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dreamer213 · 4 months

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Broken Machines: Between Shadows

Chapter 9: Mommy Meltdown

The warm rays of the sun peek through the windows, thin strains of light softly illuminating the room in patches as Willow lay sleeping in her bed. Turned over on her side with her comforter pulled down to right below her shoulders. The aristocratic woman is in a deep slumber though it’s far past daybreak, her body heavy in the sheets as it sinks into the mattress like a stone thrown into the sea. Even the sound of her bedroom door opening and her personal maid Mary entering does nothing to stir the unfortunate lady from her rest. She enters with a food cart, carrying a tray table, Willow’s breakfast, and her daily surplus of alcoholic beverages. Mary walks up to her bedside, carefully observing her charge’s physical condition to ensure her vitals are in their usual state. Checking Willow’s pulse then her temperature and finally opening her mouth to check for her breathing and look for any signs of blockage such as vomit. Luckily her airway is clear, and her breathing is normal thus Mary can commence with the final step of rubbing Willow’s temple to wake her. The motion makes her stir and after several minutes Willow awakes to a sight, she’s gotten all too familiar with, Mary standing over her with a look of indifference on her face.

Mary: Good morning, Mistress Willow.

She says, voice pleasant but impersonal like the chime of a singing greeting card or public service reminder. Still, it was nowhere near the worst wake-up call she could have.

Willow: What time is it?

She asks, sitting up and rubbing her head as the usual pain flooded in. A gentle massage to wake her followed by the sting of a hangover to keep her up was just the way Willow found herself every day.

Mary: 10:14 am, it’s sunny with a chance of high winds and snow in the evening. Master has already departed for the day and Young Master has begun his daily studies.

Willow yawns, stretching out a bit to chase away the rest of her tiredness.

Willow: Has he eaten yet?

Mary: Of course, Mistress.

Willow: Was it enough?

Mary: You know the answer to that, Mistress.

Willow sighs, resignation and self-hatred looming over her head with a quickness that lightning bolts seem slow.

Willow: I know. I was just….

She sighs again, taking off her bonnet and running her hands through her silk-white hair.

Willow: I need a drink.

Mary: Your breakfast and morning bloody mary will be served to you after you freshen up.

Willow raises an eyebrow, annoyed at the denial of her much-needed beverage.

Willow: Really Mary?

Mary: I’m simply following orders and your doctor’s recommendation.

Willow: Good lord, when did I get old enough to need this much bedside manner?

She grumbles before getting out of bed, throwing on a long flowing, elegant fur-trimmed robe over her matching long periwinkle thin strapped nightgown and sliding on her satin slippers. The soft color making her soft pearly skin appear soft and fragile like a ceramic bust. Raising to her full height Willow was tall for a woman, just like her eldest daughter, standing almost a full head taller than Mary. Her stature however did not detract from her beauty, her voluptuous figure lending to her ethereal beauty.

But that’s what Willow was and had always been.

Despite her age, multiple pregnancies, depression, sham marriage, seemingly never-ending grief, and lush lifestyle Willow remained beautiful. She’d been a lovely infant, an adorable child, a gorgeous teen, a ravishing woman, and a beautiful mother. Even in her despair, she appeared more like a morose art fixture, not a person drowning in the suffering of herself, her children, and the legacy her father left behind. It was this beauty and the pure luck of being born to a man such as Nichols Schnee that enabled her to live as she had thus far. The Queen of high society, a beauty only found once in a millennium now a recluse who really showed her face in public. As she strides over to her en-suite bathroom Willow’s strides are graceful, slippers hitting the floor without so much as a tiny squeak. She washes her face, exfoliates, and lotions her skin before brushing her teeth and combing her hair, all tasks a woman of her wealth could have others do for her, but Willow was too proud to even think of it.

She was pampered but not so much to be even think of being babied. She wouldn’t dream of being so useless regardless of her other issues, Willow had been raised too strong to let herself be coddled into that kind of sloth.

She exits the bathroom with a clay face mask on and walks toward her balcony. It was a small one in comparison to the others around the manor but that was what Willow enjoyed about it. With just enough room for a small round table and chair, she could sit outside in the cool air, read, and drink as music from her vintage record player drifts in from its spot by the balcony doors. She sits down, letting to wind kiss her skin as the mask does its magic on. After a good ten minutes, she gets up to go back inside only to find Mary standing at the doors waiting for her.

Willow: Really Mary?!

Mary: Young Master insisted that you not be alone near hazardous areas. For your own safety.

Willow sighs and goes back inside without a fuss, Mary holding the door open from her. After removing the face mask, Willow sits on her bed and is served breakfast. A hearty meal of honeyed oatmeal, frittata, and a side of chopped strawberries. Still on the cart was her morning bloody Mary, which she’d have to finish her breakfast to get to.

