This is the story that I wrote when I first started honestly developing Ginerva as a fully fleshed out character. The same events contained here became Ginerva's past in the RFI universe.
It's rather dark, somewhat gruesome, and definitely disturbing in its own right. Please understand, I don't enjoy the events that take place, but they serve their purpose and make an interesting point. They also help explain a lot about why Ginerva is the way she is.
The girl sat outside, below the porch, behind the shrubs. But, she wasn't alone, though she tried so hard to pretend she was. For lying beside her was something that, at first glance, looked like it had been mauled by some wild animal. However, for those with a brave enough stomach to further inspect this atrocity, they'd find that every cut, tear, and every inch of exposed and expelled flesh and organs had been cut, torn, stitched and pinned with very careful precision. It was the product of a long-time study, now come to fruition. For the most careful person would discover that the cat known as Mr. Jones was alive.
Ginerva sat with her scrawny legs held up to her chest, a peculiar look on her face. As was usual for the girl, she wore a brave attempt at defiance, carefully masking a dreadful fear. But, something had begun to change in Ginerva's mask. For the first time, there was an almost manic expression on her face, as though something in her head was dying, and already giving birth to a strange and foreign beast.
The child didn't know what to do with this new-found frenzy. She simply felt grateful that there was no one around to see this scene, in which she was the most disturbing sight - even compared to the thing that pulsed, smelled, and made strange, gurgled, almost human noises beside her.
But she had to stay here, with her creation. Because soon Ginerva Mackenzie really wouldn't be alone.
And sure enough, just as Ginerva stole another sickened glance at Mr. Jones, and let out a nervous high-pitched giggle, a shadow cast itself over her. He head whipped up as her heart skipped about three and a half beats.
She tried to soften her expression as the fourteen year old boy crawled under the porch to join her. He was four years older than her, but she considered him her only friend.
"Hello, dear cousin," she said. Ginerva called him that so often, that anyone would be hard pressed to make her utter his name - even today.
"Little Sweetie," he replied, with a slightly crooked smile. That was the only flaw in his face, Ginerva had decided, but it was her favorite part.
He had thick, soft brown hair that gleamed slightly gold in the sunlight. His eyes were dark and deep, his skin smooth and rich. His young body was well-toned, and his face still full from childhood.
She could never compare to him, what with her constantly malnourished-looking body, her round mousy face, and her straw-like hair that could never quite be convinced to stay untangled. Her eyes, which used to change color day to day, had now stuck themselves on a dull gray-brown. Even seeing her cousin didn't cause that bright sparkle in her eyes anymore. "Almost eleven, and already past her peak," he would say with a sad shake of his head. But he still told her she was pretty.
Now he sat with that lopsided grin, trying to look over Ginerva's shoulder. She sat at an angle that blocked Mr. Jones completely from view.
"Come now, my Little Sweetie," he said gently. Then he placed a long-fingered hand on her shoulder, softly pushing her aside. She shuddered at his touch. He simply smiled at this, as though his dog had just learned to beg, then turned his attention away from her.
He was crouched low over the former cat, a lighter in his hand to allow him to fully inspect the body. Every so often he'd make a 'hmm' noise, and touch his pointer to his chin. He held a skinny, sharp metal instrument in the other hand, and would occasionally poke at the almost-corpse to inspect something. Each time he did, Mr. Jones would make a small, pathetic noise. A couple of times, Ginerva heard her cousin say, 'Very nice,' or 'Excellent.' Ginerva's nervous grin grew each time he complimented her work, and a distorted form of that old gleam would return to her eyes.
"Wait," he suddenly said, sharply. Ginerva's face paled in the partial darkness. She had hoped she was careful enough, that he wouldn't notice.
"The most important lesson, Ginerva," he breathed, his voice now dangerously low, and almost feral.
Ginerva just made a small, quiet noise, akin to that of a dying rodent.
Her cousin now looked at her, his dark eyes gleaming almost red even after the lighter had been flicked out. This time when he spoke, he spoke more strongly, angry violent. "The most important lesson, Ginerva!"
