Something happened to Andrea when she left home for her mother's funeral. She won't tell Valerie what.
Valerie doesn't know what to do.
Valerie doesn't know what to do.
[OC][Non-BB] Welcome to the Glass Castle
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[OC][Non-BB] Welcome to the Glass Castle [Complete]
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A few words before you start
- Pronouns
- He/Him
This story takes place outside Brockton Bay and is about two original characters. It will focus mostly on horror and emotional states, and will be small scale. Taylor, Scion, Cauldron, the Endbringers and the Trio are not relevant in any way. The story is entirely pre-written with thirteen chapters and will update daily until completion. As always, please refrain from commenting on chapter length.
Content warnings for:
Content warnings for:
- Major Character Death
- Psychological Trauma
- Animal Death
- Horror
Last edited:
01 - The Closed Door of the Coffin
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Andrea's mother is dead.
They didn't get along, hadn't seen each other for a very long time. Andrea didn't even know she was dead until her sister called about the funerals.
Still. It changes things, doesn't it? A door closed on possibilities, a final period at the end of a tragedy, a last chance squandered and left to rot.
There will be no reconciliation.
Andrea has left for the funeral.
Do you want me to come, Valerie asked, and Andrea took her hands in hers, and Andrea looked tired.
No, she said, and there was a weight there, of the coffin, of the church, of the world and the whispers and the looks and everything Andrea didn't think she could bear on the day she'd bury her mother.
I love you, Valerie said, and Andrea leaned her head on her shoulder, and Valerie felt the tickling of her hair against the side of her neck.
I love you, Andrea said, and the house always feels empty when she isn't there, always feels cold.
Charlie rests his head in Valerie's lap and she buries her hands in warm dog fur, and she waits for Andrea to come home.
They didn't get along, hadn't seen each other for a very long time. Andrea didn't even know she was dead until her sister called about the funerals.
Still. It changes things, doesn't it? A door closed on possibilities, a final period at the end of a tragedy, a last chance squandered and left to rot.
There will be no reconciliation.
Andrea has left for the funeral.
Do you want me to come, Valerie asked, and Andrea took her hands in hers, and Andrea looked tired.
No, she said, and there was a weight there, of the coffin, of the church, of the world and the whispers and the looks and everything Andrea didn't think she could bear on the day she'd bury her mother.
I love you, Valerie said, and Andrea leaned her head on her shoulder, and Valerie felt the tickling of her hair against the side of her neck.
I love you, Andrea said, and the house always feels empty when she isn't there, always feels cold.
Charlie rests his head in Valerie's lap and she buries her hands in warm dog fur, and she waits for Andrea to come home.
02 - Ghosts Who Still Make The Floorboards Creak
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Andrea is tired when she gets home. Pale. Drawn out. Quiet.
She doesn't wake Valerie up. It's Charlie who does, stirred out of sleep by the click of the lock, by the groan of the hinges, by the creaking of the floor. It's Charlie who shifts from his place at the bottom of the bed, who growls softly as he faces the bedroom door.
Andrea didn't turn on the lights. Valerie finds her in the living-room, sitting in the dark, staring at the empty television screen. She doesn't answer Valerie's greeting.
When Valerie goes to hold her, she flinches away.
She doesn't answer her questions, either, or her concern. She refuses to drink the tea Valerie makes. She's just there, silent and still as a statue until Valerie runs out of strength, sits on the armchair beside hers.
They stay like that until morning.
She doesn't wake Valerie up. It's Charlie who does, stirred out of sleep by the click of the lock, by the groan of the hinges, by the creaking of the floor. It's Charlie who shifts from his place at the bottom of the bed, who growls softly as he faces the bedroom door.
Andrea didn't turn on the lights. Valerie finds her in the living-room, sitting in the dark, staring at the empty television screen. She doesn't answer Valerie's greeting.
When Valerie goes to hold her, she flinches away.
She doesn't answer her questions, either, or her concern. She refuses to drink the tea Valerie makes. She's just there, silent and still as a statue until Valerie runs out of strength, sits on the armchair beside hers.
They stay like that until morning.
03 - House Haunted by the Living
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The days are slow, stilted, strange. Cold.
Andrea stays distant. Stays silent. Stays curled in her armchair, looking around the room, keeps refusing comfort and food and drink, ignores Charlie's growls and Valerie's pleas, and Valerie doesn't know what to say. Valerie doesn't know what to do.
"Did something happen?" Valerie asks.
Andrea doesn't answer.
