Chapter Two: The Lop-House

This chapter takes us closer to Delphi, the place she calls home, and the rabbit who is her sole companion.

Chapter Two: The Lop-House

Delphinia tried not to think oft of her birth parents…but all too often that was a difficult task for her. She’d never known her father- which she understood was a massive source of scorn in the social eye. Her mother was…well. Her mother was beautiful. Easily the most beautiful person Delphi had ever set her eyes upon. Her body was tall and curvaceous, with hair the color of dark plums, eyes that glowed with amber hues, and nary a blemish to be found on her entire form. She moved with utter grace, and never was a movement wasted or out of turn. She was otherworldly…and captivating. After all of this time- Delphi could not forget even a single detail of her mother’s visage. She was flawless.

She was also very, very cruel. Even to her own blood.
* * *

“Will I grow to look like you?” Delphi had asked her, not just once but on many occasions. Her mother did not often let her use her looking glass, such occasions were rare- but not unheard of. Today was one such day, a young Delphi of five summers trying to fumblingly tug a comb through her unruly locks.

“Time will tell, pup.” Her mother would gaze at her with something her daughter now knew was nothing short of constant disapproval. “Perhaps once we rid you of all of this…puppy fat, and you exhibit some talent for things other than crying and whimpering…if we could tame that hair…if you would walk straight…if you would put aside that horribly ragged stuffed rabbit and dedicate more time to manifesting any sort of ability at all…” Her mother tsked and shook her head. Such was the way of things. Her mother never particularly found anything worth praising in Delphi. Not even when her daughter tried her very hardest. To a cold woman like Belladonna, her child was a failure through and through. An experiment with undesirable results. Hideous to look at and worse still to tolerate being in the presence of. 

But still…Delphinia loved her mother. After all, she was the only person she knew, in these lonely woods. She clothed her, fed her, gave her shelter…and her approval was the one thing she craved over all else in her entire life. She knew her mother was not a good person- that she did bad things to the local people in the nearby village, the place she was told herself never to tread lest her mother lash the skin from her back. One night, Delphi had heard noises, and so she snuck from her cot to peer between the cracks of the door and she saw her mother with…a man. They were whispering, and touching, the man seemed to enjoy the touching…and then the man seemed to catch notice of the child’s eyes peering at him from down the hall- he shouted something about a monster, shouting and pointing. The shouting made Delphi’s ears hurt.

Her mother arose with such a fury, grabbed Delphi by one of her long furry ears, her other hand on the back of her tangled mop of auburn hair, and dragged her towards the storage closet under the stairs. 

“Mama! Mama, please! I’m sorry! I didn't mean it! I promise!” Truthfully she hadn’t known what she’d done, but it felt prudent to apologize first and ask for clarification on what crime she must have committed later. The woman’s face turned white with rage when Delphi cried those first words.

“You are no child of mine.” She hissed, shoving the girl roughly into the closet, where she landed on her rump and scrambled to regain footing. “No child of mine, you beast. You cannot behave in the room? Then you will stay here, and learn not to interrupt things you do not understand.”
“Mama, I don’t like it here…it’s dusty…the spiders…” Delphi began to cry, tears bubbling up and over.

“You may use this time to reflect. You and all the other useless things- the dust, the rats, the spiders. Do not make a peep, sit and reflect. And after your reflection, may you also cease to be such a useless, wretched thing.” She slammed the door, and Delphi’s heart sank as she heard the iron bolt slide into place.

“I love you, mama…” Delphi whimpered quietly, drawing her knees to her chest as she felt a rat brush against her bare foot.

“I love you, mama…” She repeated again, quiet as a mouse, as she heard the muffled moaning, groaning, and panting through the door. She hugged her ragged patchwork rabbit to her chest, who was less than ideally made due to her young hands, and whose head was always at risk of coming unstitched and detached.

“I love you, mama…” She said once more, a plea into the night air as she jumped slightly and bit her lip, listening to ungodly gurgling and choking, and the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

The door opened three days later, and Belladonna scowled at her little rat, who peered up at her with those wide eyes, tearstains long dried on her cheeks. She didn’t say anything as she opened the door. She had nothing to say for the child who had proved disappointing in every regard, who had been naught but a woeful leech upon her time and patience and freedom. All Delphi felt was that cold, familiar stare that had never held even an ounce of kindness.

