The Sorrow of Donna Beneviento

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Tragedy

Disclaimer: "Resident Evil"/"Biohazard is a property that belongs to Capcom. I own neither the characters nor this respective title.

WARNING: This story contains dark subject matter and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."

- Edgar Allan Poe

Romania

The massive waterfall cacophonously and endlessly roared behind the gloomy, black and grey two-story form of House Beneviento as it perilously sat on the cliff's edge, overlooking a mountainous ravine lined with dead and dying pine and oak trees, the stream continuously feeding a long dark river down below.

Though nowhere as large nor as garishly opulent as Castle Dimetrescue, the manor had seen better days, looking as decrepit and forlorn as an unhallowed grave.

Lined by a black iron fence, the manor overlooked a garden at the front, where a single female figure encased entirely from head to toe in black mourning attire quietly went about her business as she collected fruit, checking each one carefully for blemishes and signs of freshness before collecting them. All around, the garden lay unkempt and overgrown with various weeds and other plant life, some of them so long that it practically reached up to the woman's covered shins as she moved wraith-like and collected fruit in silence.

Picking up her basket, she turned around and headed toward the barren front porch, climbing up a small set of stone steps before pushing through the brown wooden double doors. Stepping inside, the woman stood silently, casting her veiled gaze around at the sight that greeted her.

In contrast to the cold and dreary exterior of the manor, the interior of the building was well-lit and inviting. A large, modestly-decorated mahogany foyer with a greyish-green carpet lay before her, while a rocking chair sat right in the middle. Next to the chair itself was a small table with a basket full of wool and ribbons, where she liked to sow and hum to herself in solitude.

Moving down a tight corridor to her left, she silently turned and opened a door, placing the fruit into a small storage area filled with other boxes and baskets of potatoes and other vegetables.

She was used to doing things on her own; it had been ages since anyone had been around here, much less a servant. She had never been one for luxury like her older sibling Alcina was, and she was perfectly fine with that.

Still, part of her couldn't help longing for some form of human company; at least, every once in a while.

Closing the door, she returned back to the foyer, pausing as she stared up at the staircase nearby.

Mounted midway up a flight of stairs on a wall was a large portrait of a young woman with unblemished porcelain white skin.

Stepping tentatively up the steps, she stared at the figure in the painting, her features hidden behind the thick black cloth.

Wearing a black dress, thin dark eyebrows sat over a pair of black and joyless eyes, the woman's nose long, delicate, and thin, her lips full and pale as her pallid skin. Long black hair was tied into a tight bun at the top of her head, while some strands of long oily strands framed both sides of her oval face.

Staring silently at the painting, part of her felt a mixture of resentment and bitterness, causing her to wring her hands.

'That isn't me,' she thought.

Perhaps it would have been a close approximation of how she would have looked were it not for the ugly scar that she had since she was a little girl, but to say that it was accurate would have been insulting.

Staring at the portrait, Donna Beneviento stood in brooding contemplation as she wondered about the things that could have been.

Had Claudia not died, could things have been different?

Donna's shoulders slumped as the troubling thoughts of her younger sibling came back, along with those relating to her family's sad state of affairs.

The Beneviento family had a long and deeply-embedded history with this region, their roots dating back centuries, though how much of that were true was subject to debate and speculation on her end.

According to both her father and village folklore, the Benevientos had ancestral links to Berengario, the legendary figure who, together with three other supernatural beings - Cesare, Guglielmo, and a mysterious man known only as either "Father" or "Uncle Nichola" - had founded one of Europe's earliest settlements.

Little was known about the Four Kings, as they had been called, including their origins, but over time, they had created a vast and powerful kingdom, the likes of which could be scarcely imagined, before ultimately disappearing into legend, their entire civilization and population vanishing with them, leaving barely a trace.

However, four noble houses that were said to possess the bloodlines of those great and powerful kings remained - House Dimetrescu, House Moreau, House Heisenberg, and House Beneviento - and together, they built the foundation for the village itself over the ruins of that lost kingdom.

Donna stood in silent contemplation, the wind howling outside.

A romantic tale, to be sure, though one that left many questions as to their veracity.