(It feels like the glass is creeping up between them, clear and cold, like a wall and a box and a barrier muffling her voice, it feels like the glass is there and it makes it so very hard, to keep the glass down, to keep her promise, to stay raw and exposed and helpless in the room with Andrea.)
"What happened?" Valerie asks.
Andrea doesn't answer.
(Andrea looks at Valerie, and doesn't see her. Andrea sees Valerie, and doesn't look at her.)
Nightfall comes.
"Andrea, please," Valerie asks.
Andrea sleeps in the guest room, legs tangled under cold sheets, door closed like a mirror. Valerie sits in their bedroom, face buried between her hands, and hopes her wife can't hear her cry.
Andrea stays distant. Stays silent. Stays curled in her armchair, looking around the room, keeps refusing comfort and food and drink, ignores Charlie's growls and Valerie's pleas, and Valerie doesn't know what to say. Valerie doesn't know what to do.
"Did something happen?" Valerie asks.
Andrea doesn't answer.
(It feels like the glass is creeping up between them, clear and cold, like a wall and a box and a barrier muffling her voice, it feels like the glass is there and it makes it so very hard, to keep the glass down, to keep her promise, to stay raw and exposed and helpless in the room with Andrea.)
"What happened?" Valerie asks.
Andrea doesn't answer.
(Andrea looks at Valerie, and doesn't see her. Andrea sees Valerie, and doesn't look at her.)
Nightfall comes.
"Andrea, please," Valerie asks.
Andrea sleeps in the guest room, legs tangled under cold sheets, door closed like a mirror. Valerie sits in their bedroom, face buried between her hands, and hopes her wife can't hear her cry.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
Well that's unsettling. And the death theme in the titles is foreboding. Finger crossed that Valerie manages to reach Andrea through the glass anyway (and put some life back into her).
04 - The Wails And Sobs Of The Lonely
- Pronouns
- He/Him
She fails.
There are many things that are stopped by walls, warmth and help and kindness and breathing, but sound, sound was never one of them, and Andrea hears her cry.
She comes knocking at the bedroom door. There is a tray in her hand, loaded, a plate full of sandwiches and a cup of steaming tea.
"Did something happen?" Andrea asks.
Valerie doesn't understand. She doesn't understand, because it makes no sense, that question, because why would Andrea need to ask, when Andrea is what happened, when Andrea is who something happened to. She doesn't understand, because the question breaks the silence, and the silence was the answer. She doesn't understand, and it feels like an accusation.
At her feet, Charlie growls.
"What happened?" Andrea asks.
It feels like the shattering of a looking glass, smooth silver impenetrable, the shards tearing in wails through Valerie's throat as she gives up on the quiet, and it's sticky and red and painful in all the way the walls are not, and it's so much better than them.
(Almost everything is.)
Andrea doesn't hold her. Andrea doesn't touch her. Andrea does nothing but stand in the doorway, tray cooling between her hands, but she looks and she sees her, but she sees her and looks at her, and it's enough, at least for now.
"I'm sorry," Andrea says.
Valerie fails to be quiet.
(In the selfish parts of her, she's grateful Andrea heard)
There are many things that are stopped by walls, warmth and help and kindness and breathing, but sound, sound was never one of them, and Andrea hears her cry.
She comes knocking at the bedroom door. There is a tray in her hand, loaded, a plate full of sandwiches and a cup of steaming tea.
"Did something happen?" Andrea asks.
Valerie doesn't understand. She doesn't understand, because it makes no sense, that question, because why would Andrea need to ask, when Andrea is what happened, when Andrea is who something happened to. She doesn't understand, because the question breaks the silence, and the silence was the answer. She doesn't understand, and it feels like an accusation.
At her feet, Charlie growls.
"What happened?" Andrea asks.
It feels like the shattering of a looking glass, smooth silver impenetrable, the shards tearing in wails through Valerie's throat as she gives up on the quiet, and it's sticky and red and painful in all the way the walls are not, and it's so much better than them.
(Almost everything is.)
Andrea doesn't hold her. Andrea doesn't touch her. Andrea does nothing but stand in the doorway, tray cooling between her hands, but she looks and she sees her, but she sees her and looks at her, and it's enough, at least for now.
"I'm sorry," Andrea says.
Valerie fails to be quiet.
(In the selfish parts of her, she's grateful Andrea heard)
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
Not exactly how I hoped it would go but, eh... good enough.
05 - And A Dog Stands At The Crossroads
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Please, stop growling," Andrea says, and Valerie doesn't think she was supposed to hear.
