Violet Hope Magnus

My Story

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[personal profile] violethope
While Violet Hope Magnus is my own creation, I have absolutely no rights to Sanctuary and/or it's characters and world. This is purely for entertainment purposes.

**This journal may contain mention of certain triggery subjects, violence, and adult concepts.**

EDIT: I simply wish to note that there will be a couple new additions to this journal. As I have been remiss in posting new entries but kept writing pieces that did not quite fit nicely into the story, I decided to include them as well. These will appear in two forms. Thoughts (Violet's inner thoughts from a first-person perspective) and snapshots (short third-person scenes from Violet's life). Because neither will actually fit chronologically or stylistically into the main story, they will be friends locked. If you are interested, please simply drop me a comment here and I'll add you.


My name is Violet....
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[personal profile] violethope
I began this journal in an attempt to free myself of the demons that seem to constantly haunt me. Some days, it works. Most days, it leaves me more confused than when I started, and I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, praying daylight comes before they manage to swallow me whole. I guess we all have our own demons to battle, and I'm luckier than most. You see, I have a hero, someone who has saved me from myself on more than one occasion. I owe her more than I'll ever be able to repay. She taught me that even when it's miserable, living is the better option. She's the reason I keep fighting. My name is Violet, and this is my story.

Entry 4: Saving Me
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Helen brought flowers to my room today. She brought flowers, and she hugged me and told me I was beautiful. I don’t know how or when this became our routine on mornings after mostly sleepless nights, but years later, the feeling is no less overwhelming than it was the first time she hugged me, the first time she told me I was beautiful, the first time she held me while I cried. Some days I wonder what would have happened if I had not met her that night, if she had not been watching me. I doubt I would even be here without her intervention. I certainly didn’t want to be.

***The Sanctuary. That’s what Helen calls it. She says I’ll be safe here, that I don’t have to be afraid anymore. No more living on the streets. No more selling my body to any man who will pay for it. Sanctuary. It’s such a beautiful word. The way it flows, rolling effortlessly off your tongue, whispering, promising. It’s also a lie. It’s unattainable. I’ve never been safe.

“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, gentle smile lighting her eyes.

I shake my head mutely. The tears stopped hours ago, but my voice has yet to make an appearance since our brief introduction earlier in the night. Or rather last night. Soft light is beginning to pool under the curtains Helen had drawn when we entered the bedroom.

Reaching forward, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m going to make us some tea. I won’t be long.”

I watch silently as she slips back into the hallway, hearing her whisper to someone as the door shuts with a soft click. Who is she? Why is she helping me? Why does she care?

No one has ever cared before. Why now? Why her? I don’t know why I’m here. The tears break free again, sliding warmly down my cheeks, blurring my vision. I don’t want to be here.

Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I move into the small bathroom, opening drawers. My fingers finally close around my prize, tracing its contours lightly. There are probably more efficient, less messy ways to do this, but my options are limited at the moment. If I’m lucky, she’ll be a while.

I quietly shut the door behind me, twisting the lock before sinking unsteadily onto the closed toilet seat, clutching the blade in my hand tightly enough it cuts a deep line across my palm.

I can smell the tang of my blood as it drips from my closed fist, falling to the floor, the deep red in stark relief on the almost brilliantly white tile. A salty droplet follows soon after, splashing, mixing.

I slowly uncurl my hand, staring at the offensive piece of metal, glinting in the harsh light. Expelling a shuddery breath, I use my free hand to trace the ever visible scars marring my wrist. This time would be my real release. This time it wouldn’t be temporary. This would be my escape.

Picking up the blade, I carefully align it on an unblemished section of skin, applying slight pressure, barely enough to draw blood. I watch the thin red line trickle over my wrist, down my arm. I gently push the blade deeper, feeling the warm liquid flow under my fingertips, staining them. Pulling back, I reposition the razor, not bothering to move slowly, the metal digging deliciously into my skin. Three lines, five, seven. Switching wrists, I repeat the process, methodic.

Sticky red blood coats my hands, streaks my mostly bare legs, smears on the floor. I’m beginning to feel lightheaded, the floating sensation that used to serve my purposes fast approaching. I blink, trying to clear my vision. Two more cuts. Then it will all be over.

As the blade slices into my wrist again, I vaguely register noise at the door. Distant, muffled. I pull the razor away, and it slips from my blood-slick fingers. I watch with detached fascination as the blood oozes steadily from the mess I’ve made of my wrist. Everything goes blurry as my world shifts.

I feel suddenly warm, and realize I’m no longer alone. Unfamiliar fingers press an eerily white towel to my arm, turning it dark red. I can hear a voice, close to my ear, but I can’t make out the words. Nothing makes sense anymore. How did I get to the floor?