Taking a whiff of her meal, Willow couldn’t deny that smelled and looked appealing but her appetite for food was simply not great enough to enjoy eating it. Not that her body wasn’t pleading for it, her stomach grumbling lowly as a knot of emptiness in it tightened, Willow just couldn’t muster the desire to eat. Knowing her temperament Mary takes the drink from the tray and stands close to Willow’s bedside. She keeps the beverage right at the edge of her mistress’s peripheral vision but far enough that it’s just out of arm’s reach. The sight hits just the right notes of Willow’s habit, her mouth feeling terribly dry and her tongue flickering against her lips as if begging for a taste. Knowing she wouldn’t get her desired nectar on an empty stomach Willow eats. Slowly, hardly tasting anything, she finishes everything on her plate at a graceful pace.

When she’s done Willow looks to Mary for her well-earned drink, only for her to present the woman with a handful of pills. Her daily medication.

Hoodwinked but at Mary’s mercy Willow takes her medicine dry, huffily gulping them down a few at a time with a grimace on her face. Pouting like a child who just sucked on a lemon. Mary ignores her attitude and nods approvingly before finally rewarding her mistress with her first taste of alcohol for the day. The bloody mary is smooth but spicy, the tingle from the vodka and sauce waking her up. The taste of the fresh tomato and lemon juice is nice and refreshing like a soft summer breeze.

Just like that much of her gloominess vanishes as she sips the rest of her drink. Her headache dissipated and Willow started feeling in a standard mood. With her morning routine completed the rest of the day was Willow’s to do with as she pleased. She had no true responsibilities outside of appearing at certain events and that was only when she truly wanted to. Those were contained to a select few holidays, some events established by her father, and her children's birthday parties.

Gods the children, they were the only thing keeping Willow alive after that bastard finally admitted to tricking her. The only reason she hadn’t hung herself that nice was because it was Weiss’s birthday, and she couldn’t end her life on the same day she’d brought a life into the world. And even after that, every time she felt the urge to end it all one of them had done something to make her want to stay even if it was just for another day.

She’d think of slitting her throat with her father’s sword and she would find Winter training with it in secret. She’d think of hanging herself in the dance studio only to find Weiss practicing her ballet. Tried to jump off the balcony in the ballroom but stopping when she heard Whitley playing a song on one of her pianos. A tune she’d played for him when he was so small, she doubted that he could have remembered it but had known it by heart years later. Truly her children were her lifeline and knowing the pain of losing a mother far too soon Willow, no matter how broken she’s become, could not bring herself to die while her children still struggled.

However, this was a double-edged sword.

Willow: Mary.

She calls, the maid looking at her with her neutral gaze.

Willow: I want to go for a walk.

She states, Mary nods in agreement and goes to fetch Willow something to wear. Now the process of dressing Willow for the day was critical in judging how the day would progress. Her most common outfit was a long dark blue pencil skirt, ruffled shirt, and purple with black tights and heels. But that was not all she had in her wardrobe.

The snow-haired woman had once been known as the Queen of high society and had the appeal to match. Many designer gowns, some one-offs made specifically for her, clothing of the highest quality, and more accessories than most would see in a lifetime. Most of her more delicate pieces were kept elsewhere but her everyday wear and her jewelry stayed in her room. This catalog of clothing could act as a mood and intent indicator as Willow would dress to do what she wanted, regardless of whether she knew she was going to do it or not.

For instance, her most common outfit was meant for walks in the garden and reading in her library as she day drinks. A stark white long-sleeved blouse, dark purple waist corset, and black pants were for taking up her old sword and practicing her swing on pictures of Jaques. And her periwinkle gown with matching shawl and silver accessories was for dancing about drunkenly in the ballroom when her treacherous husband was away.

The latter two were much more rare to see as the years went on, her outrage and burst of almost hysterical jelly slowing down as the depression set in. Mary had also done her best to keep this little shift under wraps to prevent any unfortunate incidents between the unhappily married couple. Doubly so when Penny was around but now that Jaques was out more frequently, and classes had ended the chances of these outbursts occurring had risen greatly. There still hasn’t been one thus far but Mary knew better than to be optimistic in this house. It was only a matter of time.

Pulling out Willow’s usual ensemble Mary is about to carry it over to the bed.

Willow: Wait, I want my satin gown.

She insists. Mary doesn't react and returns the clothing back to the closet before retrieving Willow’s requested outfit. It’s a long strapless mermaid dress with a long slit up the right leg, the bodice decorated in sliver embroidery of the Schnee family crest recontextualized as a glittering pattern. With it is a matching shawl, a pair of white opera gloves, and a silver jewelry set. A pair of silver shoes with periwinkle gems encrusted into the design which matched the dress. This was a custom-made gift from a dear friend who had made many of Willow’s special outfits. They were still in touch though not often and Willow would periodically receive a gift from here as a sort of care package. This was one of her favorites. Mary hands the garments over to her mistress who accepts them with a low hum of approval.

