Y/n is unable to escape the grotesque scenery around her even in her dreams.

She dances in a ballroom, huge and packed to the brim with men and women in fancy dresses and suits. Everyone wears masquerade masks of all sorts of colors and designs. They slowly clear room in the dance floor for y/n, and her dance partner.

Thomas Hewitt leans down, burying his face in the crook of her neck as they dance around the ball. Y/n's hands are buried in Thomas's curly hair.

As they step, twist, and twirl, the scenery around them begins to twist and twirl as well. The chandelier above them is now bloodied and dripping onto the ballroom floor. The sound of hundreds of flies buzz loudly in her ears.

The masked dancers around them stop and scream. Y/n turns her head over to the commotion. A man in a suit holds onto his face, his mask has fallen onto the ground in a bloody puddle.

He gurggles out a wet scream. His hands fall from his face and point over at y/n, still dancing with Thomas.

When his hands move a malicious, bloody mess is revealed. His muscles and bones are exposed and his eyes pop from his skull. The mask on the floor is no longer a masquerade mask but his own face, peeled off and left on the ground.

"YOU! YOU DID THIS!"

"What? No, I didn't!" Y/n stumbles, but Thomas pulls her up and keeps dancing, never removing his face from her shoulder.

"You did it! You peeled my face off, you monster!"

The crowd starts chanting "monster" in sync.

"I'm not a monster!"

The crowd closes in, pulling her and Thomas apart. His face is exposed to the crowd, diseased eaten and scarred.

The faceless man grabs y/n's gloves and rips them off, revealing her hands to the crowd.

"Monsters! Ugly, murderous monsters!"

Y/n screams.

Hands buried deep in wet, warm fur. Something beats beneath her hands.

Suddenly, she's no longer in the ballroom. She's in the backyard of her childhood home. When she looks down, her hands are covered in blood.

"Y/n, what's wrong?"

She turns and sees her father running towards her from the house. He's several years younger than when he died.

That's when it hits y/n. This is a memory.

Which means that when she turns around and looks at where the blood came from, she will see a little white dog.

But she doesn't look down at it. She refuses. Instead she keeps her eyes on her father.

"It's Ralph, dad! Come look at 'em!"

Her voice is a child's voice, a hint of country accent. Sure enough, this is a recalled memory of when she was 9.

Poor Ralph was the newest edition to the family. A small little white terrier. He was an asshole, tinier than the other dogs, and a lot weaker.

Y/n's father takes a look at the dog on the grass. He sighs, lowering the brim of his hat.

"Looks like he got in a fight with the bigger dogs. He's always been food aggressive. Probably snapped at one of them."

Hot tears stream down y/n's cheeks.

"Now, now, darlin'. Sometimes, the little people don't know when to back down, and they get hurt. Things like this are natural. You gotta learn your place, like this mutt right here never did."

Y/n sobs heavily, smearing blood on her face. Her father's hand comes down to wipe it away.

But then he slaps her.

Y/n wakes with a jolt. Cheek stinging, she looks around the room.

Standing above her is Hoyt.

"Wakey wakey beautiful. Don't you got a job to do?"

She stares at him groggily. He spits at the ground next to him.

"You forget how to talk?"

"No."

"Then speak when you're spoken too! Your damn generation don't know anything about respect."

Hoyt's eye is caught by something in the corner. A dinner plate.

"Oh, Tommy's been feeding you, huh? That dumb animal. You've got him wrapped around your finger, little lady."

He steps around the table, revealing a stupid little sheriff's outfit. The shorts are too small, and y/n almost laughs at it.

But then she's not feeling like laughing anymore when he grabs her wrist.

"What are these gloves? It's the summer of Texas, damn it!"

He peels them off of her hands, ignoring her pleads to not do so.

He holds them up to the light, turning them around.

He laughs, dropping her hands.

"Now I see why he's head over heels! You're just like him! Deformed! You're perfect for each other!"

Y/n grinds her teeth together. Hoyt takes notice. He bends down to be face level with her.

"What, you got somethin to say?"

She spits in his face.

With her leather gloves in hand, Hoyt slaps her across the face. She slips from the stool and falls to the ground on her injured ankle. A scream of pain escapes her throat.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to bite the hand that feeds ya?" He kicks her in the hip, getting a yelp out of her.

Suddenly, the door slams open and heavy footsteps come running down the stairs. Y/n looks up through her messy hair. It's Thomas, chest heaving and fuming with anger.

Her voice is shaking and desperate. She grasps at any chance she gets for survival.

"Help me!"

"Tommy won't do shit! It's family first, right, boy?"

His hands clench into fists. He approaches the two of them slowly, intimidating gaze not leaving Hoyt.

Y/n grasps at the muddy floor beneath her. She has to do Something! Thomas is under Hoyt's thumb, if he really wants his nephew to kill her, he can get him to.

But there's still a chance. A small gleam of light.

If she's the small dog in this situation, then she'll have to use the big one to her advantage.

"Thomas, I'll marry you!"

The two freeze, turning to look at her.

"It's family first, right? And you love me, right? Then I'll join your family! Tommy, I'll be your wife!"