Sort of a companion fic to 'Stigmata'. I liked the concept of insane!Rose (Because I'm an evil person and all), so I set out to write a drabble about her, which turned out to be longer than a drabble, but not quite as long as I might have hoped it to be.
Once again, this is Rose gone certifiably crazy. It's wierd.
Dante wasn't very happy about what Rose had done to her pillows, but after the first time, she was indifferent enough about the decorations as well as the girl's mental health to pass it off and let it be. When it came to the point when she made a habit of tearing curtains down, and pulling her own expensive dresses apart, her Mistress decided to do something about it, and offered her bolts of cloth and stuffing to work with, trying to prevent further destruction to her beloved mansion. Rose accepted the gift with the same dumb smile she always wore, but in the end, all the proper sewing supplies were sitting prettily in the corner of her room, gathering dust while she continued her little escapades of yanking pins from corsets and arranging them in pairs.
The dolls, being of unconventional birth as they were, were shockingly ugly creations. Rose had been a talented seamstress at one point in her life, as she was raised that every girl should know how to sew well in order to become a good wife and mother, but the dolls she made by the score were exceedingly strange; each one a hybrid of some strange found items she came across in her wanderings of the sunless mansion. When she realized how lovely her own hair would be on one of them, she took habit to yanking at her scalp and pulling up clumps throughout the day which she would sew on the dolls' heads little by little. When Dante noticed this, she immediately slapped the girl's wrist, and offered her yarn, not really minding anymore that she took up the bizzare hobby, but not at all wishing for Rose to ruin her lovely locks. Rose complied with the use of string for covering the heads of the dolls, but she still occasionally picked loose strands from the bristles of her hairbrush for use in her projects.
She lined the dolls up; a fluffy little army of gargoyles, all smiling at her with their stitched mouths and buttony eyes. She loved them, each one of them; the creations of her own hands; children that she could protect with her own strength.
She gave them names. She named some of them after the children she had seen die, helpless to do anything but watch. She named them after the loved ones she had lost, hoping in a way to give them new life. She even named some after 'Them', the bad men who had hurt her. She had learned Their names when They talked to each other, disussing tactics, smoking cigarretes, laughing as They discarded her like a dirty rag. Over time, she had tried to force herself to forget those names; She couldn't stand remembering Their humanity, if anything about them, but now, the answer seemed so simple to her about how to make things better. She remembered Their names, and gave them to the dolls she loved so, making the evil men human again, making them helpless infants. She hoped that by raising them with love, that she could give them life anew; she could raise them not to hurt people anymore. She could finally forgive them.
She gave life and nourishment to her menagerie of undead sons and daughters; she fed them from her breast just as she would have done with her own child; nurturing their rebirth with invisible milk from her own body. She caressed and hummed and sang lullabys to them to quiet their cries, which she heard so clearly. Night and day, she devoted her every waking minute to being the good mommy she knew she was meant to be; she hardly slept, nor ate, nor did anything for herself in that time. It was reward enough just to quiet the wails of the innocent children with the power of her compassion.
The dolls were real to her. They all cried, and laughed and cooed, and made so much wonderful noise that it filled her ears, and the cries of her real baby were hopelessly drowned.