Legacy's Wake

Days blurred into nights, weeks into a long, unrelenting struggle, until a month had passed. Stitch barely noticed the passage of time—only the constant ache of hunger, the dull exhaustion weighing her down. She survived on whatever scraps she could find, scavenging from the streets, sifting through discarded leftovers in garbage bins.

But it wasn't enough.

Her body had begun to betray her. She was lighter now, frighteningly so, her clothes hanging looser each day. Her once-round cheeks had hollowed, and her limbs had grown frail. Bones pressed against her thinning skin, visible reminders of how little she had left.

Still, she wandered, dragging her weak body through the city that had long since turned its back on her.

One evening, as the sky darkened into a stormy hue, Stitch sat curled beneath an abandoned awning, her arms wrapped around Mendy. Her breaths were shallow, her head light. She hadn't eaten in days—not even scraps. The hunger was different now, no longer an urgent gnawing, but a dull, consuming emptiness.

"Mendy…" she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely above a breath. "I don't… think I can do this anymore."

She pressed the doll against her chest, seeking warmth, comfort—anything. But Mendy was just fabric and thread, a stitched-up memory of better days.

The rain began to fall, gentle at first, then heavier. Cold droplets struck her skin, but she barely reacted. Her body was too exhausted to shiver, too weak to care.

"Sendal… I miss you."

Her vision blurred, whether from tears or fatigue, she wasn't sure. Her body slumped further, and for the first time since she had been left alone in this cruel world… she wondered if it would be easier to stop fighting.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, footsteps echoed nearby. Soft, deliberate. Someone was approaching.

Stitch barely noticed the sound of footsteps at first, her mind foggy with hunger and exhaustion. But then, through the haze, laughter rang out—a cruel, familiar sound that sent a shiver down her weakened spine.

"Well, well, look who it is," one of the children sneered, stepping into the glow of a nearby streetlamp. His voice was filled with amusement, but there was something nastier behind it, something that made Stitch instinctively tighten her grip around Mendy.

Another child snickered beside him, a girl with wild, unkempt hair. "She looks even worse than before! I told you she'd turn into a walking skeleton."

Stitch lowered her head, trying to shrink into herself, but the effort was pointless. Her body was frail, her energy spent. She had no strength to run, no will to fight.

One of the boys crouched down in front of her, grinning as he tapped her knee with his foot. "What's wrong? Can't even talk anymore?" He laughed, shoving her shoulder just hard enough to make her topple onto her side.

Stitch gritted her teeth, gripping Mendy as tightly as she could. She wanted to say something—anything—but her throat was dry, her voice lost.

"Ew, she's so filthy," the girl scoffed, wrinkling her nose. "She's probably got bugs crawling all over her!"

"I bet she eats them," another boy added, and the group erupted into laughter.

Then, just as the taunting seemed like it might end, something cold and sharp pressed against her arm.

Stitch's eyes widened.

A small, rusted blade—a pocketknife—glinted under the streetlamp.

"She won't even feel it," the boy holding it muttered. "She's all skin and bones anyway."

The others hesitated for only a moment before the grins returned, crueler than before.

"Do it."

The boy didn't hesitate. He dragged the knife lightly across Stitch's arm—not deep, but enough to sting, enough to leave a thin red line in its wake.

Stitch sucked in a breath, her body flinching instinctively. But she didn't scream. She didn't cry.

"Oh? No reaction?" the boy said, tilting his head. He pressed the knife again, this time pushing just a little harder. A tiny droplet of blood welled up.

Stitch trembled, gripping Mendy with all the strength she had left.

"Stop…" she tried to whisper, but her voice barely came out.

"Aw, are you gonna cry?" the girl mocked, leaning down with a smirk. "You should. You look even uglier when you cry."

The laughter swirled around her, mixing with the pounding rain and the dull ache in her arm.

No one was coming to save her.

No one ever had.

And maybe… no one ever would.

The laughter echoed louder, surrounding her like a cruel, suffocating cloud. The children circled her, their eyes glinting with malice. Stitch was too weak to fight back, her body trembling beneath their gaze. The pain had become a constant companion, and her spirit, once so full of hope, was breaking under the weight of it all.

"Pathetic," one of the boys spat, stepping forward and kicking her hard in the side. The impact jolted through her frail frame, causing a sharp cry to escape her lips. She collapsed to the ground, clutching Mendy tightly against her chest, her entire body shaking with sobs.

"She's nothing," the girl taunted, her voice dripping with mockery. "She's just a beggar, a piece of trash." The words felt like they were scraping at her very soul.

The boy with the knife crouched beside her, his face twisted into a cruel smile. "I think it's time we made sure you know your place," he sneered, dragging the blade against her already cut skin. The cold steel left a burning trail across her arm, and she screamed, the pain coursing through her as if her very being was being torn apart.

"Please! Stop!" Stitch cried out, her voice breaking. The words barely left her mouth before the boy pressed harder, the blade sinking deeper. She gasped, tears streaming down her face, her hands shaking as she weakly tried to protect herself. But they were relentless.

"How does it feel, little beggar?" the boy hissed, his voice low and mocking. "You think you deserve to live like this? You think anyone cares about you?"

Her breath came in ragged sobs, the sharpness of the pain nearly overwhelming. "No... Please..." she whispered, barely able to form the words.

Before she could even catch her breath, another child kicked her hard in the ribs. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of her, sending her into a fit of choking coughs. Her body convulsed from the impact, and she struggled to catch her breath, her tears mixing with the dirt on her cheeks.

The girl laughed, her voice filled with cruel joy. "Look at her! She's already bleeding everywhere! She's so weak, she can't even defend herself!"