“I’ll do better, mama.” She promised, her throat dry and thirsty caused her voice to crackle and break. And she had meant it. She had really, really meant it.

“Leave that ghastly thing there.” Her mother snapped when Delphi had slowly reached a hand back to grasp her now dirtied patchwork rabbit. She stopped, hung her head, and slowly made her way out of the closet. The cottage smelled of soap, and she could tell the boards had been freshly cleaned, but there was no sign of the man who had caused such a fuss at spotting her the night prior- and Delphi knew better than to ask questions about it.

* * *

As she approached the cottage, she smiled as she saw smoke billowing from the lopsided chimney. The smell of a rich stew greeted her nose, and it made her belly rumble in anticipation. 

“Come on, Miss Cynthia! Mother has made quite the feast, by the smell of it.” With the 

incentive of a hearty meal after a day of ‘work’, Delphi came inside of the cozy but worn cottage that had become known to the locals as ‘The Lop-House’ due to its rather odd construction on top of a small hill. The chimney leaned, so did some of the walls- the door got stuck on humid days, and the windows were rather drafty- but the building was quite old, and the garden was extensive. Truly the name of the establishment was ‘The Herb & Hillock’, but nobody ever called it that. 

At The Herb & Hillock, there lived a couple of trained herbalists- a Mr. Nielson Dubois and his wife, Mrs. Jeanette Dubois-Olton. They had lived there for quite some time, a half day’s walk from the town of Adva in the forested lands of Crocus. They liked it out here, away from the noise of towns and other people, where they had plenty of space to grow their herbs and dry them without people trodding on them. The tales of a witch also residing near them in the woods never bothered the old couple, for they had been taught that no foul magic was a match for true love, and Niel and Jeannie were very much in love. 

“Dels!” Niel shouted, the old man with his half-pricked ears coughed as the door was shouldered open, another humid day, another day of sticky doors. His hair may have once been a chestnut hue, but was now peppered with gray. “Where have you been? Your mother has been asking after you all afternoon! You know her memory ain’t what it used to be.”
“Still good enough to give you what-for!” She heard the older woman shout from the kitchen.  She hobbled in, leaning on her gnarled cane and waving a wooden spoon. Truth be told, Jeannette was not so elderly yet to be of the sort one would envision with snow white hair and a cane, nay, truth be told her hair was still mostly brunette, with strands like spider silk silver throughout. Her limp came from an accident some years ago, with an unruly horse and an unfortunate fall. Perhaps this is why her parents had always had donkeys, for as long as she could remember… “Did you remember the foxglove?” Jeannie piped in, interrupting Delphi’s rambling thoughts of donkeys and what would be the best way to persuade one to wear a knitted cap in the winter months.

“Oh- I- erm-” She stopped, looked to her side, and realized that her basket was nowhere to be found. “I must have left my basket…in the woods.” Her face flushed red, and her ears twitched with shame.

“Ay, girl!” Jeannie huffed, shaking her head. “Cannot make the heart medicine without it…you’ll have to be up early in the morn to fetch it then. And no detours this time, please! I know you’re curious, and it’s only natural for a woman of your age to be curious and havin’ that itch for wanderlust but-”
“So long as she ain’t itchin’ and lustin’ after boys…” Niel scoffed, setting his mortar and pestle aside.

“-But-” Jeannie continued, rolling her eyes at her husband. “There is still work to be done. Your focus has been lacking these days…are you alright? Are you ill?” She held a hand to Delphi’s freckled and spotted forehead, worry etched across her face.
“I’m fine, just fine.” Delphi flashed a dimpled smile, waving off the woman’s concern and going to sit by the fire and wipe the mud off of her bare feet, lest she track it into the kitchen. “And I don’t have that…wanderlust thing you’re talking about. Or a knack for boys, for that matter.” She gave Niel a sharp look. “It ain’t as though I’ve ever even met a stupid boy anyhow. As papa’s told me they pick their noses and are lacking in good manners.” She nods, and Mr. Dubois howled with laughter.

“That’s my girl!”

