First and foremost, I do not own Hemlock Grove, I am simply a giant nerd writing a story centered around the characters and plot of Hemlock Grove.

Secondly, I am horrible at updating but am trying my damnedest to update this specific story once a week or once every other week depending on my schedule. I am a huge fan of Hemlock Grove and anyone who is reading this probably is as well, but just to be sure. This is rated T for swearing, gore, death, sexual content, drug and alcohol abuse, and mentions of abuse. If there is to be any "hardcore" scenes I will mark them as such before the chapter or scene begins in case you wish to skip the dirty details.

And finally, I hope you enjoy this mass of creative idiocy, obsessive boredom, and lack of sleep.

ENJOY

Circumstance. A twelve letter word that can mean everything and nothing all at once. Not literally of course. The word does not mean everything and nothing all at once, it means a fact or condition connected with or relevant to an event or action. Circumstance is growing up always on the move and feeling uncomfortable when you finally settle down. It is watching someone you look up to drink themselves unconscious and following suit several years down the line. Charlie Everett was a victim of circumstance. She had little control over how her life panned out and when she found herself facing down a raging beast, well, she was reminded of that fact.

When Charlie was a little girl, forests were dangerous. They held untold monsters and beasts that her father always warned her of. As she grew older, and the fear of death began to fade, the forest became a grove of mysteries and never before seen treasures. At seventeen, the forest had become a forest. Nothing more than a mass of trees over uneven land filled with creatures both familiar and not. So as she walked through the woods in the early morning, the sun barely flickering overhead, she was not frightened nor was she excited, she simply was.

A tree branch cracked a little beyond her view, a quick snap that would've been nothing if it were anyone else. But Charlie was not anyone else, she was Charlie Everett. And so she tensed, thin hand sliding into her pocket and long fingers winding around a knife. Her steps became quieter, the near silent shift of her sneakers against dirt going unnoticed. She rounded a tree without a sound, muscles pulling taught under skin before releasing all together.

A boy laid in the woods, shifting against the uncomfortable ground, stark naked. Charlie breathed in deeply, exhaling with something akin to a laugh. The boy's head snapped up, eyes wide despite the weariness clearly creeping over him. He stared at her for a moment, prolonged gaze eventually scanning over his own nude form. He wrinkled his nose, hands going to cover himself. "Rough night?" Charlie asked, shrugging out of her oversized flannel and holding it out for the boy. He paused, eyes calculating, before cautiously accepting the shirt.

Turning away, Charlie rocked on the heels of her high-tops, hands locked behind her back. The boy made a noise somewhere between a groan and a huff and she turned. The red and black flannel was haphazardly wrapped around his hips, carefully covering his lower half from view. "Uh," his voice cracked with disuse, face twisting into a wince, "thanks." The pair continued to stare at one another for a long minute.

"Well!" Charlie chewed the inside of her cheek at the awkward silence, "I should be getting going and you should find some pants so…bye!" Charlie had never been the best at social situations and so, with a wide grin, she turned on her heel and marched away. And that was the first of many times she would ever encounter Peter Rumancek.

Godfrey mansion had the capability to be a beautiful home, but was continuously overthrown by the chill that emanated from its very walls. Stories were scripted into the wallpaper, screams trapped in light fixtures, and blood imprinted in the very foundation. The front door was a towering entrance into hell, Charlie was sure of it, still, she knocked. Her knuckles were bruised before they met the heavy wood and her nose wrinkled at the new bloom of pain, face quickly smoothing out as the door creaked open.

Olivia Godfrey had the remarkable ability to make people feel as if they had personally wronged her for simply existing. With her impeccable dress and perfectly manicured nails, on one could question the woman was ethereal. Yet her eyes were dark. Black holes boring into the soul with a judgement only someone as rich and mighty as her could possess. Charlie felt the heat of her gaze every time she saw the woman and was still unsure why she continued to return despite the dread settling in her gut everytime she knocked on her door.

"Everett," her lip was lifted in disgust at the simple sight of Charlie, eyes raking over her worn jeans and faded shirt down to her too old converse, falling apart at the seams. "He's in his room," the door slid open an inch further, the terrifyingly gorgeous woman sauntering away without another word. Charlie hesitantly entered the house, pushing the door shut behind her and scurrying towards the stairs.

The floorboards did not creak like most and the door to Roman's room was as large and overbearing as the front door. Charlie had a much less difficult time slipping into the boy's room, tense muscles settling under her skin. The bedroom was easily as big as her entire house, bigger in fact, and completely empty of any living souls.

Blinking, Charlie sighed loudly. Her dirty shoes padded against the floor and across pale tile into the bathroom. Roman Godfrey, an unlikely friend, was sprawled out in his tub, cigarette held between damp fingers. "Leaving me to the fate of your mother," she leaned down to snatch his cigarette, "so you can bathe is just rude. A punishment far outweighing the crime," she took a quick drag, slumping against the wall opposite the tub.