Even if it were so, the twentieth century, it would seem, was less than kind to the Beneviento household as of late, starting in 1958 with the death of Bernadette Beneviento, who had fallen ill and died when she was only twenty-one-years-old, before snowballing even further in the 1990s.

Donna felt her thoughts drift to her little sister, the memory of her making her heart ache.

Claudia Beneviento had been born in August 2nd, 1987, and for a time, Donna had been somewhat happier. Though the scar had long made Donna feel incredibly self-conscious and insecure about herself, especially in public, being an older sister meant the world to her.

Together, they had played, they had sung, read stories, even shared dolls made by their father.

Donna stayed still as she recalled childhood memories of them running through the front garden together, being happy.

The veiled woman tilted her head thoughtfully.

Happy. The word almost felt foreign to her, to this forlorn place that she called home.

How long had it been since she was "happy"?

At times, Donna found herself morbidly wondering as to whether or not those events had actually happened, for it seemed so distant, so ethereal and fleeting that it almost seemed like a dream.

As Donna's thoughts lingered on poor little Claudia, a feeling of deep melancholy filled her as she recalled her last moments, along with the moments that had followed.

Claudia had only been nine years old when an illness claimed her in 1996. Nobody knew how or why she got sick, but whatever the cause of it was, it came swiftly and had created a deep, gaping wound in the hearts of the Beneviento family. Claudia's death had struck a blow to everyone within the Beneviento household, the toll so strong that even to this day, it could still be felt.

Donna shivered as she recalled the days that followed.

She remembered how her parents turned on each other, the horrible fights that her parents used to have as they both viciously threw accusations at one another, their shouts growing more heated over what had happened. She remembered the smashed cups and dishware, the shouting, the screaming, the expletives and hurtful things that were uttered, followed by the unexpectedly awkward, drawn-out silences as they all sat together for dinner, the accusing glares and glances that had been offered between them.

She remembered how waspish and barbed their tones became, how angry their eyes had been.

She also recalled how they had even turned in Donna's direction at times with those same looks, making her wonder what she had done to earn such ire.

She hadn't caused Claudia's death...had she?

Donna breathed through her nose, the dusky smell of House Beneviento apparent even through the veil as she considered the question.

Could Claudia had gotten sick from playing with her? From playing outside in Potter's Field, if not Potter's Garden?

A soft breath escaped her pallid lips, the veiled woman silently shaking her head in uncertainty.

Regardless of the cause, what was certain to Donna was that Claudia's death had destroyed them all in ways few could ever imagine, in mind, body, and soul, and what followed was a horrible domino effect of disastrous and tragic proportions.

Distraught by the loss, Donna's mother had fallen into a deep depression before ultimately taking her own life, throwing herself off of the cliff into the waterfall, her body never recovered. Shortly thereafter, her father followed, blaming himself for both Claudia and Donna's mother, leaving her alone with Angie, the doll that he had made for her.

Behind her veil, a tear trickled down her pale cheek.

To think that she was the only Beneviento left...it despaired her at times.

Claudia rotting in Potter's Garden, accompanied by one of her favorite dolls along with Berengario's Chalice, a prized golden artifact that their father had buried with her.

Her mother and father, both hungrily consumed by the waterfall.

If it hadn't been for Mother Miranda, perhaps she would have joined them all in death.

After all, it wasn't as if she had much to live for.

Wiping her eye with a handkerchief, a wistful smile formed as she thought of the events that changed her life.

Mother Miranda was the village guardian and spiritual leader, a ten-winged Seraphim that served as a prophet and voice for the Black God. It was through her divine powers and miracles that the village was protected for many ages. Through Mother Miranda, many have been saved from sickness as well as from invading Germans and Soviets.

For Donna, however, she was so much more; during her time of need, Mother Miranda was there for her. It was her who took her in, her who had adopted her as a daughter, saving her from death itself.

But even more, it was Mother Miranda who had blessed Donna with the holy Cadou, a gift from the Black God himself, and for that, she would be forever grateful to her.

And yet...why did part of her feel so apprehensive about it? What about the Cadou made her feel so...uneasy?

Trees rustled outside as the wind picked up, their leaves bristling in agitation.

