Author's Notes : This idea has always just been there in my mind. It started from the rhyme about Lizzy Borden, which I couldn't get out of my head, towards a fic I read on FFN with inspiration from Lizzy Borden. Which spiraled into something like this. Which is so far apart from Lizzy Borden as it could get.


c r e p u s c u l e

Into the dark of the night,

There were no other whispers

Little Jane was a beautiful girl, who took after her mother, in many ways.

When she was just a small little girl, oh how she remembered the beautiful, haunting whispers of her mother.

Lay your hands on the tiny heart,

Beautiful child,

And feel the beating of a beautiful soul,

My beautiful child.

Her mother was a beautiful woman, with long black hair and a wispy frame. She never smiled, the kind of smile people would expect. She showed the glimmer of white teeth, hinting at sharpened canines. Her eyes would alight with an eerie glow, and her face always looked sinister, as if she was hiding something dark beneath her fa├žade.

Little Jane, her mother would say, my little nurse, come help me with my task.

Jane would nod and acquiesce. She had always been fascinated with medicines, and her mother would always say, it is good practice for when you are older, my little child. Then her mother would hand her a pair of gloves and a scalpel.

She remembered how her mother used to guide her hands. Jane, pointing with dainty fingers at every little thing that piques her curiosity, would take in everything her mother would say. She would nod and smile, her curiosity satiated with every bit of information her mother would reveal.

She remembered her father. He was a doctor. He would get home in the dead of the night, or at dawn, exhausted to the core. He always smiled at little Jane whenever she would make her inquiries about his medical practice.

Her father had encouraged her to always ask questions from him, about his work. He would always say, how precocious you are, Little Jane. I'm sure you'll grow up to be a fine doctor someday.

Her mother would smile an enchanting smile and push her towards her father, and Jane will smile the same enchanting smile and ask him about his day at the hospital.

When she turned five, her mother left her to buy more supplies for her birthday gift.

Little Jane was left for hours alone, in their home. She started the task her mother had left, using the tools her mother had left on the table.

She was so excited, she forgot the rule her mother had made her promise never to break.

This will be our little secret, my beautiful nurse.

She was so excited to start on a new topic, with her mother. She did not realize that it was time for her father to come home.

Her father was early this time, because it was her birthday.

He came at twilight.

So excited was she, that she forgot to clean up after herself. So excited was she, that she did not realize that her father would get home before her mother.

Her father was so excited to meet his daughter, gift bag in one hand, to celebrate the birth of his only child.

When he entered the house, he immediately smelled the same pungent scent he had always encountered in the hospital. The metallic smell of blood was unmistakable. The curious scent of death, while he was unaffected due to the nature of his work, was quite incompatible with the residence of an immaculate wife.

Fearing the worst, he followed the scent, until he reached the kitchen. For surely, there was no other explanation other than the fears that his family has been harmed.

Thereupon, the sight that greeted him chilled him to the core.

Little Jane could remember just how pale her father had turned when he saw her drenched in blood, scalpel in one hand, and the other, plunged into the stomach of a dead body on their kitchen table.

Little Jane had turned towards the figure of her mother, who had returned shortly after her husband. Her mother's pale skin had become even whiter under the harsh glare of the kitchen lights.

Thereafter, all she could remember was a flurry of events that seemed to make no sense. Her mother had been taken away from her, forcefully dragged against her will and protestations. Her father had seemed to look at her in a new light, his eyes guarded at all times.

There was a brief stint at a room with many benches, and a person with black robes. She had bravely asked where she could get black robes like the one the person wore. When he replied that only judges could have them, she pouted and said it was unfair.

Little Jane could remember that her mother had been sent away to a home. She's been sent to an institute, for the criminally insane, she heard her father tell his brother once. He would always say to her, that she's just gone away to the hospital to get treated, like what usually happens when a person is sick.

But her mother had always taught her that the hospital is the place where people die.

And her mother was always right. So she never questioned her. But she never questioned her father either, because he would start shouting at her, and hurting her, screaming that her mother was wrong.

When she turned six, she asked for a body as a birthday gift. Her father's face turned red and he started screaming at her, that she should forget whatever her mother had taught her.

She never did.

But she never asked for another body again.

A few weeks after her ninth birthday, her father had finally relented and taken her to visit her mother. He could not bear to see her mother, but he would not let her be alone with her at all.

The institute was a large building, and white all over. There were rooms upon rooms, and there were lots of people, most of them with crazed looks in their eyes.

Her mother greeted her with the same enchanting smile, and offered them a seat and drinks. Her father declined for the both of them. They talked about their lives, and mundane things.

Her father's phone began to rang, and he excused himself. Little Jane remembered the predatory smile that blossomed in her mother's face, when he had turned his back on them after excusing himself.

"What had been happening to you, my little nurse?" She asked, her voice sultry and commanding.

"Father would not give me any body at all, mother," Jane sighed, "He tells me, it is not right. He also says that the hospital is a place where people go to be cured." She said forlornly. "I know he is wrong mother, he does not seem to understand at all."

Her mother placed a clammy hand on her daughter's pale face, tracing the contours that her daughter had no doubt inherited from her. "You are my child, my little nurse."

"He is not like you, nor like me." Her mother whispered. Little Jane understood her mother's words.

When they got home, she waited as her father cooked dinner. She fingered the sleeping pill her mother had slipped in her hand. She took the pill and dissolved it in the water.

When her father was fast asleep in his room, she crept up, her hands on a syringe, and an assortment of poisons. She experimented on her father's body, watching as the poisons and medicines took effect. When he opened his eyes in shock, he saw the face of his daughter, but he could not move. He could only stare at the eerie glow that surrounded his daughter's eyes, and the same enchanting smile her mother had usually worn.

"Father, can you see? I'm my mother's little nurse, you understand?" Little Jane whispered in a soft voice. "And you are my patient, father. This is the hospital." She gestured to the room. "But you see father, the hospital isn't for the living. No. No. No. It's for the dead."

Then she showed her pearly white canines.

And he understood.

She was after all, the Black widow's little nurse.


The inspiration for this character is actually Jane Toppan, the serial killer who started her killing spree when she was training to be a nurse.