Have yourself a suicidal Christmas....
Dec. 27th, 2011 05:04 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadowsThe dawn comes slow and sluggish on Christmas day, and it takes Solace a while to realize it has even come. Normally she wakes when the light comes in through the bedroom window, but this morning it is so thin and grey that she sleeps straight through, and it is half past eight before she stirs at all.
The room she is sleeping in smells slightly of candle wax, from the little altar she has set up. From somewhere outside she can hear dogs barking, and after a few moments, she hears her brother’s voice, calling them back to him. It is morning, and so Johnny will be patrolling the estate, as he does every morning. He will check the traps, maybe set some new ones, clear away some old. This is why Solace isn’t meant to roam the estate, although she’s been trying to learn the safe ways anyway. Even if Johnny only wants to protect her, she doesn’t like being confined to the house. It still feels too much like a gilded cage.
Solace will move in a few moments. First she’ll bathe, and then she will head for the kitchen. It will be a big day, but right now there are still a few hours left where it’s all peaceful. She can wrap the presents she’s bought or made for people. She’s unsure what to do with them. She bought them because it seemed appropriate but now, with today being the day that it is, the gulf between her and the people she’s gifting these things to seems too far, too enormous to cross.
Solace shifts a little, unwilling to get up for some reason. Yet she isn’t afraid. She thought she’d be afraid, but she isn’t. Instead she just feels overwhelmingly and inexplicably relieved. It is over, at last. The big day is here, and there is no more waiting. Sometimes it feels as if Solace has spent her whole life waiting; waiting for a mate, then waiting for children, then waiting for a salvation that never came.
No more waiting.
She does think about the events of the past month. She thinks about Korsten Winterfell, and the silences between them that both are afraid to fill. She thinks about Verity and Eliza, and the bruises they carry beneath the bright confident masks they wear. She thinks about Michèle and smiles because she always does when she thinks about the cocky wolf-boy.
It has, Solace thinks, been a good month. She has met people, and she’s found her brother. She wishes she had taken the time to decorate the bedroom he has set aside for her here a little better. Still, she likes the simplicity of this room right now; the whitewashed walls, the small altar to the spirits she has set up by the window. She’ll light a candle to them this morning, and thank them for the guidance they have given her so far.
She doesn’t know what guidance they can offer now. It’s all too late anyway and she and Johnny are already in free fall.
They are facing the family tonight. The invitation has been sent, and by midnight tonight it will all be done. Either Johnny’s claim to his sister will be accepted, and, as far as the Ivory Claws are concerned, she will be his, blood and bone, or the insult will be taken and blood will fall. Solace doesn’t know which way it will go, although she suspects the latter. She would take it all as insult were she coming to dinner tonight.
Still, it is too late to worry about it now. They are – Johnny and Solace both – Ivory Claw in blood if not in action, bred for Perfection and too good to flinch from their chosen destinies. Solace has chosen a dress and has long black velvet gloves as well. She will be beautiful tonight, without a scar on display. She won’t let them look at her with pity or with sympathy; she’d rather be a murderous bitch tonight.
It is Christmas, and, strangely, Solace realizes she is looking forward to it as she begins to get dressed. She looks in the mirror and sees that she is smiling.
This is the right time for this to happen, she realizes. Christmas is, after all, a time for homecomings, a time for family. It’s the time when the old year ends and the world sinks into darkness for a while, and all any of us can do is hope for the new year coming.
And tonight that is what she will do.
Running downstairs the house smells of cinnamon and pine. Somewhere in the house, someone is baking fresh croissant, and the radio is playing Christmas carols. The Christmas tree in the hall is bright with lights, and Godfrey, the butler, is already directing one of the cleaners from the village to sweep up pine needles, with a long suffering expression on his face.
“Good morning, Miss Solace,” he says, politely, straightening as she comes past, looking almost pained at the brightness with which she smiles at him today. A little more hauteur, he feels, would be appropriate in Sir Jonathon Churchill’s younger sister.
Solace ignores this entirely. It is Christmas, the wait is over, and her whole precious, structured, controlled life of waiting is coming to an end at last.
