The days were beginning to grow shorter. The mornings were oft touched with a chill in the air not present before. The evenings bore the same fate, a creeping indication that the anchors of frost would soon be tarrying in the harbors of Klewyth. Despite her extreme dislike of the cold, she was almost looking forward to it. The house and the city streets were less busy then, leaving her - for the most part - to her own devices. For an entire month of the season Babbington departed to her own home for rest and reprieve as well as time spent with her own family. She would most likely spend the time relatively alone, this year. Already, her 'parents' were sometimes over heard squabbling about their planned getaway. Somewhere warmer for the sake of their bones which were beginning to grind in dismay and age.
The house staff would even dwindle for a short time, a skeleton crew set about tasks that would merely keep the manor functional and comfortable for the return of the house masters. There would be no lavish parties, no esteemed guests to wait on, so many of the servants would also recall their steps to whatever place their families called their own.
They were cruel reminders that she could no longer do the same. While she could surely make her escape across the sea with funds from the Beleveron's treasury, what was it she was like to see? To feel? Her people were gone now, a memory upon the dust and debris of the breeze. They only lived on within her own cerebral prison. Their jovial faces would not be waiting upon the pier to greet her. They would not welcome back the desert queen with open arms and genial hearts. No, the grains and grit of sands would merely continue to filter into the tombs in its every shifting foray. That chance of happiness had met the guillotine, a malicious and ruthless executioner. She had heard it sing as it cut her from her past, the sound nightmarish and only perceived in such a realm that dreams were warped in. A haunt of devils.
One such fabrication had sunk its teeth deeply within her flesh. Her eyes wept while her heart bled, an unrequited suffering that found no comfort. Her guard was no longer present to chase such demons away, nor to sweep away the trails blazed by the droplets that erupted from the dams of her lashes. Just as her return would be lonely, so to was life in Odersten at present. Lonesome and writhing with uncertainty. What a tragedy it was to be surrounded by so many faces among the streets and yet feel so entirely and unmistakably alone.
She would settle within the pools of golden light, next to the gentle hymn of the square's fountain. The shiver of day break had long since been shrugged off and a mantle of pleasant, albeit waning, summer warmth draped itself upon her skin. She allowed her eyes to slip closed as she listened to the bauble of water singing from the urn of the cherubs that decorated the spill.
Anger was for adults. So too was sadness and hurt. Those feelings had no place in a little girl's heart when she should be complacent with her lot. Little girls should be happy with the crumbs in their stomachs and the rags on their backs. Little girls should be happy to call a rotting hovel home. Most importantly of all, little girls must always cry alone.
I cried more than I ever had the night of the wedding turned crime scene. A joyous event of laughter and cheer erupted into chaos. The harrowing screams of terrified guests haunted me; the collapse of Mr. August made me shake with gut-wrenching fear. I couldn't move. The ballroom swayed in slow motion from every corner of my fleeting gaze. It wasn’t from the dizzy effects of the poison that others suffered - mine torment was wholly cerebral. It was as if the world itself came crashing down, down, down upon my helpless mind. My powerless little body could only crumble to its knees.
They were still slightly bruised beneath the pastel-dyed cloth of my jade and white summer dress. The flower embroidery along its hem was expertly sewn and just a glance could garner that the seamstress took great pride in her work.
My hollowed gaze looked upon her work through the window. Another fanciful sheet of cloth turned gown dressed the mannequin. Were my mind not so plagued with worry, perhaps a glimmer of wishful wonderings would gleam behind my amber gaze.
There was no joy here, no smile to dress my sullen lips nor delightful curiosity in my sluggish steps. Not while he lay behind the barricade of his bedroom door for three days now with only faint reassurance from passing nurses towards his condition. I had hoped that Mr Ajax would have taken pity on me, let me into the room, let me hold Mr Augusts’ hand while he slept or told me he’d be fine without that worried gleam in his eye.
When one grew up in a broken home, one learned how to read people and their emotions. I could feel the worry on him as if it had become a tangible entity wrapped around our throats, drawing the breath from our lungs until we’d become corpses.
Being the obedient little girl - some could say my fatal flaw - I couldn’t disobey when he bid me to the city to get my mind away from Mr August.
I came to sit by the fountain whose soothing waters did nothing to clear my mind. Fragrant flowers couldn’t distract from the whispers in my head. Perhaps it was that moment of weakness that allowed the plague of my thoughts to feast on everything that weighed down my heart. All its turmoil, its fears. It all began with one tear. A quiet slip of mourning lament before another quickly followed. Frantically I wiped it away, then the next, and the next until it appeared as if I were batting at my face.
My cheeks flushed with frustration, the ruddy skin hidden as I buried my face into the palm of my hands to weep.
She wanted to see them, one last time. Without blood on their faces and matting their hair together in clumps of gilded ivory and ruby. Like precious gold and an enamored stone woven into their depths. No matter how far she reached into the foremost of her memories was her silent request deigned to be given reprieve. It was only ever a vicious cycle, those last tarrying moments of grief that seemed to be embedded into her very bones. The overwhelming burden of grief that had surrounded her father, then from losing him. Her sisters one by one by one. Women who were much stronger than she, much more fit to govern. Strong leaders with far more to offer in every regard. She wondered what they would have done in her shoes? How would they deal with this?
She sighed, the exhale feeling much longer than any breath she ever recalled pulling in. She let it out until her lungs felt starved and in danger of bowing in upon one another. She held it there, that empty feeling that had become her home. Was that easier than the trepidation that ate at her any other time? Was it better to be hollow than desperately hoping? Was it better to be a shell than try to dig through the mires of the creature she had become? Abysmally selfish. Scraping at anything in hopes to pull herself free despite her broken nails and bleeding finger pads. In spite of the dried, dulled crimson that decorated these prison walls of stone, she could still not drag herself free from it - this horrid pit that held her captive.
Unable to resist it any longer, she drew in a breath of air. She inhaled the scent of summer flowers and the gentle light that gave them life, of the fresh rushing water that lay so close by. The sound of the liquid pouring from the cherubs ewer and into the pool decorated with delicate blooms and lily pads floating so effortlessly upon the gentle turbulence of the surface. Of someone close by. Her eyes opened then, allowing her to see the young lady wiping almost viciously at her face.
Her bench was slowly abandoned, instead, she would slowly make her way towards the downtrodden maiden, a soft smile lingering upon her features as she settled a small distance away from her. "I h-hope this seat isn't taken." She would offer in soft announcement, though her eyes had drawn back to the grand fountain, even bigger than the one that rested in the square of the city by the sea. Though the decoration was vastly different. It was an offering to allow the girl some measure of privacy, albeit an attempt to offer some comfort in the same breath. "The sun feels good today, no?" She leaned forward somewhat, her fingertips gripping tightly to the underside of the alabaster bench.