It has been a few days now, since Andrea found her crying. Things are better.
Not normal. Andrea still sleeps in the guest room, still feels strange and detached and distant, still shies away from Charlie and from touch. Still hasn't said what happened to her on the day of her mother's funeral. Things aren't normal because Andrea isn't okay, Valerie knows, and also knows that she might never go back to normal, never go back to the old okay. Valerie never did after she broke the glass. After she brought the glass up. It's fine. They'll find a way forward. They'll build a new normal. They'll make it.
Andrea talks to her again. Her words feel like a stranger speaking, but it's something. It's enough.
(It has to be.)
"Please," Andrea says. She's kneeling down in the kitchen, hand reaching toward Charlie. "I gave you treats. You like treats, don't you?"
It's one in the morning, and the kitchen is dark, outlines and shadows and the dull orange-yellow of street lamps spilling their colors through the windows, and Andrea's back is to the door, and Valerie can't see her face.
Charlie is still growling.
"Please," Andrea says. "I know I'm different. Please."
She scuttles forward, closer, moves as though aiming for a pet, a scratch under the dog's jaw.
Charlie bites her.
It has been a few days now, since Andrea found her crying. Things are better.
Not normal. Andrea still sleeps in the guest room, still feels strange and detached and distant, still shies away from Charlie and from touch. Still hasn't said what happened to her on the day of her mother's funeral. Things aren't normal because Andrea isn't okay, Valerie knows, and also knows that she might never go back to normal, never go back to the old okay. Valerie never did after she broke the glass. After she brought the glass up. It's fine. They'll find a way forward. They'll build a new normal. They'll make it.
Andrea talks to her again. Her words feel like a stranger speaking, but it's something. It's enough.
(It has to be.)
"Please," Andrea says. She's kneeling down in the kitchen, hand reaching toward Charlie. "I gave you treats. You like treats, don't you?"
It's one in the morning, and the kitchen is dark, outlines and shadows and the dull orange-yellow of street lamps spilling their colors through the windows, and Andrea's back is to the door, and Valerie can't see her face.
Charlie is still growling.
"Please," Andrea says. "I know I'm different. Please."
She scuttles forward, closer, moves as though aiming for a pet, a scratch under the dog's jaw.
Charlie bites her.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
"Please," Andrea continues. "I don't want Valerie to realise something is up. Please." /jk
06 - All The Worms Beneath The Dirt
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Andrea refuses to let Valerie help her with the wound. Of course. She would have to touch her for that.
(They haven't touched once since the funeral. Valerie feels cold, sometimes, sitting by the windows, laying in bed waiting for sleep to come.)
"I don't understand," Valerie says in the morning. "He's never done this before."
The bandage is stark against Andrea's hand, white, like snow over dark stone.
"He likes you," Valerie says. "I don't… This doesn't make sense."
"It's okay," Andrea says "It will solve itself, I'm sure."
She's looking through the window at the garden outside. It's starting to overgrow. Maybe Valerie should do something. Mow the lawn, maybe.
(Andrea is the one who does it, usually. The one who likes gardening, plants and worms and rich dark soil. Roses and chrysanthemum and calla lilies, vibrant colors and soft petals.)
That night, Charlie sleeps in the doghouse.
Come morning, he isn't there.
(They haven't touched once since the funeral. Valerie feels cold, sometimes, sitting by the windows, laying in bed waiting for sleep to come.)
"I don't understand," Valerie says in the morning. "He's never done this before."
The bandage is stark against Andrea's hand, white, like snow over dark stone.
"He likes you," Valerie says. "I don't… This doesn't make sense."
"It's okay," Andrea says "It will solve itself, I'm sure."
She's looking through the window at the garden outside. It's starting to overgrow. Maybe Valerie should do something. Mow the lawn, maybe.
(Andrea is the one who does it, usually. The one who likes gardening, plants and worms and rich dark soil. Roses and chrysanthemum and calla lilies, vibrant colors and soft petals.)
That night, Charlie sleeps in the doghouse.
Come morning, he isn't there.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
I'd think this Andrea is an impostor but what is the point of replacing her if it is not to live her life. On the other hand dogs being preternaturally good at sniffing out impostors is a staple of the genre.
I don't know what to think.
I don't know what to think.
07 - A Vigil Held By Autumn Sun
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Valerie spends the day looking for Charlie.
She's cold, beyond what the fall weather should bring. A bone-deep kind of chill, heedless of sweaters and blankets and heated rooms, and she feels brittle underneath, like frozen flesh or sheets of ice or tall glass walls around herself. She feels like the world is going to shatter. Like any second she's going to wake up and Charlie will be there and Andrea will be fine and everything will be okay. Like the world isn't real.