"Lost in thought again, are you?" A high-pitched voice spoke, startling Donna.

Looking ahead to one of the upper landings, a diminutive figure with disproportionately long thin, ball-jointed limbs approached, dressed in a white wedding dress approached, her white veil drawn back to reveal cracked white porcelain face with three eyes and a workable jaw.

Folding her arms together, Angie tilted her head expectantly. "Well? Are you going to say something? Or are you going to stand there like an idiot?"

Blinking for a few moments in bemusement, Donna relaxed, her eyes softening at the sight of her prized doll.

Angie had been a gift from her father, a skilled craftsman who had made all of the dolls in the village.

When her family died, all that Donna had was her, and thanks to the power of the Cadou, Angie was now so much more - she could move, talk, dance, even sing by her little self, much to her great joy.

Many of the villagers were somewhat perturbed by the doll's appearance, but Donna hadn't minded whatsoever.

In so many ways, Angie was not only her best friend, but also her family.

Kneeling down, Donna gestured to the little figurine. "Come here you."

She watched as the little doll obediently wandered toward her before picking her up with both hands, giving her a warm tight hug before carefully cradling her like a child.

"Hi Angie," she greeted softly, her voice barely raised above a whisper. "How are you feeling today?"

The little doll cheerfully giggled. "Oh, you know me, Donna! Whenever I'm with you, I'm always happy!"

"I'm glad!" Donna tilted her head slightly. "Would you like to have some tea? I bet you're probably hungry."

"Why, Donna!" Angie squealed with joy, "I thought you would never ask!"

Donna giggled. "Alright then. Let me just make you comfortable then. I'll head down to the kitchen and make us something, okay?"

"Okay!" Angie chirped.

Carrying her down the stairs, Donna felt her mood improve just ever so slightly as she turned her back on the painting as she carried her bundle of joy with her.

While part of her had wished that she had received more visitors, she was thankful that Angie was around to comfort her.

Her company always brought a smile to her whenever she felt low.

* * *

"...Aren't you going to have some tea, Donna?"

She sat still at the table, listening to the groaning howl outside.

Staring into her cup of tea, Donna listlessly stirred the spoon around, watching the liquid swirl and create endless repeating ripples.

White walls bordered every side of her, some of which were lined with old wooden shelves, dressers, and cupboards. A few were stacked with numerous books, while others had one or two dolls.

Sitting with Angie at a small table with three chairs, the living room that she resided in was softly lit with an overhanging chandelier. At the back of the living room was an unlit hearth that hadn't been used in many ages, along with a desk that had a three-branched lit candelabra that provided a touch of lighting at the rear. A lounge area sat adjacent to the living room, where a comfortable-looking sofa and chair separated by a coffee table.

"Donna? Doo-nna!" Angie spoke in a melodic sing-song voice.

Donna exhaled, dropping the spoon.

"...I...I'm sorry, Angie," she apologized to her friend. "I'm just...I'm just in one of my black moods again."

The doll said nothing, neither moving nor doing anything, its three plastic eyes lifelessly watching its master.

Taking a handkerchief, she wiped her mouth, then slipped the veil back on. "I'll just clean this up. Just stay here with your friends and make yourself comfortable."

With that, she collected the saucers and cups, placing them all on a serving tray before heading toward a door at the side.

A long, barely lit, zig-zagging corridor with dusky orange wallpaper decorated with flowers lined the sides, the wallpaper cracked and split with age, some of it peeling right off like dead skin. In her youth, it had been lovely, but as the years waned, the color and flowers started to degrade to the point where it all started to look more fungal in nature.

Even worse was the detectably pungent smell of mold, a consequence of having a home so close to a waterfall, the air thick and oppressive.

Once she made here way toward the end, Donna silently pressed the button to the elevator leading down, waiting for the iron sliding doors to finish unfurling.

A slight crack made her heart stop, causing her to stiffen.

Glancing back at the darkened corridor, Donna cautiously eyed it, staring deeply and intently into the shadows, as if for fear of catching a glimpse of something within.

She waited a minute, then two minutes, listening intently for even the slightest sound.

Five minutes later, Donna released her breath, relaxing ever so slightly.