“Don’t encourage her to be vulgar, Nielson Herbert Dubois.” His wife scolded, sighing as she watched their child scrub her feet. Their girl was a menace when it came to losing her shoes…she imagined she was always removing the notions because of the slightly clawed nature of her nails. They were pink, like little seashells Jeannie had seen on the shore on she and Niel’s honeymoon in the lands of Niem so long ago, but thick, and tapered to a small point. When she was growing she’d worn so many holes in her shoes that the girl was stuck wearing sandals in the wintertime… 

“She is of that age where she will begin thinking of them and despite your best efforts she will be drawn to them, so stop putting such silly and vulgar notions in her head. She’s over two decades old, Niel. We were already courtin’ by the time I was that age.”
“Don’t worry about such things, mama.” Delphi rolled her eyes, picking the dirt from under her nails, Jeannie’s scolding look softened when she was regarded by that title, it made her heart warm just a bit every time. For a long time, it was something she thought she would never have the privilege of being called.
“And why ought I not be worried of such things, sweet one?”

“Because, I ain’t ever met any boys anyhow. I wouldn’t know how to talk to one, or a girl for that matter. The only girl I ever really talk to is Miss Cynthia, and she’s a rabbit- so I don’t think she counts.” At having her name mentioned the large rabbit raised its head, stretched and yawned, before flopping back down with a hefty *flump*. She began scrubbing at her doe-pelted shins next. The bones there were also a bit warped and thin, but not so much as to be easily noticeable at a glance. 

Jeannie’s gaze softened further, and she shared a knowing glance with her husband. They knew their daughter was lonely. That, while offering a form of protection, the secluded life they lived had left her lonely, and without companions at all- let alone of her same age. She had been deprived of many of the core experiences one would expect a child to have, either by her parent’s late age or their secluded lifestyle. And their girl was too good, or perhaps too naive, to even complain about such things. For where she was now, was much better than where she had been growing before.

“Besides, I’m too ugly for boys. Or anyone for that matter.” The sound of her scrubbing was overridden by her father’s loud outburst.
“You put those vile thoughts out of your head this very instant! I won’t hear any daughter of mine speak of herself like that!” She flinched as he raised his voice, and he immediately regretted it, watching her cup her hands over her ears. He knew that woman had yelled at her, berated her, more times than the girl cared to recant…and that was precisely the problem.

“It’s that vile woman, speaking through you again, Delphi…” Jeannie approached her slowly, placing a hand on her back. “You mustn’t let her do that to you. You are not hideous. Merely…different.”
“You said people don’t like different. That that was why I had to steer clear of the town and all the people.” She was shaking slightly from the momentary passionate outburst from her father. She wouldn’t look at them, wouldn’t meet their gaze.
“People around here don’t…they’re small minded. That doesn’t mean everyone thinks the same. You’ve got your own talents, Delphi. One day soon you’ll realize what they are. I’m certain everyone will grow to appreciate them.”
“Talking to rabbits and donkeys doesn’t seem the best talent…”

“Oh, don’t go getting Miss Cynthia all in a twist again!” Her father teased with a wry 

smile.

‘I could always stop communicating, if you want to be so ungrateful about it.’ The rabbit thought rather spitefully, rolling over onto her side to warm her soft underbelly. Cynthia had told Delphi that anybody could commune with animals, if they really wanted to. But it was up to the beasts if they deigned to answer. And rarely if ever did they feel so compelled. Delphi suspected Cynthia was lying about that, and just wanted her to believe that if she didn’t do exactly what Miss Cynthia wanted that she could hop along and find another person to do all the things for her that required one to have thumbs. Like chopping carrots into nicely sized pieces, or planting cucumber seeds, or getting that tough spot to scratch on her fluffy bum.

“Don’t do that...You wouldn’t do that…” Delphi looked to the rabbit, her voice trembling.
‘You’re right. I couldn’t. You’re simply too pitiful. Wouldn’t survive a single day without me.’ Cynthia yawned as she turned, presenting her bum and cottontail to Delphi for the desired scritches, which of course were provided. ‘Besides. The arrangement is agreeable to myself as well. It would be bothersome to train another person for such services.’ Cynthia liked to do that, Delphi had decided. Liked to tease and act like the only reason she stuck around was because it would be troublesome to try and find someone better. But Delphi also liked to believe that Cynthia was fibbing, and hardly meant it at all.

“I love you, Miss Cynthia.” Delphi beamed as she used both hands to scritch the fluffy rabbit.