An arm snakes around my waist, pulling me backward against a warm body. Impossibly warm. As if reading my mind, the arm, I’ve finally realized it must belong to Helen, pulls me closer. I relax into her warmth as darkness claims me.***

I still don’t know why she saved me, why she thought I was worth saving. Sometimes I wonder what it is she saw in me, still sees in me. I do know I love her. She cared when everyone else had given up on me. That’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.

Entry 3: Light My Way
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The darkness is consuming. Helen turned on the light before she left, but it does little to ease my fear. I know all too well what lurks in the shadows, waiting to catch me with my guard down. It doesn’t matter how safe I am within these walls. It doesn’t matter that she would give her own life to save mine. If I give in to the security for too long, allow myself to be vulnerable in the quiet moments without my protector, the darkness will win. I can’t let that happen. Not here. Not with her. I would rather die than hurt her.

I wish she would come back.

***My tears dry in sticky streaks as I walk. It’s gotten colder, the wind slicing through my thin clothes, making me shiver. I can’t stop shaking, can’t stop seeing the man’s cold, dead eyes. A hysterical sob breaks loose, and I duck into the next alley, pace quickening. The suffocating blackness makes it nearly impossible to see, and I make a startled sound of panic as I connect solidly with a warm body.

“Shh. It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The woman’s voice is soft with a slight British lilt, and she pulls me against her as I choke on a sob. “Shh. You’re safe.” She holds me for a moment, then slips her arm around my waist. “Come on. We mustn’t stay here.”

I can hear distant sirens as she guides me down the street, into a building. “You must be freezing,” she murmurs, eyes sympathetic, as she rubs my arms.

Leading me down a hall, she sits me on a bed. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment,” she says softly. I watch her slip out of the room, hearing the rush of wind as she steps back into the night.

Alone and scared, not knowing who the mysterious woman is or what she wants, I stand, heading for the door. I’ve barely taken three steps before my fear stops me. Moving to a corner, I slide to the floor, hugging my knees tightly to my chest.

It’s impossible to determine how long I’ve been sitting there when I hear the door again, hugging myself tighter. A moment later, the woman appears in the doorway, expression softening with concern. “Come now. There’s no need to hide,” she admonishes gently, offering her hand, “I’m Helen.”

“Violet,” I return, hesitantly grasping her hand.

She smiles, “I know.”

“Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

“You’re a very special girl, Violet. You never meant for that man to die,” her eyes carefully roam my body, taking in my less than neat appearance, “despite what he intended to do to you.”

Shaking my head, I blurt, “That wasn’t my fault.”

“No, of course not,” she soothes. She’s wearing a long, black leather coat, and she slips it off, wrapping it around my shoulders. “Let me take you somewhere safe.”

Without fully comprehending why I trust her, I nod, sliding my hand into hers. “It’s okay, Violet.” The soft reassurance brings a fresh wave of tears as she holds me close to her side, gently shushing me.***

The first rays of sunlight are finally beginning to disperse the shadows, and I feel like I can breathe again. Will this ever end? Does this feeling ever go away? I can feel the darkness sliding back within me, settling, no longer fighting for release. I could never do this without her. I can’t escape this demon. How could I? My own worst enemy is myself.

Entry 2: In the Dark
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I hate nights like this. Nights when I wake up, heart racing, blood pounding in my head, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps, fighting frantically to free myself from my tangled, sweat-soaked sheets. I struggle to breathe as the images of my nightmare reassert themselves, assaulting me, dredging up feelings I would rather forget. Sometimes I long for those days of innocence before everything fell apart, when my nightmares weren’t real. When was the last time I managed to shake off a nightmare with a glass of warm milk and some positive thinking? I can’t even remember. It must have been before. Before my memories became my nightmares.

***He leads me up the stairs in the quiet apartment building, and I follow uncertainly. I’m used to doing business in the client’s car or a room in one of the ratty hotels populated by less than upstanding citizens, not personal apartments. I swallow anxiously, forcing a smile as he holds the door open and I slip past him, into the upscale apartment. Taking my hand, he tugs me down the hall, into the bedroom. He pushes me onto the bed with quiet instructions to stay, then quickly drops his pants and boxers, depositing them in the corner of the room.

We had discussed his preferences and payment on the way, but I still was not sure quite what to expect. He was different than my usual clientele, leaving me out of my depth. I was beginning to regret taking Crystal’s suggestion.

