Once the termite-ridden cupboard was painstakingly moved across the gritty floors and into the demolished bathroom that resembled the back of a cockroach; grubby, unwanted and never ending. The faux mahogany cupboard seemed out of place in the tainted grey bathroom, that once would have been gleamingly clean, with white tiles that seemed to expand the room, with a polished basin and bathtub that invited their guest to wash and bathe in their welcome arms. However, the years of grime had become a second skin to the room, coating every surface with a dark slime that seemed to have a life of its own as it seemed to reproduce and grow more by the day. The grout in between the tiles could be seen wearing away, taking away the glue that held the walls and the floor together. Matilda was careful with her steps, not wanting to fall through the roof in a humiliating plummet to the lower level of the house. The shower curtain was worn to the point to where it looked like a rabid beast had tried to claw its way around the bathroom. In the corner of the shower curtain, was a cut out, in the shape of a dress stencil. Fringing this cut out were specs of familiar blood. Under the curtain was a strangely clean floor, next to the strangely clean edge of the wall. As Matilda spotted the dark brown stain upon the cloth, she shakily reached a hand to the back of her head, feeling the permanent indent in her skull. Her previously proud smile at her accomplishment, fell as the memory flashed before her eyes, fear and pain clouding her eyes with a foggy film that blurred her surrounding world.
The sound of three sets of footsteps passing the bathroom cause Matilda to shake her head to rid herself of the destructive thoughts. Opening the creaking cupboard, she grabbed two blankets from within, which happened to be the only decent blankets she owned. There was a hole in the corner of one, however, overall, they served their purpose to keep one warm at night. She waited until she heard Count Olaf's footsteps retreat from the bedroom to the supply closet. She peered out of the doorway of the bathroom and made her way to the harrowing door at the end of the hallway. As she reached the fallow wood, she rearranged the mass of material in her arms to free one hand into a fist as she hovered it over the fading paint. She inhaled, with a foreign sort of might and bravery, as she set her eyes and placed a smile on her face; with a new sense of hope she rasped on the door and twisted the iron handle that burnt cold.
Sat in the room, were the Baudelaire's, on the small mattress that seemed to collapse under their weight. There was an ominous light to the room as a dangerously high window at the end of the room was forever open, the gloomy light seeping into the bones of the bedroom; that served a better purpose as an attic then a living space. The walls and the roof were one, gaps between the planks blowing cold gusts of air into the small space, crowding it with its cool existence that enticed a shiver out of Matilda's spine. She was almost taken aback once she spotted the children, their neat clothes contrasting the room in a way that would resemble a brand-new doll lying on a heap of rubbish. It seemed as the misery had already started to stain their clothes, as their dull eyes and downcast faces echoed the atmosphere of the room.
The children sat staring at the mysterious girl in front of them as she walks towards them with an uneasy purpose that peeked the Baudelaires curiosity once again. Though the girl had a smile on her face, it did not reach her eyes that exposed her years of torment and pain. The material that clung to her body surprised the children once again as a pathetic excuse for clothing that was sewn with filth; imbedded into its very stiches. As she cautiously creeped her way over, the unstable floor released a quiet groan at the weight. She stood in front of the children and presented the material in her hands; the Baudelaire's realised that they were blankets and accepted the gift, noticing the poor quality of the textile as, while Klaus collected the fabric, a hand slipped through a hole. Nonetheless, the children smiled back gratefully, as it was the first kind gesture they had received since the fateful fire. A genuine smile graced the girls face briefly as they displayed their thanks.
"Thankyou," Violet spoke with an immense amount of appreciation that stunned Matilda into silence, her eyes expelled purity within their deep blue contents. Looking across to Klaus, a similar gleam could be seen his eyes, even Sunny seemed to understand the considerate action of the broken girl in front of them. Matilda could only nod in reply. As she went to stand straight the edge of her shirt slid down, revealing a contusion in the shape a hand across her collar bone. Though she tried to cover it up immediately, she did notice the Baudelaire's shocked faces that were gradually morphing into worry. Her eyes widened in fear, and she scurried to try escape from the unknown concept of care.
"Wait!" cried Klaus as Matilda had grasped onto the door handle, making her freeze. "What's your name?" he asked quietly and carefully. Without turning around, she replied,
"Matilda."
"What are you doing girl!" a voice screeched from the doorway followed by the cluttering of buckets, Count Olaf stood with rage painted across his intolerant and murky skin, in an action that was a frequent contraction. The wrinkled skin bunching together, alike the rolls of fabric that lay downstairs; cylindrical and imperative to construction, whether it be clothes or an ensuing war path. Matilda promptly ducked her head down and fled while she could.
A/N Hiya, So sorry for the long wait! School has been really busy! I'll try to update more frequently :) . Thanks Lovelies!
YOU ARE READING
MATILDA (A Series of Unfortunate Events)
FanfictionA Series of Unfortunate Events Fanfiction When the Baudelaires entered Count Olaf's house, it contained so much more than just misery and fear. It held: MATILDA. ---- --- This is based off the Netflix television series and will contain spoilers.