Like she's not in the world.
Like she isn't real.
She asks a couple of passersby if they have seen Charlie and she knows she must look crazy, disheveled and frantic and tripping over her words, and there is pity in her eyes, and there is disdain in his, and she wants to make the glass real, to go inside the box where nobody can see her. She's already cold anyway. She's already alone.
(She can't look for Charlie from inside the box.)
(Andrea hates the box.)
Valerie pushes down the glass.
She's cold, beyond what the fall weather should bring. A bone-deep kind of chill, heedless of sweaters and blankets and heated rooms, and she feels brittle underneath, like frozen flesh or sheets of ice or tall glass walls around herself. She feels like the world is going to shatter. Like any second she's going to wake up and Charlie will be there and Andrea will be fine and everything will be okay. Like the world isn't real.
Like she's not in the world.
Like she isn't real.
She asks a couple of passersby if they have seen Charlie and she knows she must look crazy, disheveled and frantic and tripping over her words, and there is pity in her eyes, and there is disdain in his, and she wants to make the glass real, to go inside the box where nobody can see her. She's already cold anyway. She's already alone.
(She can't look for Charlie from inside the box.)
(Andrea hates the box.)
Valerie pushes down the glass.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
Come on Valerie. It's not like Andrea talks enough for this bit:
... To be lost in the noise.
08 - Windows Stained In Red And Blue
- Pronouns
- He/Him
She makes it home by nightfall, legs aching, feet turned to weights of lead and clay. She makes it home and Charlie isn't there, neither waiting nor by her side. She makes it home, and collapses more than she sits on the living room sofa.
Slowly, hesitantly, Andrea sits on the opposite armrest.
It feels to Valerie like a painful itch, that distance, that closeness that isn't close, like it grates at her, like shards of ice under her skin, and the empty sofa is like an ocean, an arm's length turned into a chasm, inches wide as a thousand miles, and the air between them might as well be a wall.
"Please," Valerie chokes out, and her sobs swallow the rest.
It's fine.
She doesn't know what she would have said anyway.
It's fine.
There is an arm around her shoulders.
Andrea is stiff as wood as she holds her, rigid and awkward and unmoving as though she's forgotten how to touch living things, and her hand is cold where it touches bare skin, and Valerie doesn't care. Valerie doesn't care at all.
She leans into the hug as she continues to cry.
Slowly, hesitantly, Andrea sits on the opposite armrest.
It feels to Valerie like a painful itch, that distance, that closeness that isn't close, like it grates at her, like shards of ice under her skin, and the empty sofa is like an ocean, an arm's length turned into a chasm, inches wide as a thousand miles, and the air between them might as well be a wall.
"Please," Valerie chokes out, and her sobs swallow the rest.
It's fine.
She doesn't know what she would have said anyway.
It's fine.
There is an arm around her shoulders.
Andrea is stiff as wood as she holds her, rigid and awkward and unmoving as though she's forgotten how to touch living things, and her hand is cold where it touches bare skin, and Valerie doesn't care. Valerie doesn't care at all.
She leans into the hug as she continues to cry.
- Location
- The Midlands.
Well, one thing's for certain. She's gone far, far past "acting kinda sus". Would a house like theirs have any vents...?
I'm sorry, I couldn't resist.
09 - Digging Through The Holes In The Ground
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Days go by. Andrea takes to the garden again. Valerie doesn't find Charlie.
"Maybe he'll come back," Andrea says, dirt under her fingernails, empty words Valerie wishes she could believe.
Maybe it was a car that got him. A poisoned lure left for rats. Crumbling concrete from that cape fight downtown. The sick kind of fuck who sees a dog and decides to hurt him. Maybe she's just pessimistic. She's never been very good at hoping. Only at keeping through the day, going through the motions behind a wall of glass, until the glass finally shatters.
(Glass always shatters, in the end, and when it does, it cuts both ways.)
She wonders, sometimes, what would have happened, after that day, if she hadn't met Andrea. If she'd put on a mask and colorful clothes, and had thrown her walls at the world until something gave.
(She's not Nilbog, or Eidolon, or Ash Beast or Legend. She'd have broken before the world.)
Andrea takes to the garden again, buries her hands into the ground, comes inside with grass-stained knees and mud at the hem of her pants, and Valerie both misses and loves her so much it hurts.
Andrea takes to the garden again, pulls weeds out of empty flowerbeds, molds the world as she sees fit.