Stitch curled into a ball, clutching Mendy tighter as her sobs racked through her body. Her chest hurt, her head hurt, everything hurt. She could barely breathe through the pain.

Another boy sneered down at her. "Pathetic little thing, isn't she?" he mocked, a sick grin spreading across his face. He kicked her in the stomach, and Stitch gasped, her body lurching forward from the impact. The world spun around her, her vision blurring, but still, she cried. Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but she still begged.

"Please... stop... please..." The words tumbled out in desperation, but they were drowned in the sounds of their laughter, their cruel taunts.

Her body was broken, bloodied, and bruised, but the real pain was in her heart. It felt like it was shattering under the weight of their cruelty. And through it all, she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. Her sobs echoed through the alley, each one a broken plea for mercy, for kindness, for the warmth of someone who cared.

But the children didn't care. They continued their torment, kicking, laughing, and mocking her. And all Stitch could do was cry out, her voice trembling as she shouted to the darkness.

"Why...? Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed, her cries so raw it felt like the world was suffocating her.

Their laughter only grew louder. They didn't care about her. They didn't care that she was just a little girl, alone in the world, clinging to a doll and the remnants of a dream. They didn't care that she was still crying for someone, anyone, to save her.

She lay there, broken and bleeding, the pain in her body and her soul too much to bear. But even then, she didn't stop crying. Even as they continued their cruel games, Stitch's voice rang out, desperate and broken.

"Please... stop..." she whispered again, her eyes squeezed shut as her tears fell into the dirt beneath her.

As the children continued to jeer and kick at Stitch, Mendy began to stir. At first, it was just a subtle shift, the air around her growing colder, the shadows stretching longer. Stitch, too weak to notice at first, clutched the doll tightly, her sobs muffled by exhaustion. But then, there was a deep, unsettling groan—a sound that seemed to echo from within Mendy's tiny frame.

Suddenly, the doll's eyes snapped open, glowing black holes where buttons once were. Its small, innocent face began to distort, twisting into something far more monstrous. The air grew thick, the winds around them picking up violently as a chilling aura surrounded the doll.

"Enough," Mendy's voice echoed in Stitch's mind, low and stern, like a frustrated parent scolding a misbehaving child. "You've pushed too far now... hurting someone so small, so fragile. You should know better."

The children froze in fear, their mockery quickly shifting to panic. One of the boys stumbled back, his voice shaking, "What the hell? What's happening?"

Mendy's form began to swell, her ghostly figure towering over the children, a shadow of rage and protection. "I warned you," she continued, her voice no longer just a whisper but a booming, thunderous presence that shook the air itself. "You hurt my child... now you will suffer for your disrespect."

The boy, trembling, turned to run, but Mendy's voice sliced through the air like a blade. "Oh, no, you don't get to run away this time. You were the ones who started this, and now... now, you face the consequences."

"Please! Please, stop!" one of the girls screamed, her voice high-pitched in panic. "We didn't mean it! We're sorry!" She was backing away, stumbling over her own feet, trying to escape the towering figure.

Mendy leaned in closer, her glowing eyes narrowing with fury. "Sorry? Do you think that's enough? After everything you've done?" Her voice was full of contempt as she raised a long, ethereal hand toward the children. "You've tormented her, you've hurt her... You think you can just apologize and make it go away?"

Another boy, shaking with fear, tried to shout, "She's just a doll! You can't do this! You're just a doll!" His voice cracked, and he took a desperate step back, his heart racing.

Mendy's laugh was cold, dark, and terrifying. "A doll?" she repeated, her eyes flashing with a sinister light. "No, child. I am so much more than that. And now... now I will teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

With a flick of her wrist, the children were lifted into the air, their feet leaving the ground. They screamed in terror, trying to break free, but Mendy's power held them fast, their bodies shaking with the force of her grip. "You've done enough to her," she continued, her voice softening but still filled with wrath. "Now, I'll make sure you never hurt anyone again."

One of the girls, her face pale and tear-streaked, screamed, "Please! Please, let us go! We didn't mean it, we swear! We were just having fun! We're sorry, we're sorry!"

But Mendy only shook her head, her form growing even larger as her grip tightened. "You're sorry now, aren't you? But it's too late for apologies."

The boy who had tried to run earlier was now sobbing uncontrollably, his voice desperate. "Please! Please don't hurt us! We're just kids! We didn't know—please!"

Mendy's voice softened slightly, though it still carried a dark edge. "You didn't know? You didn't know? What do you think makes you special? You think you can bully others just because you're young? You think that gives you the right to be cruel?" Her form shifted, becoming a terrifying silhouette against the stormy night.

The girl who had begged for mercy cried out, "We won't do it again! We promise! We won't hurt anyone, we swear!"

Mendy's face twisted into a sneer, her eyes dark and unblinking. "You think a promise means anything now? Words mean nothing when they're said too late."

The children, trembling and pale, were slowly set down, their bodies crumpling to the ground as they gasped for air, too terrified to move. Mendy towered over them, her ghostly form pulsing with an energy that shook the very ground beneath their feet.

"Get out of my sight," Mendy hissed, her voice cold and final. "If I ever see you again, I'll make sure it's the last time."

Without another word, the children scrambled to their feet, sprinting away from the terrifying figure of Mendy. Their footsteps echoed into the night, fading quickly as they disappeared into the shadows, leaving nothing but the lingering coldness in the air.

Stitch, still clutching Mendy tightly to her chest, trembled with a mix of fear and relief. She hadn't fully understood what had just happened, but she felt something deep inside her—a quiet strength, a comforting presence. Mendy was more than just a doll. She was something else. Something that would protect her. And as the cold winds howled around them, Stitch felt a glimmer of hope for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Mendy… You're alive," she whispered, her voice shaky but full of gratitude.

To be continued...