'It's just your imagination, Donna,' she told herself. 'This place is old and is getting to you, that's all.'

Turning back to the lift, Donna stepped inside, pressing a button. She felt a slight jolt, and then watched as the elevator started to take her down, shaking and rumbling ever so slightly.

As Donna descended, she tried to ignore the feelings of anxiety that she was getting as she heard the various soft cracks and creaks of the manor, the heiress unnerved by the groaning wind outside.

* * *

Donna scrubbed the cups clean as she ran them through hot water.

It had been ages since the Beneviento family ever had a butler around here, but in many respects, Donna actually appreciated the quiet solitude and humble nature of her home, especially in comparison to Castle Dimetrescue, which felt far too ostentatious for her liking. Far too large, with far too much space and filled to the brim with priceless furniture, gold relief, sculptures and servants.

It boggled the mind that a single person would want so much, even with three "daughters".

Of course, Donna reflected, both she and Alcina in many respects were different spirits from one another, each with their distinct tastes.

Such had been made apparent when during the few occasions that Alcina came to visit her at her residence that the former actually bristled at her for not having a servant of her own.

Many times she had tried to persuade her into accepting one of her numerous personal housekeepers or servants, and while Donna had on occasion employed some of them every once in a while, if only to be polite and to avoid incurring Alcina's wrath, in truth, however, it felt far more liberating to do things for herself.

While House Beneviento wasn't as grandiose nor as stylish as Castle Dimetrescu, to Donna, it was home; she could never imagine herself leaving this place, even in spite of the painful memories. Even in spite of some of its issues.

As far as Donna was concerned, this house had character, and it was here where she would spend the rest of her life in.

Drying a saucer with a towel, Donna tilted her head as she thought of the other lords and their awe-inspiring miracles.

While a part of her was grateful to Mother Miranda for taking her in and for the wonderous though admittedly frightening present that she received, some small part of Donna, however, couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive about it.

Like Donna herself, all of the other lords had also been blessed by the Black God with the Cadou in some form or another, each of them possessing abilities that made them far more than human; through his sheer will and mind alone, Lord Karl Heisenberg, for instance, was able to construct the most elaborate structures and buildings imaginable.

By contrast, the Cadou had made Alcina incredibly tall and strong, a robust woman of nine feet, while Lord Salvatore Moreau had been turned into something...inhuman. More monstrous and fish-like, something that looked more...devolved, for lack of a better word.

All three were formidable in their own right, regardless of the differences.

And yet, some small part of Donna couldn't help envying them to an extent, Lord Heisenberg and Lady Dimetrescu in particular. Part of Donna couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't as strong as those two.

Why wasn't she made as beautiful as Lady Dimetrescu?

Donna wrestled with herself over the traitorous thoughts, appalled by her own ungratefulness.

How dare she think such awful things?! Hadn't the Cadou's wonders alone been a blessing to her? Who was she to question?

And yet...some part of her still felt uneasy.

The Cadou had allowed Donna to bring fantasies and visions to life, allowed her to bring Angie to life, but...was the price of it worth it?

Lifting a hand up to her concealed face, Donna touched the spot where her right eye used to be, flinching in disgust as she felt the growth wriggle, the tendrils flaring.

Donna suddenly froze as she heard a noise somewhere close by, forcing her to quickly retract her hand and to tilt her head ever so slightly, straining to hear what it was that had caught her attention.

'What was that?' she wondered.

Looking over her shoulder, she called out in a quiet voice, "...Hello?"

Even in spite of the hushed words, they uncomfortably lingered, shattering the silence with all the force of a coming storm.

A feeling of dread formed in the pit of her stomach, causing Donna to regret saying anything as she hastily turned back to the sink and resumed her task, trying to ignore the distinctly growing suspicion of being watched, her heart thudding so loudly that she could audibly hear it in her own ears.

* * *

She was having trouble sleeping again.

Staring up at the ceiling, Donna lay still underneath her blanket as she heard the various noises, the soft creaks and cracks of the house.

Beside her, Angie lay quietly, not uttering a sound, its plastic eyes staring out at nothing.