Andrea takes to the garden again, watches as fallen leaves burn and leaves hoe and rake lying on the ground.
In the garden shed where she goes to put them away, Valerie finds a rotting smell, finds meat and bones and worms and fur, finds a collar and a tag and a name.
Valerie finds Charlie in the garden shed.
"Maybe he'll come back," Andrea says, dirt under her fingernails, empty words Valerie wishes she could believe.
Maybe it was a car that got him. A poisoned lure left for rats. Crumbling concrete from that cape fight downtown. The sick kind of fuck who sees a dog and decides to hurt him. Maybe she's just pessimistic. She's never been very good at hoping. Only at keeping through the day, going through the motions behind a wall of glass, until the glass finally shatters.
(Glass always shatters, in the end, and when it does, it cuts both ways.)
She wonders, sometimes, what would have happened, after that day, if she hadn't met Andrea. If she'd put on a mask and colorful clothes, and had thrown her walls at the world until something gave.
(She's not Nilbog, or Eidolon, or Ash Beast or Legend. She'd have broken before the world.)
Andrea takes to the garden again, buries her hands into the ground, comes inside with grass-stained knees and mud at the hem of her pants, and Valerie both misses and loves her so much it hurts.
Andrea takes to the garden again, pulls weeds out of empty flowerbeds, molds the world as she sees fit.
Andrea takes to the garden again, watches as fallen leaves burn and leaves hoe and rake lying on the ground.
In the garden shed where she goes to put them away, Valerie finds a rotting smell, finds meat and bones and worms and fur, finds a collar and a tag and a name.
Valerie finds Charlie in the garden shed.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
Ooooh! So the reason she uses that glass wall metaphor so much is because it's her power.
Also, I know what I said last time about Charlie's fate but I'm still disappointed in Andrea. By the way, her return to gardening was almost epic until we got to the end of the chapter.
Also also, is this
A new metaphor for autumn or are the leaves literally catching fire? (Is this a typo?)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The latter - Andrea is making big piles with the leaves that fell on the ground in the garden and then burning them
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
I admit I never considered what people did with leaves after raking them. Burning them is a way of getting rid of them, I guess.
Thanks for this insight into gardening.
10 - A Grave Like A Open Mouth
- Pronouns
- He/Him
She doesn't know how long she stays there, staring at the worms in Charlie's mouth and eye, feeling cold, feeling lonely. She doesn't know how long it takes for it to take root, that bone-deep certainty that Andrea knew. She had to. She can't not have.
Valerie saw her, every day since Charlie went missing, going into the shed.
She knew.
She might have done it.
She can't have done it. Not Andrea. Not to Charlie. She loves that dog. She must have been trying to spare Valerie. They just…
They just need to talk.
"Valerie," Andrea says.
Valerie didn't hear her come behind.
It's a reflex, really, more than a conscious decision, that has her swirl on herself to face the door, that has her hand shoot forward to grab Andrea's wrist. Andrea's cold wrist, stiff wrist, and Valerie feels it, like a grotesque pulse under her palm, the squirming under the skin of something that shouldn't be there.
The realization hits her like a glass dropped on the kitchen floor.
"You're not Andrea," Valerie says.
"I could be," Andrea says.
Valerie saw her, every day since Charlie went missing, going into the shed.
She knew.
She might have done it.
She can't have done it. Not Andrea. Not to Charlie. She loves that dog. She must have been trying to spare Valerie. They just…
They just need to talk.
"Valerie," Andrea says.
Valerie didn't hear her come behind.
It's a reflex, really, more than a conscious decision, that has her swirl on herself to face the door, that has her hand shoot forward to grab Andrea's wrist. Andrea's cold wrist, stiff wrist, and Valerie feels it, like a grotesque pulse under her palm, the squirming under the skin of something that shouldn't be there.
The realization hits her like a glass dropped on the kitchen floor.
"You're not Andrea," Valerie says.
"I could be," Andrea says.
- Location
- The Midlands.
Send lawyers, guns and money. The shit has hit the fan.
11 - A House Built On Skeletons
- Pronouns
- He/Him
There is light in the garden shed, blinding, the brightness coming in through the open door painting black the figure on the threshold, the sun rays as crystalline and cold as the windows in a church, and once again the world feels as though it isn't real.
"I could be Andrea," Andrea says, except this is as good as a confession and it was all a lie, it was all just a cruel, macabre game of pretend and this is not Andrea. "I'm getting better at being her. You noticed, didn't you? Just a little longer and there would have been no difference at all. Just a little longer and it would all have been okay."