"Thought it would be amusing," Roman smirked, hand extended for the cigarette. Charlie took a long drag before passing it over, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling the barest wisps.

"Your sense of humor has always been odd," she slipped her phone and wallet from her pockets, tossing them along with her keys into a pile on the floor. "I saw a naked dude in the woods this morning. Must've had a wild night."

Two weeks later found Charlie on the precipice of unconsciousness. Stumbling through the dark, she found herself questioning how she had ended up where she was, nearly dead on her feet in the middle of the damn woods. A part of her screamed in the back of her mind. Warning her of the dangers lurking behind every tree while the majority of her mind was centered on pain.

It radiated through her muscles like an infection; bones aching, skin bruising, and blood falling. Ow. Ow. Ow. The thought repeated over and over again until it was all she could think about. She no longer cared about the clearing of space or the soft surface she happened to fall into, no, all she could think about was how much everything hurt. Come morning she would mentally berate herself for passing out in an unknown location, but until then, she would find comfort in the nothingness of sleep.

When the sun began to rise over the canopy, Charlie rose with it, though far less gracefully. She groaned loudly, struggling within a cocoon of fabric that wouldn't stay still until she slipped forth from her confines and fell ungraciously to the ground. Her chin smacked against the dirt first, followed closely by her ribcage which elicited a huff of air. Her lungs throbbed and her heart pounded against her chest as her legs met damp dirt.

The rustle of movement caught her attention and in any other circumstance, Charlie would've been on her feet and alert in all of three seconds. Instead, however, she stayed planted to the ground in a heap. "Um," the familiar voice broke through the rhythmic beat of her heart and faint chorus of birds, "are you okay?" Somehow managing to gather her arms under her, Charlie hefted herself up on her palms and stared up.

The sun blinded her momentarily, a strobe of light that released a hiss from between her grit teeth. "Naked guy," she grumbled, blinking rapidly to disperse the sunspots in her vision, "good to see ya clothed." Pushing, Charlie curled her legs under her, falling back into a kneeling position in the dirt. "Time?" she cracked her neck, the steady clicks followed by the popping of her vertebrae and shoulders.

Peter watched her for a moment, wincing at the noises sounding from her very bones. She shuffled through her pockets to gather three things, dropping them in her lap. A set of keys, only two on a hoop with three keychains, a wallet, held together with rainbow duct tape, and a phone, the screen fractured and case plain black. "Um," Peter shifted awkwardly, "7:14."

"Fuck," Charlie cursed, slowly rising to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her legs and picked a leaf from her curly locks, "you got a cigarette?"

Charlie had never imagined a trailer home to be cozy. The few she'd lived in had been cramped and uncomfortable. They usually smelled like smoke as well. And while the Rumancek trailer smelt strongly of cigarette smoke it also smelt of sage and coffee. The couch was dark and more than likely stained but it was comfortable and Lynda Rumancek didn't even question why a random girl was slumped into their couch when she walked into the living area.

"Coffee?" Charlie was tempted to moan at the offer, containing herself to a quick nod. "Cream or sugar?" Lynda was a godsend, Charlie was definitely sure of it. Either that or she was so tired she was hallucinating the ring around the woman's head.

Blinking, Charlie realised she hadn't answered, coughing into her fist and muttering "black's fine."

"So," Lynda slid her steaming mug along the coffee table, "how long have you been here?"

"Um… I'm not sure," Charlie carefully maneuvered the scalding cup into one hand, tapping a beat with her fingers along her thigh. "I left my house around one? I don't know how long I walked so…" she took a sip, "somewhere between one and now?" The coffee burned her tongue, biting at her tastebuds with as much rage as she remembered from the night before.

"Any reason you passed out in our hammock between one and six in the morning?"

"I was drunk?" Charlie lied, the words heavy on her now numb tongue.

"Uh huh." Lynda didn't buy it, neither did Peter, but the pair did not push Charlie to be honest. "Well," Lynda stood, "I'm going out to the store because we have nothing for breakfast. Try not to get in any trouble while I'm gone," she dropped her mug into the sink, "oh, and sweetie," Charlie's head snapped up, "I'm Lynda. You're welcome to stay as long as you need." The woman had grabbed her bag and scurried out the door before Charlie could react, words stuck in her throat and eyes wide.

"Is she always like that?" she muttered weakly, eyes darting to the boy with shaggy hair and ancient eyes.

"Only when she wants to be," Peter answered, dropping down in the chair his mother had previously occupied, "only when she wants to be."

Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you enjoyed what you've seen so far and if you have any comments please leave them below! I'd love to hear what everyone and anyone has to say!