding the Martin boy by his collar, "Where are they?! Is she okay? Is she hurt? Where is Grayson? Are—"

Soon everyone was around the car. Jameson, Xander, Nash, Alisa, Zara and her husband, Skye, and even some of the servants. The oldest brother gently put a hand on Libby's shoulders, pulling her back, "Ezra," Nash said carefully, "Where are they?"

Ezra's face remained blank for a moment before his cheeks blossomed into pink blooms and his lips stretched into the biggest grin he had in days. His eyes shone as he playfully put a finger on his lips, "Shh!"

He opened the gate as if unravelling a curtain and multiple heads poked in and squeezed to see what was inside. And by the gods, did their hearts turn into mush.

Curled up against each other, her arms around his neck, his own around her waist. Limbs tangled together and heads tucked in under each other. Two forms clinging onto one another as if koalas and trees. Soft breathing were the only sounds heard by their resting ears as Grayson held Arlene and Arlene held Grayson in their sleep.

Knowing that for once they would be okay.
For once they were home.

·······•✦•······

a/n: 1000 words... it took me a long long time to right this chapter *wink wink*. Just... holy shit, it's been so long since I came back to the main plot of TIG, just saying Jameson, Nash, Xander, Avery, Libby or Oren makes me feel nostalgic. 

A special thank you to all my lovely readers for over 400 comments and 6.5k reads! Couldnt have done it with out you people <3

just an extra thank you to chickenwings15 , IsaXBella_xoxo ,  margs2024 , and hawthorneliu1018

Thank you guys for keeping my will to right this book and Arlene's story alive!

And a very special thanks to someone I know and love (haha I said now you can't do shit) who likes to be a cute little ghost and stalk my books!

I see you 👁👄👁

Anyways, that's it for now 10k words! Goodnight or maybe good morning or afternoon people!