Legacy's Wake

Days passed in an oppressive haze. The pirates had no mercy, forcing Stitch to work tirelessly on their clothing, their torn and bloodied uniforms, and any other scraps they could find. She sat hunched over, needle in hand, stitching with trembling hands. The pain in her left eye never ceased—there was a constant burning, throbbing ache that clouded her senses. Every time she tried to sew, her vision would blur, making it hard to focus on her work. The bloodstains on her face never quite washed away, no matter how much she tried to wipe it. Her left eye remained lifeless, unable to see, as her world had become smaller, darker.

The pirates would often taunt her as she worked, laughing as they gathered around, their eyes full of malice. They never cared about her discomfort, her exhaustion, or the fear that had settled deep in her heart. They only cared about what she could do for them. But no matter how much they pushed her, she clung to the hope that someone—someone who cared about her—would come.

And then, one day, she heard a sound that made her heart leap. It was faint at first—just a noise, like the distant crack of wood breaking—but it grew louder. The air shifted, a strange energy pulsing through it. Stitch's fingers stilled on the fabric, her breath catching in her throat.

The pirates noticed the change in the air too. They stopped their jeering and looked around, confused.

"What was that?" one pirate muttered, drawing a knife.

But before anyone could react, the door to their hideout burst open with a deafening crash. Hollow stepped through, his figure dark and imposing, his eyes cold with rage. His usual calm was replaced by something far more dangerous. And in his arms—clutched close to him—was Mendy.

Stitch's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the doll, and for a moment, it was like everything else in the world stopped. Hollow's presence alone had already sent a wave of terror through the pirates. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

"Leave her alone," Hollow's voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous.

The pirates sneered, thinking they could take him on. But as soon as they tried to make a move, Mendy's eyes glowed, his form twisting and growing larger, darker. He was more than just a doll now—he was a powerful entity. The pirates' faces twisted in fear, realizing their mistake too late.

"M-Mendy… Mendy, don't—!" one of the pirates shouted, but his voice was drowned out by Mendy's horrifying wail.

With a terrifying screech, Mendy lashed out. His form expanded, dark tendrils reaching out and pulling the pirates into the air. Their screams filled the room as they were dragged towards Mendy's gaping mouth, vanishing into his phantom form one by one.

"NO!" The pirate captain shouted as he backed into the corner, eyes wide with fear. But Mendy's power was unstoppable. One by one, the pirates were torn apart, their bodies slashed and shredded, helpless against Mendy's wrath.

Stitch could only watch in shock, her chest tight with fear and amazement. She was frozen, unsure whether to feel relief or terror at the sight of Hollow standing there, unmoving, as his ghostly companion slaughtered the pirates who had tormented her.

When the last pirate had been taken care of, the room fell eerily silent. Hollow turned his gaze to Stitch, his expression softening slightly as he approached her.

"Stitch…" he whispered softly, his voice gentler than before. He set Mendy down, allowing the doll's ghostly form to recede, shrinking back into its inanimate state.

Stitch's heart fluttered with a mix of emotions, her mind still spinning from the chaos. But she couldn't ignore the intense, piercing gaze of Hollow as he walked toward her.

Hollow's eyes softened as he noticed the blood and grime staining her face, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. He moved closer, carefully kneeling in front of her, his fingers gently lifting her chin.

"Stitch…" He looked at her with a steady, concerned gaze. "What happened to your eye?"

Stitch flinched at the question, her hands instinctively reaching up to touch the bruised and swollen flesh of her left eye, the one that no longer responded to light. Her breath caught, and she instinctively pulled her hand away, as though trying to hide it.

"I—I'm fine…" she muttered, her voice trembling slightly. "It's nothing. Just... Just a little injury."

But Hollow was not convinced. His gaze deepened, studying her eye more closely. His hand gently brushed the side of her face, and for the first time, he saw the extent of the injury—the deep cut along her eyelid, the scar that stretched across the delicate skin, the ragged wound that refused to heal.

"This isn't just 'nothing,' Stitch." His voice was soft but firm, his eyes filled with concern. "This looks... bad."

Stitch's eyes welled with tears as she looked away from him, embarrassed by her vulnerability. "I didn't want to worry you... I just wanted to keep sewing, to keep helping..." Her voice trailed off, and she wiped at her eyes, trying to keep herself together.

Hollow sighed, his hand resting gently on her cheek, trying to comfort her. "Stitch, you don't need to do this alone anymore. You don't have to hide from me." His eyes softened even more. "You're family to me, and I'm here. I'll help you with this."