Almost before I register his movement, he’s shoving me onto my back, hands slipping under my shirt, peeling it off with an animalistic growl. Growing frustrated when he fumbles with the clasp of my bra, he yanks hard. The metal hooks dig into my back, then the fabric gives way, and he hurls the offending garment at the wall, crawling further up my body. His impressive erection nudges between my legs, and I gasp involuntarily.

Smirking, he hooks his thumbs around the band of my thong, sliding it down my legs, tongue running down my body until he reaches the top of my skirt. He finds my gaze, the glint in his eyes terrifying.

“Um, I think.”

“I’m paying. That means I own you. Stop talking.”

Cold fear settles low in my stomach as he releases the catch on my skirt, sliding it down. His fingers push inside me roughly, making me jump, and he smirks again. He curls his fingers, rubbing, drawing a moan from me because I don’t want this, but God, it feels good. As his fingers start to slide slowly in and out, I reach for his hand.

“Enough. I don’t want to do this.”

His hand connects solidly with my cheek, the slap stinging. I squirm under his weight, struggling to sit up, and he flattens himself on top of me, breathing heavily, eyes black.

“I said enough.”

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough!”

With a pained gasp, he rolls off of me, clutching at the sheets. I can only watch in horrified astonishment while he fights for air, face turning a murky purple, then shifting into a pale blue. When he stills, staring blankly up at the ceiling, I slip off the bed.

My eyes blur as the tears I’ve so carefully been holding back escape, and I grab my skirt, furiously tugging it into place, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. Finding my shirt, I shakily yank it over my head, then snatch my panties and bra, wadding them in my hands as I hastily flee the apartment, trying desperately not to recall those wide, unseeing eyes.***

Forgetting my nightmares would be worlds easier if they weren’t my past, but I can’t escape history. My memories will always haunt me, creeping up on me in my weakest moments, eating me from the inside out.

I can hear her knocking, but there’s no need to answer. She’ll be worried. I already know how the rest of this night will play out. This will hardly be the first time Helen’s soothed me after one of my more vivid nightmares. I can never escape my past, but I don’t have to face it alone anymore.

Entry 1: Life's Dance
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My name is Violet Hope Magnus. Violet. The ‘Magnus’ is adoptive rather than biological, and the ‘Hope’ was added later, more of a prayer than a belief, when the orphanage realized I would never be like all the other kids. Hell, Violet isn’t even my real name. It’s a street name, coined because of my strikingly violet eyes that burn in sharp contrast to my fiery curls that fall just past my shoulder blades in wild disarray. Really, I guess, I’m a somewhat ridiculous amalgamation of pieces that don’t quite fit together, artificial. A ghost, if you will. Before, this may have bothered me, but I’ve come to realize the ignorance of others shouldn’t be allowed to feed my self-hatred. Life is still murky as hell, but some aspects of living are clearer to me now. Much clearer than they were.

***It’s a dark night, cold. I wrap my arms tightly around my stomach, trying futilely to ward off the chill that’s quickly seeping through my skin-tight, see-through top. My jean skirt barely covers my ass, and I pointlessly tug at it, hoping for more coverage. My legs are freezing. The rain-slicked pavement glistens in the warm glow of the street lights, and I get lost for a small eternity, watching it glimmer. The sharp click of heels snaps me back to reality seconds before Crystal, a lanky blonde in clothes skimpier than mine, is at my shoulder. “Sweetie, you’re not gonna make no money standin’ ‘round here.”

“I know,” I murmur, restlessly. “I’m freezing. Is there any way I can slip off tonight?” My tone is hopeful, but I know better than to think leaving is an option.

“Sorry, darlin’. You know Slick upped the quota. No one here can afford to cover for ya.” Something shifts in her eyes, and she sighs. “Look, why don’t you head that way,” she lazily indicates the building to her left, “and pick up some upper class clients. They’re always the wild ones,” she adds with a soft clucking sound. “Might be demeaning, but give ‘em what they want for an additional fee, and you can earn the money twice as fast.” I catch the flicker of a smile before it disappears into her hardened features.

“Thanks,” I whisper, almost inaudibly, watching her cherry red heels as she moves down the street and vanishes around a corner.

I teeter nervously on my black stilettos. I’ve always looked old for my age. I’m tall, just under six feet, standing flat. In these heels, I’m closer to 6’3”. Combine my unusual height with haunted, street-etched features, glossed over with light makeup, and I look a good five years older than I really am. Still, is a fourteen-year-old girl really capable of fooling a bunch of rich, middle-aged men? Guess there’s only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, I start walking in the direction Crystal had pointed. Maybe I would get lucky and make my quota early.***

Life can be funny that way, can’t it? I guess none of it is really supposed to make sense, especially when you’re young, but hey, how can we learn to live if we never learn how to fail?