Andrea never made it back from the funeral.
"Valerie, please," the stranger says, and her tone is Valerie's own, pleading by the armchair in a dark living room, "say something."
"You killed Charlie," Valerie says.
When the stranger answers, her voice is flat again.
"I thought I could be him, too," she says, "but it didn't work. I need a bit more time to figure it out, and then it will be all three of us again"
"You killed Andrea," Valerie says, and this time, she pulls up the glass.
"I could be Andrea," Andrea says, except this is as good as a confession and it was all a lie, it was all just a cruel, macabre game of pretend and this is not Andrea. "I'm getting better at being her. You noticed, didn't you? Just a little longer and there would have been no difference at all. Just a little longer and it would all have been okay."
Andrea never made it back from the funeral.
"Valerie, please," the stranger says, and her tone is Valerie's own, pleading by the armchair in a dark living room, "say something."
"You killed Charlie," Valerie says.
When the stranger answers, her voice is flat again.
"I thought I could be him, too," she says, "but it didn't work. I need a bit more time to figure it out, and then it will be all three of us again"
"You killed Andrea," Valerie says, and this time, she pulls up the glass.
12 - Glass House Mausoleum
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It's cold behind the glass, in the way clear skies are in the winter, the sun present and bright and devoid of warmth, the world there and untouchable. It's cold behind the glass, and no one can see Valerie there.
(They could, if they broke the glass, if she broke the glass, but as the glass breaks it would cut, them and her and everyone. That's how glass works, in reality and in metaphors.)
(The glass is there for a reason.)
(They can't see the glass either anyway.)
There is surprise in the stranger, confusion, and that is the last nail in Andrea's coffin, the final say of certainty, because Andrea knew about the glass. Andrea hated the glass. Andrea talked Valerie out of the glass and into a bright living room, a warm living room, gave her tea and a dog and more love that she knew what to do with. Andrea knew what the glass meant, and the stranger looks at it and doesn't.
Valerie brings the glass up in corridor, in hallway, in a path toward the door. Valerie leaves the garden shed. Valerie sits in the garden, mud staining her knees and hems, and builds herself a house of glass.
Valerie waits.
(They could, if they broke the glass, if she broke the glass, but as the glass breaks it would cut, them and her and everyone. That's how glass works, in reality and in metaphors.)
(The glass is there for a reason.)
(They can't see the glass either anyway.)
There is surprise in the stranger, confusion, and that is the last nail in Andrea's coffin, the final say of certainty, because Andrea knew about the glass. Andrea hated the glass. Andrea talked Valerie out of the glass and into a bright living room, a warm living room, gave her tea and a dog and more love that she knew what to do with. Andrea knew what the glass meant, and the stranger looks at it and doesn't.
Valerie brings the glass up in corridor, in hallway, in a path toward the door. Valerie leaves the garden shed. Valerie sits in the garden, mud staining her knees and hems, and builds herself a house of glass.
Valerie waits.
13 - Warm Yourself By The Pyre
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Eventually, the stranger in Andrea's body gets out of the shed.
"Valerie!" she calls. "Valerie!"
Charlie!, Valerie had called, a few days, a few eternities ago. Charlie.
It's the exact same tone in the stranger's voice. The exact same inflexion, the exact same tinge of frantic dread. How did Valerie not notice earlier?
Eventually, the stranger goes inside the house.
They'd lived there for three years, the two of them. Andrea and Valerie. Valerie and Andrea. They'd picked it for the garden, for Charlie to have space to run, for Andrea to plant flowers, for Valerie to sketch her, leaning on her shovel with dirt smudged over her cheek.
Andrea's chrysanthemums still grow under the windows, yellow and red and orange shades.
Eventually, Valerie enters the garage.
They keep oil there, for the car, and their summer clothes packed away in plastic bags, and she spreads them over the floor, and she lights it off with a spark.
She makes sure the fire takes.
Eventually, Valerie raises glass across all of the windows.
Glass breaks, of course it does. Glass is fragile, glass shatters. But put a pane behind a pane behind a pane behind a pane, and it takes strength to break, it takes pounding at the clear wall, it takes skin cut to ribbons. It takes time the fire won't give.
They used to be happy here.
Eventually, everything burns.
Valerie waits watching until the very end.
"Valerie!" she calls. "Valerie!"
Charlie!, Valerie had called, a few days, a few eternities ago. Charlie.