Exhaling, Donna sat right up and turned on a lamp on a nearby dresser before reaching for her sowing basket from a table that sat adjacent to the bed, extracting a pair of long needles along with a ball of yarn as she started to silently knit.

It was a habit that she had picked up from her mother to help her during her more restless moments, when her mind had a bad habit of wandering and whenever she had trouble sleeping. Often she would have a book to read before going to bed, but some nights were more tense than others following the Cadou's implementation.

Donna shivered slightly, her white nightgown feeling heavy over her thin frail body.

She sincerely hoped that this wasn't one of those nights; for the last few days, Donna had been having trouble sleeping due to some of the nocturnal activities that have been happening under her roof.

She had tried using sleeping pills, but they have proved useless.

Humming an old folk song to distract herself, Donna focused on knitting and sowing, watching and listening as the walls shook slightly.

The bedroom was relatively spacious, a fifteen by fifteen foot room with a ten foot high ceiling, bordered with old white wallpaper that was peeled and cracked. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden dresser and a small green cabinet that sat at the right of it, the latter holding a bowl of fruit and a basket, while a large round black and white photograph depicting a young girl hung from the wall. A pink and white oriental-styled rug covered part of the brown wooden floor, providing a sharp contrast yet matching the similarly colored quilts and blankets of Donna's bed.

To the left of the room was a small table with a greyish green bookshelf that directly sat beneath a fuse panel, while a small basket lay next to a large metal locker at the side.

Clammy fingers grasped at the yarn and needles, a bead of sweat sliding down her anxious brow as she eyed the latter.

She always kept it vacant in the event of emergencies, especially at night. The locker and underneath her bed were always her go-to hiding places whenever trouble came, and she always made certain that she was within close enough range of either whenever the Presence came.

The girl shuddered as she slowly turned to look at the other side, eying it with suspicion.

A large bookcase sat in the corner beside a makeup stand with a mirror, but it was the white door two feet from the bed that drew her immediate concern.

For the past several nights, she had been hearing something scratching and breathing at the door, making strange noises that made Donna feel like a little girl all over again.

Hopefully tonight it would be different, and that she would finally have a good night's peace.

Breathing through her mouth, she panted softly as her heart throbbed in a dull, monotonous beat, the growth on her left orbital twitching sporadically.

'Please let it be different this time,' she prayed to Mother Miranda. 'Please don't let it come. Please Mother Miranda, don't let it come-'

She saw the door knob turn an inch, causing Donna to tense up in alert.

Staring fearfully at the knob, Donna shook as it silently turned back, her breath caught in her throat.

The girl refrained from letting out a scared whimper as she heard something sniffing loudly at the door, growling. It was a heavy sound, like a large animal like a dog panting, but Donna hadn't had pets for ages, and she dreaded to know what exactly the dreaded Presence was.

Swallowing, the heiress waited in silence as it pawed and scratched at the door, her eye staring fixedly at it, waiting for it to make itself known by forcing its way in.

Her eye widened as the door started to bend inward, looking as if some great bulk was trying to press into it, and for a moment, it looked as if the door itself was going to break.

Letting out a snort, the Presence receded, causing the door to return back to its normal shape, its heavy thuds trailing off somewhere else.

Wringing her fingers slightly, Donna nervously fidgeted as she sat there, staring with terror at the door.

She waited for some indication that it was still around, that it was truly gone.

Getting up from the bed, Donna tiptoed toward the door and kneeled down, peering through the keyhole.

Seeing nothing, she made certain that it was locked before going back to bed, the girl letting her eye wander around the room as she resumed her knitting.

Shaking fingers continued to work with the needles when a ball of yarn came tumbling off the side of the bed.

"Ah!" Leaning to the side, Donna reached with outstretched hands, grunting in exertion as she pulled it toward her from the wooden floor.

Pulling herself back up, the heiress stilled her movements as her eye widened in fright, her pale lips trembling.

An emaciated faceless man with long hair loomed at the foot of the bed, wearing a a thick green hunting coat.

He wasn't alone, however - beside him stood his spouse, a rake-thin woman with thick, straggly black hair that was dressed in an oversized white sweater and a long brown skirt, her white apron stained at the front, holding what looked unmistakably like a dead infant wrapped up in a blanket in one arm.