And before she had a chance to utter a word, his hand flew backward into her face. Unprepared, Ginerva fell onto the dirt-covered ground, whimpering slightly and rubbing her cheek.
"Pain, Ginerva! What is the point unless the subject can truly appreciate what we are doing to them - what we hold over them?! Why do you think we keep them alive??"
"S... Seamus," Ginerva whispered.
"You gave that cat anesthetic, didn't you? Didn't you??"
She didn't answer.
He made a contemptuous noise, and struck her again. When she didn't get back up, and just lay curled on the ground, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her up. Ginerva's head hung down, her shoulders hunched in fear, while the rest of the body slumped in trained submission.
Suddenly, however, a gentle finger rested under her chin, bringing her eyes to his once more. They looked soft again; his smile had returned. But his right hand still gripped Ginerva's tightly, as it turned red to speckled white from lack of circulation.
"Come, Little Sweetie, I'm not angry," he cooed smoothly, now caressing her face with his free hand. She fell into it almost automatically, half dreading, half longing. Her cousin did love her, see? He's just concerned.
Then she winced as a pang of pain shot through her hand as it began to numb.
"Why, Ginny? Why did you give the cat the anesthetic? Mommy would not be happy that you stole from her office. It must have been important for you to take such a risk."
Ginerva found her words more easily now as Seamus comforted her. But, her voice still trembled. "I-I thought that if I gave him just - just a little, it would help prolong his consciousness... that way I could sustain him long enough to finish the project." Her entire countenance was small and feeble. She willed herself fiercely not to allow a single tear to escape her eye. She had become rather good at it by now.
"Oh, Ginerva," Seamus said, trailing a long finger down the side of her neck. "I know you're lying." His voice was not accusatory, but sweet and placating. But Ginerva knew this was his most dangerous voice. "You wanted to ease that cat's pain, didn't you? You felt sorry for the damnable creature. But you must learn one day, Ginny Dear, that this creature, like so many others like it, are below us. They are tinker toys. We, though, we are so - much - greater." Passion began to ooze from his voice, like a sugary, venomous sap. He was sitting closer to Ginerva now. The hand gripping her wrist had loosened slack and was lowered to her side. The other still played idly with her neck and bony shoulder.
"Even other humans are lesser than us, Ginerva. Even your mother. Oh, yes. And one day, they'll see that. And oh, what a day that will be!"
When Seamus had finished his oft-recited speech, he was impossibly close to his younger cousin. His right knee rested between her legs, just barely brushing her pelvis. His face was close to hers, so much that she could feel his warm breath against her cheeks. Her heart was beating so fast, knowing apprehension gilded with the excited and twisted hope that this time would be different.
But of course, it wasn't.
Seamus' hand was already working up her neck, fingers finding their way around the tiny diameter, like a coiling serpent.
Just as Ginerva tried to cry out, her cousin tightened his grip, and pinned her to the ground. She stared up, terrified as Seamus held her, knees now pressing down on her legs. Her arms he left, the weak little twigs were never a threat.
He then took the pointed metal tool, and pressed it close to the underside of the girl's chin, 'till it just broke skin, and a small bead of blood trickled out. The handsome boy leaned in and licked up the trailing blood sat up, and smacked his lips approvingly.
"You will learn, Little Sweetie. And in time, you will realize just how much you enjoy it."
And, just as always, he released her and got up, stopping at Mr. Jones. He reached down, and with an ugly look on his beautiful face, he cracked the animal's tiny neck.
Then, without another word or look at Ginerva, he crawled out from under the porch, and disappeared.
It was nearly twenty minutes before Ginerva dared to sit up again.
When she did, she dragged Mr. Jones' still and silent body towards her. She scooped up the pile of bones and guts and held it close to her, stroking what was left of his head. She drew her knees up to herself again, and she cuddled the smelling corpse as though it were a favorite stuffed animal, kissing it gently.
The girl sat outside, below to porch, behind the shrub.
And she realized that she would never be alone, yet quite deep inside her, she always would be