Given its construction, Mary has to help Willow zip the dress up once it’s on. After that Willow has no problem putting on the rest while Mary prepares her makeup and hair care products. When she is fully dressed Mary does her makeup and puts her hair in an updo to accommodate the matching snowflake hairpin needed to complete the look. Once everything was done Willow looked in the mirror, her pale lips were painted lilac with a black liner outlying her lips, her cheeks rosy from a touch of soft blush and her eyes appeared to shimmer from her bold silver-dusted smoke eye makeup. Though no makeup could the coldness in them, the aura of death and regret was too deep to be hidden under even the deepest layer of luxury.

Still, Willow could look at herself with a little less self-pity like this. Twirling in her dress, pretending for a moment that she was still the great flower she once was and not the withering fool she’d become. After a few long glances, she looks back at Mary with a pitiful smile.

Willow: I want to go to the garden first, to greet the flowers.

Mary: Yes, ma’am.

Soon they depart. Mary leaves the food cart behind beside the door for another maid to pick up and carries the wine bottles and glasses with her as they walk. Striding down the halls every staff member they pass gazes at Willow with either silent awe or horror before quickly getting out of the way. The entirety of the staff manning the Schnee household knew to stay far away from Willow for their safety and hers. The madam of the house was an unfortunate figure, there was no one who didn’t know of her miserable situation but that hardly outweighed the emotional time bomb Willow existed as. She could start weeping then turn to shouting if her mood flipped, usually because Jacques had done something to provoke her ire. If not that then it was the depressing air around her sapping the sanity of anyone who came too close. Even now dressed in her finest her presence was painful draining.

Regardless the staff still treated her with the reverence her position demanded. Butlers hold open the doors to the garden and gardeners clear any brush from the paths as Willow strides past the rows of flora and fauna. Under the light of midday, Willow stopped to smell the flowers and ran her free hand against petals and leaves while her other held her perpetually full wine glass. This was one of her few safe places in the manor, the safest in fact due to Jacques's distaste for the loveliness of nature.

His disinterest had perplexed her back when their courtship began but Willow disregarded it as a personal preference. No couple had everything in common, even her parents had their differences, and that was hardly anything to consider about. Looking back Willow kicks herself for not looking deeper and questioning the holes in his personality sooner but it was far too late for that. Though her marriage be nothing more than a successful con crafted by a heartless leech, Willow still had her garden. A precious gift from her father and she'd enjoy it for as long as she pleased.

As she frolics, Willow stumbles upon a familiar gazebo, one that held many memories. She’d sat there with each of her children as infants after walking them through the greenery to introduce them to the wonders of nature. This is where she taught them the basics of tea parties and being a proper host, less serious etiquette lessons more of relaxed pretend play to practice. And around Mother’s Day, so long ago, her lovely children would pick flowers to make her bouquets. Yes, there were many good memories both for her as someone’s child and as someone’s mother.

She sits down and as she continues letting her mind wander down memory lane the happy thoughts soon end as the most recent of them turn grim. That being the last time she’d seen her son in the garden, tears falling down his cheeks and eyes hollow. Willow clenches her glass, a shiver of sorrow and disappointment running down her back. She could hardly remember that moment, but the vision of her son face was still clear as day. That haunting emptiness in his gaze was too much to bear. Her baby boy, her little flower Whitley was rotting, dying in front of her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. At the time she didn’t even know what or why he’d fallen apart that way but just seeing broke her heart in ways she didn’t know it could anymore. All she could do in moment was apologize, for everything and anything. She knew she was too weak to protect her children as she should have and her words were all she could offer, empty as they may be.

It was much later that she’d learned of their routine military visitor, the redhead girl she’d seen in the halls once some time ago, from Mary. She had given many details but from what she could gather the girl was pleasant and kind and her son had greatly enjoyed her company. But that had ended, no doubt Jaques had a hand in it, and that had shattered something in Whitley like nothing had before.

And why wouldn’t it?

Willow could tell from how he wept that being with the girl had made Whitley happy so much so much so that the absence of her stole all the light he had left. At least for a moment. And Willow knew that sorrow she felt creeping in from Jaques for so long until finally, the mask fell, and the love she knew was revealed as nothing but a farce. Yes, Willow knew that agony well, and seeing it in her son was like looking into a mirror. She couldn’t face that misery and broke down leaving Whitley to pick up the pieces even in his fragile state. That was the other edge of Willow's continued living for her children’s sake, her pain had become their burden.

Tears form on the edges of her eyes and not wanting to cry in her good dress, Willow downs her wine in one gulp and stands up.

Willow: I’m going to the ballroom; I want to dance under warm lights.

