April 23rd, 1888 — The Lady Morgana

She had severed all ties with the trash known as Witch Weekly after the debacle with her father. The Prophet, with its actual facts, had been bad enough; Hannah had not wanted to subject herself to the baseless accusations the ladies’ magazine held about her family—and she herself. After losing her child, however, and the subsequent seclusion that came with it, the would-have-been socialite had quietly subscribed once more, a tenuous connection to society at large, but a connection nonetheless.

It should not have come as a surprise to see her name on the front cover, but it had. While Hannah knew better than to take the content of the magazine’s pages to heart—she had long since hardened herself there—the spirit of the article stuck with her, driving her now to a place she had not visited in months.

Hannah sat alone at a small table, sipping her tea as she read a less salacious publication, though the offending Witch Weekly article lay on the table face-up, a silent protest. Her presence at the club once more was a form of stubbornness more than anything, proving to the magazine, society, and even her husband that she could be out in the world, but simply chose not to. Perhaps, in a way, she was also testing the waters—proving that same fact to herself—but that was a detail to be considered retrospectively.

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— Beesets are the gift that keep giving ♡ —

Emma usually subscribed to Witch Weekly in order to learn false information about other people, so it had come as somewhat of a shock to open today's issue and be faced with her own face. It was even more of a shock because and Emma was especially irked about this - the information within was not entirely false. She had never been cursed, as far as she knew, but she had tremendous bad luck with her children, whom she loved dearly. It was this love and the patient fury of a vexed housecat that brought Emma to the Lady Morgana.

The thing was, she wasn't sure what to do once she arrived. Should she brandish the magazine, proclaiming the worst things it said? Should she sign rude things at anyone who implied that her son was less-than-excellent? At a loss, Emma looked to see who else was here, only to spot one of the other targets of the magazine. And one of the less offensive ones, too - Emma had no interest in making friends with Mrs. Elsbeth Lupin, thank you very much.

Without ceremony, Emma joined Miss Pettigrew at the table. "Good afternoon," she said, nonchalant as all hell.

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The face that greeted her had not shared a page with her own, but had also been disparaged by the same issue of the magazine. For a split second, Hannah's first instinct was to recoil from the woman that Witch Weekly had declared should be avoided, but that was the old Hannah, the Hannah who fancied herself a society darling. The Hannah that had died alongside her father and the family's reputation.

"Mrs. Macmillan," she said instead, smile wry but genuine. "Please, do join me." That the other witch had already done so was altogether irrelevant. Hannah moved the offending magazine to leave space before the other woman, ensuring it was still angled to be seen by passers-by.

"Tea?"

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— Beesets are the gift that keep giving ♡ —

"Tea would be lovely, Mrs. Pettigrew," Emma said agreeably. The good thing about sitting with Mrs. Pettigrew was that it was a sort of 'fuck off' to those who had taken today's Witch Weekly seriously. The bad thing about sitting with Mrs. Pettigrew was that, now that Emma considered it, she knew almost nothing about the younger woman.

"I hope that today finds you well?" Emma asked, with her own wry smile. The magazine implied that Mrs. Pettigrew was here for rather the same reasons as Emma herself - that is, to prove that she ought to be here.

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“Better than many would expect,” she replied brightly as she moved to pour. “But then, with fine health and a happy marriage, that much is to be expected.”

Mentally, Hannah winced. She was laying it on too thick, but the words had not been for the benefit of Mrs. Macmillan but for the vultures perched at their tables around them, scavenging for any pieces of gossip to take back to their flocks.

Did vultures flock? Irrelevant.

“And you? I trust…the children are well?” Hannah had to pause for a moment, to recall the reason for Mrs. Macmillan’s inclusion in the ridiculous magazine. “Children are such a blessing, after all.”

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— Beesets are the gift that keep giving ♡ —

Emma smiled brightly at the younger woman, and tacitly agreed to pretend that Mrs. Pettigrew had never had any form of marital issues. She knew that game; everyone played it sooner or later.

"They're lovely," Emma said cheerfully, "My son showed his first signs of magic earlier this week, and I'm just so excited for him." Actually, it had been a few months ago, and already lost some of its novelty, but no one here knew that and she was hoping that it would get people to shut the hell up.

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Her mouth formed into a genuine, warm smile at that.

"What a joyous occasion!" Hannah proclaimed. "You and Mr. Macmillan must be beside yourself with pride. I know Mr. Pettigrew eagerly awaits that milestone in his own son."

His son. However fond Hannah was of little Alexander, it did not change the fact that the boy was not hers, nor was his sister. She had failed in her efforts to procure a child herself—though the less that was dwelled upon, the better her resolution would hold.

"May I ask what the young master Macmillan did, or is that rather a personal moment?"

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— Beesets are the gift that keep giving ♡ —

Despite her fib, Mrs. Pettigrew's enthusiasm was contagious. Emma beamed. "He was asking for more from a platter of cookies my mother's cook had made for the children," Emma said. Subconsciously, she accompanied the word more with the sign for it.

"When that didn't work, he summoned one across the room," she explained, "It nearly hit his elder sister, of course."

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“How charming!” Hannah exclaimed, though her enthusiasm was at least in part a bit forced. She had rather been hoping it would be something more…dramatic. Perhaps, she thought with a pang, such things would be exciting even when mundane if she had children of her own.

“Has Miss Macmillan shown signs of magic as well?” the blonde inquired.

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— Beesets are the gift that keep giving ♡ —

Emma nodded. "She has," she said cheerfully, "She'd be awfully put out if her brother had beat her to it." And Megara was already often put out that Perseus was heartier than she was.

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“Such a blessing, to have such precocious children,” Hannah said before taking another sip of her tea. She had no similar experiences to draw upon—a fact that did not sit altogether well with her—and so thought it best not to pretend otherwise.

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— Beesets are the gift that keep giving ♡ —

"Thank you," Emma said, although she was not sure that it was the appropriate response. Mrs. Pettigrew did not have children for her to comment on, and so Emma was happy to let the conversation slip into comfortable silence.

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