WARNING: If you are scared easily or are sensitive to psychological disorders, please do not read this. MPD is a real thing, just like anxiety or depression. If you do choose to read, be courteous of those who may possess this disorder and do not take it lightly. I know this idea is dark and I understand if you don't like it, but please remember to be kind. I am not held responsible if you cannot sleep tonight. I warned you. On a brighter note, enjoy! :) -mickey
MultiplePersonalityDisorder - a twisted fairy tale by mickey
Prince Gryffin crept up the stairs quietly, a hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for anything. The tower was silent except for his boots on the stone and his heart beating forcefully in his chest. As he reached the top, however, he could hear voices. It sounded like an entire crowd having a conversation. Gryffin was puzzled. How could anyone else besides Brigitta be here? Unless he was pickpocketed.
The prince stuck a hand in his satchel and fumbled around for the key that should open the girl's door. He pulled it out, breathing a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, a cackling laugh filled the dusty air, causing Gryffin to stop dead in his tracks. His breath shook fearfully and he slowly pulled out his sword. He had arrived at a tall wooden door: the door to Brigitta's room. The voices were louder now.
The instant the prince fit the key into the keyhole, the inside of the room became silent. He turned it and it clicked. As he slowly creaked the door open, he expected to see a crowd to fight, but there was no one. In fact, it looked there was and hadn't been a soul in the room for years. But as the prince looked around at the dark, windowless room, he was filled with dread and sheer terror. All around the stone was streaked with lines which looked like fingers that had tried to claw their way out. On the back of the door, there were the same marks, but streaked with red.
The bed was so demolished, you could hardly sleep on it anymore. The feathers from the pillows and mattress were spread across the entire floor. All of the furniture was overturned and destroyed. A mirror was shattered with the broken pieces lying on the floor. A portrait of Brigitta and her family was scarred with a red handprint. Underneath the frame, it looked like someone had started tallying the days neatly, but the lines got more and more skewed until the writer broke and started attacking the wall with whatever they were carving with. Every gas lamp that was once around the room was shattered on the floor.
The entire room was filled with a paranormal presence.
Gryffin gripped his sword with both sweating hands and tried to say the girl's name, but it was caught in his dry throat. Finally he was able to whisper, "Lady Brigitta? I have come to rescue you."
The only reply was a horrifying child's laugh. It was cut off by a sharp hiss, "Shut up, you fool."
"Lady Brigitta, are you all right?" Gryffin asked, resisting the incredibly strong urge to run.
"Are you?" the child's voice replied. There was a hiss and then a piercing scream stabbed the prince's eardrums.
"There goes another one," a new voice commented wrongly joyful. Then it cackled. The same sound Gryffin had heard outside the door.
"It's a shame, I liked that one." That voice was familiar. It belonged to Brigitta. But there was something very off about it. It sounded far too calm.
Gryffin slowly crept towards the bed and looked behind it. His hands flew to his mouth, dropping his sword onto the stone floor. His eyes grew wide with fear and he had trouble catching a breath.
Brigitta sat with her legs pulled up, her arms wrapped around them. Her long, blond hair was wild and tangled with a few patches missing. Her normally beautiful blue eyes were empty, bloodshot, and staring at nothing; they rolled around as if each had a mind of its own. Her deathly pale skin was covered in dirt, dried blood, and scratches, and her lilac dress was shredded to rags with holes and stains. She looked mostly dead.
"Lady Brigitta," Gryffin stammered, lowering his hands from his face. "I have come to rescue you and bring you home to your family."
"Home, home, home," Brigitta's voice repeated, her eyes searching for nothing. "This is my home now. They told me."
His heart skipped a beat. "Who told you?"
Her eyes focused on him and she grinned, showing yellow teeth. "My friends." Slowly, she rose from the ground, still staring straight at the prince, who began backing away as she walked toward him.
"Dear boy," the wrongly joyful voice laughed. Brigitta's mouth continued to move, but it wasn't her speaking. "You don't have to be afraid of us."
"We are friends," the hiss spoke. "You are not in danger."
"We have only protected her while you were away," a new, fatherly voice added.
"Brigitta, please stop playing games," Gryffin pleaded. "Your family misses you. Let's go home."
Another voice screamed, "SHE IS HOME-"
"-with us," a gentle woman finished.
"If you can't accept that," the fatherly one said, "you might as well leave us."
"What do you think, Black?" an old, wheezing addition asked.
"What should I do to him?" Brigitta's voice surfaced.
There was a pause in which the girl froze, but her face twisted and the hiss ordered, "Kill him."
She cackled and rushed towards Gryffin, grabbing him by the throat. She threw him to the ground and pinned him, a murderous grin stretched from ear to ear. Gryffin writhed desperately and tried to get her off, but her grip was iron. Spots began to dance before his eyes as he coughed and gasped.
Finally, with his last ounce of energy, he threw the girl off and she landed in a heap on the floor. Then she began to cry. Heavy sobs racked her body and tears flowed in rivers down her filthy cheeks.
"Don't cry, young one," the fatherly voice comforted.
"You are beautiful, darling," the hiss added.
While Brigitta recovered, Gryffin grabbed his sword, massaging his throat, and ran from the room, locking the door behind him. When the click from the key sounded, the sobs stopped and there was a massive thud against the door. Gryffin stumbled down a few steps.
"LET US OUT, YOU COWARD," the screaming voice bellowed. "LET US OUT, LET US OUT, LET US OUT."
The prince ran as fast as he could down the stairs and fell upon the grass out of the tower. Then he allowed the tears to come.
So... *grimaces* What do you think??? I just was thinking about the fairy tales when the prince saves the girl from the tower and I thought, "you know. the girl would most likely have gone totally insane if left in an enclosed room like that for years and years." And thus, MPD was born.
Again, I apologize if you did not enjoy this, but please keep your opinions appropriate. Thank you!
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no more band-aids on my heartaches.
no more smoke when i burn my pancakes.
no more drowning in my sorrow.
with my chin held up there's always better luck