‘Yes, yes. Don’t get all sentimental on me. I find your presence amenable too sometimes…’
Delphi picked up the rabbit after her scritching and brought her to the kitchen, where she presented her with some vegetable scraps. For now, it seemed, the topic of boys and wanderlust were discarded, much to her parents’ relief. She ate supper and did her nightly reading with her father by candlelight in the sitting room, until he grew weary and began stifling yawns. He stood and patted the top of her head.

“Good girl, Delphi…don’t stay up too late with your studies, your mother will be quite cross with you if you forget that foxglove again. She might even give you only a half-portion for supper!” He teased, laughing at his own joke.
“I won’t, I won’t.” She gave him a slight smile. Being the daughter of herbalists, most of her education consisted of reading over medicine books. This was the education they could provide her, which was further helped along by the fact Delphinia already knew how to read by the time she had come to be with them. Not often was their library expanded upon, but there was this new book that they had procured from a traveling merchant. Well, new to them at least. Its pages were rather worn…

She kissed her father goodnight and stayed in her chair, poring over the new book as best she could. She wasn’t the best at reading, and sometimes had to reread a line several times to commit it to memory. ‘Delphinium- more commonly known as Larkspur, or Staggerweed, is a genus of plants. All parts of this plant are toxic and poisonous-’ This line gave her pause and made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, her tail wrapping more tightly around her waist. ‘Touching the plant may lead to skin irritation, blisters, and bumps. Ingesting this species of plant can cause difficulty breathing, nausea, bloating, and in worse cases- neuroparalysis.’ Oh she didn’t like that. Not one bit, Cynthia seemed to take note of her squirming, as she groggily raised her head to look at the woman. ‘There is no known cure for larkspur poisoning. Symptoms must be treated as they appear.’ 

‘What has you in a twist?’ The rabbit stood with a stretch and a yawn.

“I was named after a poisonous plant, that’s what!” Delphi snapped back, before closing the book and sighing, rubbing her eyes.
‘Does that really surprise you, knowing the sort of woman she was?’ 

“No…but that doesn’t mean I have to like it either…I always thought I was named after the oracle, from a long time ago, that land over the seas…”

‘Nah.’ The rabbit cocked its head. ‘You ain’t smart enough to see the future.’ She could practically feel the rabbit’s smirk inside of her head. She picked up one of the pillows from the chair and threw it at the bun, who nimbly scuttled to the side. ‘Oi! Watch it! You’ve been reading too long. Go to bed. That stupid book is upsetting you.’

“The book isn’t stupid, you are…” Delphi grumbled, only partly regretting the childish retort. It wasn’t the rabbit’s fault her mother found it funny naming people after vile things, after all. Delphi liked plants. Delphi liked flowers. Delphi did not like dangerous plants or flowers, ones that could hurt people or make them sick. She didn’t see a point to it. Why hurt someone on purpose? Why make something so nice and pretty dangerous? She understood the need to learn of such things, in the event some fool accidentally ingested or came into contact with such foliage- but she never wanted to know how to use them to hurt people. If she had that knowledge, then mother would have expected her to use it. And Delphinia did not like confrontation, contrary, she loathed it above all else. It was why, despite her growing curiosity- she never dared venture close to the town or even its outskirts. She never asked her parents to take her with them into Adva.
Delphinia knew magic existed. She was no fool, or at least- not nearly that foolish as to deny its existence. Without magic- how could one explain the Pits? How could one explain monsters, or how she looked so freakish in nature? Her appearance went beyond mere birth deformities. She had seen great and terrible things, most of which had been blocked from her mind and scrubbed away by her mother prior to her…re-homing, and that in itself was magic. A sort of magic that was terrifying to her- as it left blank slates and gaps where she knew thoughts and recollections ought to have been. Magic did not often come to such far corners of the continent as this small town of Adva, aside from her mother- who had left some years ago. She knew her mother had hoped that Delphi would inherit her proficiency for the arcane…and that she was woefully disappointing in that, and many other regards.

‘Let’s go to bed. Put the book away. Nothing good can come of it at such a late hour.’ Her bun chastised. Delphi nodded and scooped up the rabbit, giving her a good scritch behind the ears before carrying her to her room.