Surrounding the pair were five bald featureless children wearing worn clothing, all of whom stared at Donna with empty black eyes, looking more like cadavers turned into grotesque puppets than people.

Staring at the monstrous family, Donna opened her mouth to say something, only for a low, trembling groan to escape her lips as she kept her single eye on them.

The stick family made no movements, nor did they utter a single word, let alone make a single sound.

Clutching her blanket, Donna drew it upward, covering her and Angie's heads as she lay trembling and whimpering underneath the sheets.

'It's not real,' she told herself. 'It's just a dream. It's not real...'

Donna waited for a long time, then mustered up the courage to peer out from the covers, willing herself to look back at the foot of the bed.

Nothing.

Drawing back the blanket, Donna shakily looked around, clutching tightly onto Angie as if she were a crucifix as she made certain that she was truly alone.

'It was just a dream,' she assured. Just a dream, that's all. Just a-

The door shook in its frame, startling the heiress as she leapt out from the bed with Angie, hiding in the locker, trying to repress a whimper as she heard the clawing at the door again.

Outside, she heard whispers and shrill, maniacal laughter, the sounds of an insane asylum.

The door rocked and bent inward, and a deep bellowing, growling laugh joined in.

Donna leaned back inside of the locker, putting a hand over her own mouth as she held Angie with every ounce of strength she, trying to keep herself as quiet as possible as the door suddenly spilled open.

Turning away, the girl shook and silently cried as she felt the Presence make its way into the room, its steps loud and heavy.

"Help me," she whispered and sniffled tearfully, her hands pressed together at the palms in prayer. "Please help me, Mother Miranda. Please help me."

The Presence continued to stomp around her bedroom, the sound drowning out her pitiful cries and prayers, moving around the bed, heading toward the locker.

Leaning back, Donna tightly held her eye shut as she heard the thing sniff the outside of the locker.

Minutes stretched into hours, and for a long time, it almost seemed as if the Presence would never leave.

Finally, it pulled away and drew back, stomping back toward the entrance.

But Donna was not so easily fooled. She knew it was out there still, and if she dared try to make her presence known, it would come back, as it always had.

"Please help me, Mother Miranda," Donna tearfully begged from inside the cramped locker as she held her palms and Angie in prayer. "Please help me..."

But Mother Miranda paid no heed to her calls, even at her most desperate, pitiful, and despairing, leaving Donna alone in darkness as her perpetual torment continued unabated, night after night.

For many years, her torment would know no end, and it would be many years later, following the fateful arrival of one Ethan Winters, that Donna would finally be able to find the peace that she longed for.

Thus ends this story.

* * *

Author's Note: So, I'm going to be straight up, I love Donna as a character; along with Rebecca, I think she might be among my top ten or top five female characters within RE next to Jill and Claire.

The idea for this particular story came from certain details in her home such as the ribbons underneath her bed along with the conspicuously empty lockers that could be found. At the time, I sort of written them off as being simple generic horror game hiding mechanics that were just borrowed from other games, but then part of me started to wonder - given the note on her declining mental health, could Donna have hidden under the bed and in those lockers from her own demons as Ethan had? There was a certain irony to it, plus I was kind of intrigued with the idea of Donna being terrorized by her own Cadou-induced abilities/hallucinations, and because of that, I kind of figured why not do a short haunted house-styled one-shot. And since Halloween is right around the corner, why not?

I tried to keep her in character as much as I could, and if there are any fans who are disappointed with either her portrayal or with this story, I apologize.

The most difficult part of writing the story was probably determining her relationship with both Bernadette and Claudia, as according to a source, Bernadette had died in 1958, while the tombstone for the latter indicated that she died in 1996. I was also trying to examine just what would have caused Donna's mom and dad to just kill themselves, and while it was possible that both had been killed by Mother Miranda (it seems like that may be the case imo), it seemed strange to me. However, considering that Claudia had been nine-years-old when she had died, to a certain extent that gave a small glimpse of what could have happened. Then again, you never know.

Stay safe and healthy, everybody - I hope you all have a Happy Halloween! :D