“Happy Christmas, Godfrey,” she says and then, because it feels appropriate today more than any Christmas before, “may God bless us, every one.”
The room she is sleeping in smells slightly of candle wax, from the little altar she has set up. From somewhere outside she can hear dogs barking, and after a few moments, she hears her brother’s voice, calling them back to him. It is morning, and so Johnny will be patrolling the estate, as he does every morning. He will check the traps, maybe set some new ones, clear away some old. This is why Solace isn’t meant to roam the estate, although she’s been trying to learn the safe ways anyway. Even if Johnny only wants to protect her, she doesn’t like being confined to the house. It still feels too much like a gilded cage.
Solace will move in a few moments. First she’ll bathe, and then she will head for the kitchen. It will be a big day, but right now there are still a few hours left where it’s all peaceful. She can wrap the presents she’s bought or made for people. She’s unsure what to do with them. She bought them because it seemed appropriate but now, with today being the day that it is, the gulf between her and the people she’s gifting these things to seems too far, too enormous to cross.
Solace shifts a little, unwilling to get up for some reason. Yet she isn’t afraid. She thought she’d be afraid, but she isn’t. Instead she just feels overwhelmingly and inexplicably relieved. It is over, at last. The big day is here, and there is no more waiting. Sometimes it feels as if Solace has spent her whole life waiting; waiting for a mate, then waiting for children, then waiting for a salvation that never came.
No more waiting.
She does think about the events of the past month. She thinks about Korsten Winterfell, and the silences between them that both are afraid to fill. She thinks about Verity and Eliza, and the bruises they carry beneath the bright confident masks they wear. She thinks about Michèle and smiles because she always does when she thinks about the cocky wolf-boy.
It has, Solace thinks, been a good month. She has met people, and she’s found her brother. She wishes she had taken the time to decorate the bedroom he has set aside for her here a little better. Still, she likes the simplicity of this room right now; the whitewashed walls, the small altar to the spirits she has set up by the window. She’ll light a candle to them this morning, and thank them for the guidance they have given her so far.
She doesn’t know what guidance they can offer now. It’s all too late anyway and she and Johnny are already in free fall.
They are facing the family tonight. The invitation has been sent, and by midnight tonight it will all be done. Either Johnny’s claim to his sister will be accepted, and, as far as the Ivory Claws are concerned, she will be his, blood and bone, or the insult will be taken and blood will fall. Solace doesn’t know which way it will go, although she suspects the latter. She would take it all as insult were she coming to dinner tonight.
Still, it is too late to worry about it now. They are – Johnny and Solace both – Ivory Claw in blood if not in action, bred for Perfection and too good to flinch from their chosen destinies. Solace has chosen a dress and has long black velvet gloves as well. She will be beautiful tonight, without a scar on display. She won’t let them look at her with pity or with sympathy; she’d rather be a murderous bitch tonight.
It is Christmas, and, strangely, Solace realizes she is looking forward to it as she begins to get dressed. She looks in the mirror and sees that she is smiling.
This is the right time for this to happen, she realizes. Christmas is, after all, a time for homecomings, a time for family. It’s the time when the old year ends and the world sinks into darkness for a while, and all any of us can do is hope for the new year coming.
And tonight that is what she will do.
Running downstairs the house smells of cinnamon and pine. Somewhere in the house, someone is baking fresh croissant, and the radio is playing Christmas carols. The Christmas tree in the hall is bright with lights, and Godfrey, the butler, is already directing one of the cleaners from the village to sweep up pine needles, with a long suffering expression on his face.
“Good morning, Miss Solace,” he says, politely, straightening as she comes past, looking almost pained at the brightness with which she smiles at him today. A little more hauteur, he feels, would be appropriate in Sir Jonathon Churchill’s younger sister.
Solace ignores this entirely. It is Christmas, the wait is over, and her whole precious, structured, controlled life of waiting is coming to an end at last.
“Happy Christmas, Godfrey,” she says and then, because it feels appropriate today more than any Christmas before, “may God bless us, every one.”
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