It's the exact same tone in the stranger's voice. The exact same inflexion, the exact same tinge of frantic dread. How did Valerie not notice earlier?
Eventually, the stranger goes inside the house.
They'd lived there for three years, the two of them. Andrea and Valerie. Valerie and Andrea. They'd picked it for the garden, for Charlie to have space to run, for Andrea to plant flowers, for Valerie to sketch her, leaning on her shovel with dirt smudged over her cheek.
Andrea's chrysanthemums still grow under the windows, yellow and red and orange shades.
Eventually, Valerie enters the garage.
They keep oil there, for the car, and their summer clothes packed away in plastic bags, and she spreads them over the floor, and she lights it off with a spark.
She makes sure the fire takes.
Eventually, Valerie raises glass across all of the windows.
Glass breaks, of course it does. Glass is fragile, glass shatters. But put a pane behind a pane behind a pane behind a pane, and it takes strength to break, it takes pounding at the clear wall, it takes skin cut to ribbons. It takes time the fire won't give.
They used to be happy here.
Eventually, everything burns.
Valerie waits watching until the very end.
And that's it! I'll be back tomorrow and the day after with the cover art and the retrospective, but the story itself is done! I hope you enjoyed yourself!
Extra Material: Retrospective
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The very first part of what would make the whole of Welcome to the Glass Castle was the power of the stranger in Andrea's body.
I came up with the basis of the power a few years ago, before I even heard of Worm, and later retooled it so that it would function within the world of Parahumans, and left it in a google doc to use if the need or opportunity arose, along with a handful of potential name - Dance Macabre was my favorite of those, and although it's not actually used in the story, it still is what I mentally refer to this character as, and what I will call her for the rest of this retrospective. Dance Macabre's power is as such: a person who does not possess a singular body but is a hivemind of maggots, breeding themself inside corpses and controlling human ones, with the precision and dexterity of the control increasing alongside the amount of maggots inside the corpse, able to regenerate the hivemind fully from one single worm. To balance the power, it was determined that the total mass of maggot would be limited to that of the mass of one human body, and the nature of the power implied a case-53. Indeed, that was the supposed backstory of Dance Macabre: a case-53 finding Andrea's body after she was killed in a hit-and-run, and attempting to take her life for herself. Unfortunately I couldn't find a way to fit Dance's Macabre origins and motives within Valerie's limited perspective, which I do strongly regret. That said, although Dance Macabre's power was technically what I came up with first, the true seed of Welcome to the Glass Castle, and the source of its themes and general aesthetics, was Valerie's glass powers.
I do not have a specific trigger event for Valerie, but I did base her power on a very specific mindset and emotional state. Valerie's power is one of loneliness, of isolation — not the loneliness of being physically alone, but the loneliness of being with other people while being cut off from them. An example that comes to mind would be that of a closeted queer woman at a family dinner, listening as everyone around her complains about or ridicules people like her, unaware that she is one of those people, both protected and alienated by her anonymity, her invisibility, the very thing setting her apart equally invisible. She can speak up/come out, which gives her the tools to openly defend herself, but also would be seen by other as an escalation, as causing drama and hurting those around her, and opens her to direct, targeted attacks. Valerie's power is this made physical: the glass represents a twofold protection, both in term of physical bareer and in that it has a stranger element making her invisible while behind intact panels, but at the same time, the glass physically isolates her from others, and to attack she has to break the glass, which removes the protection and presents the risk of hurting herself on the glass shards she uses to attack. This is where this story comes from: this power, and the passing idea of the Welcome to the Glass Castle title, which I liked enough to decide to write a story for it.
I decided to use the Dance Macabre power in conjunction with the glass castle power because I liked the idea of the contrasting aesthetics of glass and decay, the contrast of a clear pane of glass and the rotting, maggot-filled corpse hitting at it. Although Dance Macabre did end up shaping the plot of the story and its horror elements — a loved one dying and being replaced by its puppetted corpse, the slow realization that something is wrong —, the actual 'maggots' aspect power was a lot more present in the original storyline, which notably included Valerie making a first failed attempt on Dance Macabre's life, and Dance Macabre retaliating by essentially sending a dozen of zombies at her.
Welcome to the Glass Castle was, in my original plans, a lot more ambitious, but ended up... shrinking, for lack of a better term. I initially meant for this to have a nonlinear narrative, starting in medias res (with the aforementioned scene of zombies!Dance Macabre trying to break through Valerie's glass fortifications) and ending on what would chronologically be the first scene (Andrea's death, in her own point of view). However, I ended up doubting my ability to pull nonlinear narrative (from experience, the microchapter styles makes it easy for things to be missed by readers, even when explicitly and linearly stated), and went back to something chronological, which led to a streamlining of the plot (mostly, the zombies being dropped).