She didn't respond immediately. Her mind was too clouded with the weight of everything she had endured, the painful memories of her torment at the hands of the pirates. But Hollow's touch grounded her, his unwavering support like a lifeline that she couldn't ignore.

With a deep breath, she finally looked him in the eye, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hollow… can you... can you fix it? Please?"

Hollow studied her face for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. "I can. I'll fix it."

He reached into his coat, pulling out a small vial of glowing liquid, its faint warmth radiating even in the cold room. "This will numb the pain," he explained gently. "I'll clean the wound and stitch it up. You'll be okay."

Stitch hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her trust in him overwhelming any lingering fear. "Okay," she whispered. "Thank you."

Hollow smiled, the softness of his expression reassuring her. "You're stronger than you know, Stitch," he said, his tone gentle. "But you don't have to do this alone anymore. I'm here to help, and I always will be."

As he carefully applied the numbing solution, Stitch closed her eyes, a sigh escaping her lips. She could feel the warmth of Hollow's care surrounding her, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things would be okay again.

Ever since that day, Stitch had made the decision to hide her stitched eye, keeping it concealed beneath the long strands of her hair. The scar, a reminder of the pirates' cruelty, had become a part of her identity—one she wasn't ready to show to the world. It wasn't just a physical wound; it was a deep emotional scar that she had carried with her, heavy in the moments when she tried to forget it.

The mirror in front of her reflected a face that was familiar yet distant. She stood there, fingers trembling as she gently pushed her hair aside to reveal the stitched scar beneath her left eye. The mirror offered no judgment, only silence, and it allowed her to see what she had become: a woman who had grown from the frightened child she once was into something else entirely.

Her reflection showed no traces of the girl who used to laugh and smile, the girl who had once trusted easily. The eyes that stared back at her now were cold, hardened by years of pain, betrayal, and loss. She no longer allowed herself the vulnerability she once had, and as she stared into the mirror, memories began to flood back.

She remembered the children from Cascade Cradle—their cruel words, their mocking laughter. They had made fun of her eye, calling her a freak, a monster, and worse. The laughter echoed in her ears, and even now, she could still feel the weight of their cruelty pressing down on her. The teasing, the insults—she could never forget how they made her feel, like she was less than human, like she wasn't worthy of kindness or care.

"Look at that ugly thing on her face."

"She's just a freak, isn't she?"

"Disgusting."

The words hurt more than she cared to admit. Every time they called her names or laughed at her appearance, it had chipped away at the last bits of confidence she had. The child she had been had died in those moments, leaving behind only the shell of a woman who refused to show emotion. The pain from that day, the pirates, the mockery, and her lost innocence, had all merged into a single, unrelenting truth: the world was cruel, and the only way to survive was to not feel.

As the years passed, she found herself becoming more distant, more guarded. The walls she had built around herself grew higher, thicker, and more impenetrable. She no longer sought validation from others. She didn't need it. And the love she once held for people, the trust she had placed in them, had turned into something far more cynical.

The sound of footsteps from behind her broke her thoughts, and she turned to see Hollow entering the room, his eyes scanning her silently.

He had seen the change in her too. He had watched as she had become more distant, more closed off. And while he respected her decision to keep her emotions in check, he couldn't help but wonder where the girl he had taken in had gone.

But there was something else now. He had brought in another girl—a young woman named Celeste. Hollow had explained that Celeste had nowhere else to go, and she had reminded him of Stitch when he had first found her—lost, fragile, and in need of protection. But Stitch was no longer the same girl she had been all those months ago. She had become colder, harder, and more detached from everything around her.

Celeste had arrived, bright-eyed and nervous, her presence a stark contrast to Stitch's now-calculated and emotionless demeanor. She was young and full of hope, and the look in her eyes held the kind of trust Stitch had once possessed. It was the kind of trust that Stitch found so hard to offer anymore.

Celeste was everything Stitch had once been—a dreamer, someone who believed in kindness and compassion. But Stitch had seen too much of the world's cruelty to let herself believe in those things anymore. Watching Celeste with Hollow made Stitch feel a pang of something—maybe jealousy, maybe regret—but she quickly suppressed it. She had learned that feelings like that only made you vulnerable.

"Stitch," Hollow said softly, breaking the silence that had settled between them. "How are you feeling?"

Stitch didn't look at him. She couldn't. The distance between them had grown too wide. "Fine," she replied flatly, her voice devoid of any emotion. She had long since stopped pretending that she was okay. She wasn't. But Hollow didn't need to know that.

"You know," Hollow continued, his tone quieter now, "Celeste looks up to you. She's... she's a bit scared of you, though. She sees what you've been through, but she doesn't understand the way you carry it."