Mary: Yes, Mistress.

Mary agrees, filling Willow’s glass to the brim when she holds it out to her. After she takes a generous sipe they leave the garden and March towards the ballroom. The grand ballroom was always a gorgeous sight even when vacant of parties or revelry. Cleaned so often that the floors would always appear glimmering under light. Willow saunters around the room and onto the dance floor, finishing her 7th or maybe 8th glass of wine, she’d long since stopped keeping track, and hands the empty cup to Mary before issuing another decree.

Willow: I’d like some music, something cheerful and bouncy.

Mary: of course, ma’am.

Mary walks off to go explore the stereo system for appropriate music, but not before leaving a bottle of red wine and a glass behind to keep Willow busy. She gets a third of the way through the bottle when a soft orchestra melody comes pouring into the room. Willow sways to the beat, sipping away at her glass as the music plays. When her glass is once again empty Willow sets it down and begins to dance as Mary re-enters the room. The maid watches as her charge begins doing what she can only describe as a one-person waltz. Willow twirls and strides around the floor with grace and poise, the color of her gown making her movements appear whimsical. Like a butterfly fluttering against the wind, free of all humanity’s coils and unburdened by anything but its own machinations.

Ah, how glamorous. Once upon a time, Willow Schnee was always this brilliant. Basking in a seemingly endless dream.

Until she woke up.

The cackling came first, starting as soft as a whisper before getting louder and louder as Willow’s steps became erratic. Her elegant movements turn into a wobbly dance as she thrashes about, almost throwing her body around carelessly. Her mind is both muggy and racing as the alcohol and her resentment take effect.

Willow: What a waste of a life, I could have been working the happiest woman in the world. I had everything anyone could want or need and more. And yet…yet I’ve become this.

Her mind spirals as her self-deprecation bubbles up to the surface once more, this time in full bloom. She throws her head back as laughing becomes hysterical, mascara runs down her cheeks as the tears finally fall. Her becomes undone, hairpin clipping on for dear life as the mass around it unravels like its wearer’s mind.

Yet she continued to dance.

A meltdown in motion so caught up in herself that she doesn't see the passing staff members' looks of horror or notice when someone walks within her vicinity, keeping enough distance not to crash into her but close enough to be a flicker at the edge of her vision. That is until she trips over the glass she left on the floor, getting caught in the space between the shank and heel of her pumps. Crushing the glass as she stumbles, sending her towards the floor. The loss of balance and rush of air brings Willow back to reality and she braces herself for a hard fall, but she never hits the ground. Instead, she finds herself being held by thin but strong arms, face pressed against royal blue fabric. Looking up she sees Whitley, holding her tight in his arms and one leg kneeling directly on broken glass and the other keeping them steady.

Whitley: Are you alright, Mother?

He asks, voice soft and even as if he hadn’t just witnessed his mother drunkenly fall over. Willow nods yes.

Whitley: Good.

He chimes before pulling her back onto her feet, sweeping off any stray shards that might have hit her and checking to see if she’s cut. Luckily none had gotten on her and Willow was unharmed.

Whitley: Call someone to clean this up, we need to take her back to her room.

He orders Mary who stands directly behind him. She walks away to seek assistance with the mess and Whitley turns back to his mother.

Whitley: You should really be more careful. Leaving glass around like this is a recipe for disaster. Especially with how you dance.

He says with a chuckle, jokingly scolding Willow for her clumsy mistake. From there he guides her back to her room, Mary meeting them halfway. Mary cleans up her face while Whitley heads off to the kitchen to get her something to put on her stomach. He returns with a maid wheeling in a newly stocked food cart with a basket of bread, creamy soup, fried chicken coated in tomato sauce, and warm ginger ale.

Whitley: Make sure she eats as much as possible and gets some rest before she drinks again. Report back to me if her condition worsens.

The maids reply with a simple, “Yes, Young Master,” and Whitley leaves. They tend to a now calm Willow who doesn’t fight them on it.

If living for her child was a truly double-edged sword, this was the sharpest point. Her youngest, her only son Whitley had taken to caring for her in his father’s place so much so that he’d be the one train and warn much of the staff on her ailments and outbursts. Frankly, his continued care was the greatest factor in keeping Willow as well as she was.

But that only fueled her guilt.

Knowing her minor son had to cater to her needs and treat her with the patience and care his father refused to was and is profoundly demoralizing for her. Despite everything she was and could have been Willow has become a ward to the person she should have been able to protect. But she couldn’t…No, she didn’t. Willow had shut down in the wake of her life shattering and her children were left to pick up whatever pieces they could, even if they cut them deep.

And as she lay down for her daily nap, Willow couldn't help but crave another sip. To drown out her suffering and wash away the memories of what a pathetic excuse for a mother she’s been.

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