I don't think the "shrinking" of Welcome to the Glass Castle was a bad thing (except for the loss of on-screen motives for Dance Macabre). From experience, longer, plot-heavy stories are harder for me to pull-off, and the tighter focus on Valerie's internality allowed me to take space for imagery, which was a lot of fun. I loved the original idea, but I'm not at a level where I could have done it justice, and that's fine. I love what I did write. I hope you liked it to.
Either way, don't hesitate to tell me what you think.
I came up with the basis of the power a few years ago, before I even heard of Worm, and later retooled it so that it would function within the world of Parahumans, and left it in a google doc to use if the need or opportunity arose, along with a handful of potential name - Dance Macabre was my favorite of those, and although it's not actually used in the story, it still is what I mentally refer to this character as, and what I will call her for the rest of this retrospective. Dance Macabre's power is as such: a person who does not possess a singular body but is a hivemind of maggots, breeding themself inside corpses and controlling human ones, with the precision and dexterity of the control increasing alongside the amount of maggots inside the corpse, able to regenerate the hivemind fully from one single worm. To balance the power, it was determined that the total mass of maggot would be limited to that of the mass of one human body, and the nature of the power implied a case-53. Indeed, that was the supposed backstory of Dance Macabre: a case-53 finding Andrea's body after she was killed in a hit-and-run, and attempting to take her life for herself. Unfortunately I couldn't find a way to fit Dance's Macabre origins and motives within Valerie's limited perspective, which I do strongly regret. That said, although Dance Macabre's power was technically what I came up with first, the true seed of Welcome to the Glass Castle, and the source of its themes and general aesthetics, was Valerie's glass powers.
I do not have a specific trigger event for Valerie, but I did base her power on a very specific mindset and emotional state. Valerie's power is one of loneliness, of isolation — not the loneliness of being physically alone, but the loneliness of being with other people while being cut off from them. An example that comes to mind would be that of a closeted queer woman at a family dinner, listening as everyone around her complains about or ridicules people like her, unaware that she is one of those people, both protected and alienated by her anonymity, her invisibility, the very thing setting her apart equally invisible. She can speak up/come out, which gives her the tools to openly defend herself, but also would be seen by other as an escalation, as causing drama and hurting those around her, and opens her to direct, targeted attacks. Valerie's power is this made physical: the glass represents a twofold protection, both in term of physical bareer and in that it has a stranger element making her invisible while behind intact panels, but at the same time, the glass physically isolates her from others, and to attack she has to break the glass, which removes the protection and presents the risk of hurting herself on the glass shards she uses to attack. This is where this story comes from: this power, and the passing idea of the Welcome to the Glass Castle title, which I liked enough to decide to write a story for it.
I decided to use the Dance Macabre power in conjunction with the glass castle power because I liked the idea of the contrasting aesthetics of glass and decay, the contrast of a clear pane of glass and the rotting, maggot-filled corpse hitting at it. Although Dance Macabre did end up shaping the plot of the story and its horror elements — a loved one dying and being replaced by its puppetted corpse, the slow realization that something is wrong —, the actual 'maggots' aspect power was a lot more present in the original storyline, which notably included Valerie making a first failed attempt on Dance Macabre's life, and Dance Macabre retaliating by essentially sending a dozen of zombies at her.
Welcome to the Glass Castle was, in my original plans, a lot more ambitious, but ended up... shrinking, for lack of a better term. I initially meant for this to have a nonlinear narrative, starting in medias res (with the aforementioned scene of zombies!Dance Macabre trying to break through Valerie's glass fortifications) and ending on what would chronologically be the first scene (Andrea's death, in her own point of view). However, I ended up doubting my ability to pull nonlinear narrative (from experience, the microchapter styles makes it easy for things to be missed by readers, even when explicitly and linearly stated), and went back to something chronological, which led to a streamlining of the plot (mostly, the zombies being dropped).
I don't think the "shrinking" of Welcome to the Glass Castle was a bad thing (except for the loss of on-screen motives for Dance Macabre). From experience, longer, plot-heavy stories are harder for me to pull-off, and the tighter focus on Valerie's internality allowed me to take space for imagery, which was a lot of fun. I loved the original idea, but I'm not at a level where I could have done it justice, and that's fine. I love what I did write. I hope you liked it to.
Either way, don't hesitate to tell me what you think.