Stitch's hand tightened around the fabric of her sleeve, her thoughts a blur. Celeste's eyes. She saw herself in those eyes. So full of life, full of trust. She envied it. And she hated it.

"I'm not the person she thinks I am," Stitch said, her voice cold and distant. "She doesn't need to know who I really am."

Hollow studied her carefully, his eyes narrowing as he took in the emotionless mask she wore. "I know," he said softly, his voice filled with a kind of understanding she wasn't sure she wanted. "But you know, Stitch... sometimes, it's okay to let someone else in. You don't have to carry everything alone."

Stitch felt the familiar ache in her chest—the pain she had buried for so long. She swallowed it down, forcing the emotion back. "I don't need anyone else," she said, her voice steady but with an edge of finality. "Not anymore."

There was a long silence before Hollow spoke again, his voice tinged with sadness. "I don't want to see you turn into someone who can't feel anything anymore, Stitch. You've been through so much, but I don't want you to lose yourself in the process."

Stitch's hand brushed against the scar on her eye, her fingers tracing the edge of the stitched wound. She didn't respond. Hollow's words lingered in the air between them, but she couldn't bring herself to believe them. She had already lost too much to trust that it was worth it.

Later that night, as Stitch sat alone in her room, her thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions, she couldn't help but watch Celeste from the doorway. The girl had been working in the garden, her laughter ringing out as she spoke with Hollow. And it reminded Stitch of the girl she used to be—the girl who had once dreamed of a better world, who had believed in the goodness of others.

But that girl was gone now. In her place was someone hardened by loss and cruelty. Someone who didn't believe in kindness anymore.

Stitch clenched her fists, turning away from the door. She had to keep going. She had to stay strong, no matter what. Because if she didn't, she knew she would fall apart. And she couldn't afford that.

Not anymore.

Later that night, as Stitch sat alone in her room, her thoughts a storm of conflicting emotions, she couldn't help but watch Celeste from the doorway. The girl had been working in the garden, her laughter ringing out as she spoke with Hollow. And it reminded Stitch of the girl she used to be—the girl who had once dreamed of a better world, who had believed in the goodness of others.

But that girl was gone now. In her place was someone hardened by loss and cruelty. Someone who didn't believe in kindness anymore.

Stitch clenched her fists, turning away from the door. She had to keep going. She had to stay strong, no matter what. Because if she didn't, she knew she would fall apart. And she couldn't afford that.

Not anymore.

As she walked back to the mirror, she saw herself, but not as she was. Her eyes—hollow, emotionless, the cold reflection of the person she had become—stared back at her. Her fingers once again brushed over the scar, tracing the stitched wound that now defined her, but in the dim light of the room, something else caught her attention.

Behind her, faint at first, a dark shape began to materialize. A chill ran down her spine as she turned slowly to look.

Mendy, the doll, was there.

But it wasn't the Mendy she remembered. The once comforting figure was now twisted—its face contorted in a sinister grin, eyes wide and empty, void of any warmth. It was no longer just a doll; it felt like something more, something ancient and malignant, a specter that had taken on a life of its own. Its presence was suffocating, the air growing colder with each passing second.

Mendy stood just behind Stitch, staring at her in the mirror, its form flickering like a fading shadow, but its gaze was steady—penetrating, unsettling. Its hands twitched unnaturally, as if beckoning Stitch to acknowledge it.

The reflection in the mirror remained unblinking, its dead eyes locked onto Stitch's own, staring through her. And in that moment, Stitch realized with a sickening feeling that the emotionless eyes staring back at her were no longer entirely her own. They were Mendy's too.

She felt the weight of something cold and dark pressing in on her chest, her breath shallow as her reflection distorted, as if the world was shifting, warping around her.

Stitch's lips barely moved, her voice devoid of any emotion as she stared into the mirror, her gaze unwavering. With a chilling calmness, she asked the doll in a flat tone, "What exactly are you...?" The words slipped from her mouth with no hint of fear, just a hollow curiosity as if she had long since abandoned any hope of understanding or care.

But Mendy didn't answer. It never did.

Stitch stood frozen, her body numb, her mind struggling to reconcile the person she had become and the ghostly presence that now stood behind her. There was no escape from this shadow, no escape from the emotions she had buried so deep, because the thing she had kept hidden all this time—her pain, her fear, her darkness—had manifested.

And it was staring at her in the mirror, waiting for her to finally face it.

Her eyes, now as cold and empty as the doll's, stared back.

The mirror reflected nothing but silence.

To be continued...