The Lop-House was not a large house- most of the property dedicated to the growing, cultivation, and drying of herbs and sustaining of the homestead. They had a few goats, two donkeys by the names of Scratch and Scruff for pulling the wagon, chickens, and a rooster whom Delphi knew liked to call himself ‘the Duke of Wyran’. She didn’t know where Wyran was, but he seemed convinced he was the duke of such holdings. Delphi just took to calling him Duke, and that seemed to please the rooster…as well as other pleasantries such as  ‘m’lord’, ‘by your leave’, and ‘if it should please the Duke’. Delphi didn’t know if all roosters had such big heads, or if this sort of behavior was exclusive to their bird, but she wanted him to like her- and so she obliged him. But all of this is to say that the house itself was rather small, and so too was Delphi’s bedroom.

Still, it was a bedroom all her own- which was more than she thought she could really expect out of life. Her room had a low bed, just tall enough for Cynthia to scramble under- if she were the sort to humiliate herself with such antics, which she firmly asserted she was not. It creaked when weight was placed upon it, but was sturdy enough. The pillow atop it was not luxurious down, but stuffed with wool. The blanket was a hand stitched quilt that Delphi had worked on with her mother. Her ‘closet’, could one call it that, was a small cupboard with two pairs of night clothes, and twice as many of her patchwork dresses. There was a window of warbled glass that overlooked the back gardens and drying racks, her bed was pressed against this wall so that she could enjoy the warbling songs of waking birds at their best and loudest each morning. But more so than anything else, the most noticeable trait of this room was that it was bedecked with a nigh absurd number of woven trinkets, nailed to walls and dangling from hooks adorning the ceiling. They were made of threads of varying colors, with twigs and small branches gathered from the local wood. Criss-crossing patterns and looping circles, Delphi didn’t know why she made them- maybe she just liked to keep her hands busy- but she knew she felt better when she did. Her mother always used to break them, or throw them into the fire…She pretended that didn’t hurt her feelings. She was not always successful. Oftentimes she was not successful in masking her feelings on matters. Most people would have regarded her as a ‘Crybaby’... Delphi didn’t like that nickname. 

* * *

Gordon had watched the lass, and he was decently convinced there wasn’t a wicked bone in her. At least, not intentionally. Those antlers looked like they could smart if she got up the nerve to ram somebody- but he doubted sincerely that she had such nerve. She also lacked even the basest of survival instincts that one would expect a ‘witch’ to have. The stupid girl hadn’t even gotten the uncanny feeling she was being watched. There were no protective charms on her windows, or any manner of alarm system- unless one counted clucking chickens and two rather portly donkeys…which he of course, did not. The Herbalists in the hut didn’t look to be being held against their will from what he could see, nor did they appear to be suffering any sort of malaise from being bewitched. Frankly, he didn’t even see anything about her that reflected even a spark of magic. He suspected there was more magic in himself than in her portly frame. Talking to a rabbit as though it was a person was odd for a woman of her age, which he assumed to be a bit past her second decade, but not so uncommon in those who lived solitary and lonely lives. He doubted the girl had ever known a human friend in her whole life, and so, he could not say that this behavior was all too uncommon. The part of him that was still human, and felt human things like pity, did feel sorry for her. With how she looked, it was very doubtful she could ever be incorporated into society. Her parents had the right idea, squirreling her away out here, away from anyone who may cause a fuss at her appearance. But still, there was the matter of her existence at all. A curious and strange existence- even if she herself was harmless, there was the capacity for further creatures like her to be dangerous. And for this reason, he told himself he needed to understand how she worked. How she was made. The girl herself may not know- but he bet there were clues in her memory. There were answers there, and he needed them. 

The thing is, Gordon considered himself about as good with people and enjoyable in conversation as a pair of wet socks. He didn’t know how to get the woman to open up to him and not frighten her, and he’d really rather not scare her if at all possible…he decided then, that he would remain observing from a distance, learn what she liked and disliked, and try to emulate those same fascinations, before approaching her. Yes. That would likely get the woman to at least speak with him. 

He approached the doorstep to this lopsided house as quietly as he could. All of the animals in their pens skittered and made a great fuss at the sight of him, creatures never took very fondly to him- he had the air of a predator to them, he imagined. He paid them little mind as he put the misplaced pigskin shoes on the doorstep, with nary a note nor explanation. He placed them neatly, stood for a second or perchance two, and then made his way back into the dark woods, watching and waiting.

* * *

‘There is a dark change upon the winds tonight.’

“Go to sleep, Miss Cynthia. Surely it is just your imagination.”