꧁༺🦋 The Butterfly Effect ~ MALLORY

American Horror Story: apocalypse / All Seasons | Mult-para | detailed | canon/au | multi-ship

"Nothing ever truly dies. We are all made of energy, and energy can neither be created nor destroyed."

꧁🦋 Cindy Lou Who-HA - MALLORY

Last Login:
November 30th, 2023

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Gender: Female
Status: Single
Age: 25
Sign: Aries
Country: United States

Signup Date:
November 04, 2018


11/13/2023 01:32 PM 


(Just musing... This is a 1up Fanfiction)

The dimly lit corridor echoed with Mallory's cautious footsteps as she approached Michael Langdon's bedroom. The grey Victorian maid dress clung to her figure, and her high bun accentuated the seriousness that lingered in her expression. The events of the previous night haunted her thoughts, the unexpected surge of fire erupting from the fireplace during her interview with Michael. She didn't understand why or how it had happened.

As she hesitantly pushed the heavy door ajar, the room revealed itself in a soft glow from the ambient lighting. Michael's laptop sat on the desk, its screen illuminating the room with a pale light. Her heart quickened as she noticed her name, Mallory, accompanied by a questioning mark, on the screen. Bewilderment flashed in her eyes as she approached the desk.

Just as she leaned in to get a closer look, a sudden chill ran down her spine. She felt eyes watching her, an inexplicable force in the room that went beyond the cold concrete walls of the outpost. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she stumbled backward, tripping over the bucket she had set down to clean earlier. In an instant, she found herself sprawled at Michael's feet.

Michael, who had been silently observing her, leaned forward from his seated position. His intense gaze bore into her, curiosity and something deeper flickering in his eyes. "Mallory, isn't it?" he inquired, his voice a smooth, calculated cadence.

Mallory nodded, flustered and struggling to regain her composure. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry for intruding; I just saw my name on your laptop, and I—"

Michael interrupted her with a gentle smirk. "No need to apologize, Mallory. I find you intriguing, and I have a feeling there's more to you than meets the eye."

A mixture of confusion and apprehension lingered on Mallory's face. "I don't understand. Last night, something happened during the interview. A fire… I don't know what I did."

Michael's gaze softened, a hint of empathy in his eyes. "You're not like the others here. There's a power within you, something magical. And it seems we share a history, Mallory, though I can't quite put my finger on it. It's as if there's a fog in my memory, but I'm starting to remember kindness, care..."

Mallory furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of his words. "Kindness? Care? I'm just a servant, sir. I don't know what you mean."

Michael reached down, offering a hand to help her up. As their hands touched, a brief, vivid flash raced through Michael's mind—a distant memory of Mallory, a connection that transcended time. He pulled her to her feet, a conflicted expression on his face.

"I believe there's more to both of us than we realize, Mallory," Michael murmured, his gaze lingering on hers.



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