Charming

The explosion of color that the season of autumn usually brought had not faded, even though it was well in the midst of winter; the trees were coated with snow, yet it seemed to shimmer with an iridescent quality, and continued as far as the eye could see. Cecilia and Irene’s cheeks had been pinched into pink rosettes by the cold wind currently blustering through the park. Thankfully, Cecilia had had the sense to hire a carriage through the park on their way to the museum. Irene settled further into the seat, adjusting the blanket across their laps as she flipped to a new page in her sketchbook. She moved the piece of charcoal in her hand quickly, happy with how confident her strokes seemed to be getting (and to do so during a carriage ride, well that was nothing short of a miracle!). They were moving at a leisurely pace, but quick enough for Irene to only have a few seconds’ time to register what she wanted to sketch. Going as fast as she could, Irene flipped to another page, glancing up only momentarily to catch the face of one of the passersby. His features seemed to shift briefly before settling into an appearance that made Irene drop her charcoal.

“Cousin Cece stop the carriage! — Elias!” Irene’s cry of glee echoed throughout the park as she twisted in her seat, upsetting her sketchbook, her pencils and charcoal. A second glance only reaffirmed for her that the person she’d seen out of the corner of her eye, walking past them in the park, was indeed who she thought it was. But she’d recognize that gait anywhere, and plus Elias had a bit of a far-off look in his eye, didn’t he? It was natural he might not have seen her.

“Elias, Elias it’s me! It’s Irene!” And before the coachman could draw the carriage to a halt, Irene seized hold of the side of the carriage opening, using either side to give her the momentum to leap out. She clearly paid no mind to the mild startle she’d given the horses (and coach, for that matter).

“Irene — what in God’s name!” Her cousin’s laugh followed her as she hit the ground running, picking up her skirts ever so slightly to gain better ground.

She was certain that was him! The figure in the distance shifted, as if the air around him had gotten disrupted. Had she been moving at a slower gait, perhaps she would have stopped at the visual oddity. But she was running too fast, and the figure turned around and it was Elias. Letting out a whoop of laughter, Irene dodged the other patrons in the park, quickly realizing the closer she got to him, the less time she had to slow down; so she settled on throwing her arms around Elias to result in a more than chaotic hug.

---

He hadn’t spent much time here at her bedside. It was hard to explain why. Of course he missed her. Of course he wanted her to be alright again. But this – this was not how they were supposed to have met again, if they were going to ever meet again. It felt wrong. Like this, she couldn’t so much as tell him to leave if she wanted to – so for all Elias knew, Irene wouldn’t even want him to be here. He had no right to be, if they were not even friends anymore.

So he never stayed long, in case he was encroaching on her space or bringing back bad memories to her, somehow, unconsciously. Elias had spent more time looking at that painting of three ships at his parents’ house than here, just watching the waves eternally lapping gently but the ships sinking lower and lower in the water with the days and weeks and months. There was a constant ebb and flow of worry in his gut.

Maybe the one mercy of this – although it wasn’t right that she was lying there so pale and listless, so unlike herself; he had always known her to be moving, eyes dancing, smiles dimpling her cheeks – was that at least they didn’t need to talk. He could pretend these were the old days, when their friendship had been easy, before things had capsized completely and she’d gone.

So he worked up the courage to visit, once in a while, and sat there beside her until the awkwardness of being there had ebbed away, then lapsing into thought, squeezing her hand briefly as he came and left, and occasionally talking to her (maybe just to feel like he was achieving something by being here). Nothing useful, nothing deep, just “Hello,” and “how are you?” and “I miss you, you know.” And it wouldn’t make any difference, and besides, he couldn’t stay.

---

It had to be Elias. The faint smell of wood varnish, wood shavings and tree sap clung to him too well for it to be anyone else that she knew of. Deep in his embrace, she could feel the faint vibration of his voice as he murmured his greetings. Then, as if someone had attached a string to her chin, she felt jerked away slightly as her attention diverted. The air suddenly felt fluid, and there seemed to be a faint humming noise somewhere. Shaking herself of the feeling, Irene beamed at him as she pulled away.

“Oh I’ve missed you too!” She giggled, puffs of her breath billowing out in front of her like a cloud. “I wasn’t gone long though, it was just a few months. Oh, I cannot wait to tell you everything,” And then with that she was off, looping her arm through his and tugging him towards the carriage. “You know I meant to write to you, I had thought about doing so a hundred times, but I just kept getting pulled away for some reason.” The more they walked, the further away the carriage seemed to be getting, as if the ground beneath them was moving backwards instead of staying still.

“Are you on your way to a previous engagement? Perhaps you could come with us to the gallery, it’s just down the road.” There was a slight tug in her chest as she said those words. Again, she tried to pay them no mind.

---

She had missed him too. Where they were or when this was or where they were headed was no matter now. The Elias she was embracing grinned back at her, as easy as old times.

“I thought about writing to you, but I never knew what to say,” he said.

He nodded at her keenly at her suggestion; he would come to the gallery, of course he would. His strides would be longer than hers, of course; so he would let her set their pace.

He sighed to himself. “I just really want to know how you are.”

---

At his response, something uncomfortable lurched in the pit of her stomach. A faint glimmer of remembering the disappointment that came every day after she’d sent the letter, only to fade into the stale acceptance at the possibility that he might have just chosen to disregard what she’d poured her heart into.

Under normal circumstances she might have swatted his shoulder in retribution before giving him a cheeky smile. Instead she merely passed by it, opting to address his second comment. “I am well, however I’ve been nursing a terrible headache for the longest time.” Her free hand fluttered up to her temple as if it might find a bruise there. “Italy was quite incredible though I missed England.” And you.

Another uncomfortable jolt, this time in her chest. She pushed forward: “I hardly think my artist skills have improved - if anything I’ve been quite humbled by our Master. But if anything it’s been enlightening to say the least. And I think I’ve finally been able to fix the issue I’ve been having drawing people’s ears!” They always came out crooked or somewhat wobbly looking no matter what she did. The last time she’d made Elias sit for a portrait, his ears looked like they might fly away with him. Irene giggled at the memory, vaguely wondering if he still had the finished piece in his possession. By the end of the session with him, Irene had embraced her ineptitudes and exaggerated his ears so much that she had laughed so hard, she’d fallen off her stool and had to wait for him to help her back up.

“Tell me about you. How are you? How is everyone?” She didn’t realize just how starved for information until she asked. “Did your father like the painting? Are your sister and her children doing alright? I miss your mother too, do give her my love. And..how - how are you and - Daffodil?” The questions tumbled from her and once she started she couldn’t stop. She kept her gaze straight ahead on the carriage in front of them, still far away, as she tightened her grip on his arm; there was no way for her to know but somehow she knew what he would say.

---

“I think about you whenever I visit my parents,” he explained – continued; a conversation to himself. “They ask about you – of course they don’t know how you left in June – and I can never tell them anything new. I check on the painting, though. I don’t know if it’s connected to you, but it – the water rises like –”

He wasn’t sure what he was saying, or whether there was any use in it. She wouldn’t look back at him, no matter how he tried. He felt as guilty as if he had abandoned her to this himself, which he knew very well was nonsensical. He hadn’t even known she would be back, and no one could have known about the dragons.

“Daff and I are well, though. Have I told you we’re engaged?” he murmured. Well: between themselves, at least, it was official. The Potts family – always had rather a lot going on, and whatever was happening with Daff’s sister, it was – the priority now. (Patience was to be their friend again. Daffy really did have plenty of sisters.)

---

Another ache seized her, this time with guilt swirling with the feeling of homesickness. She’d left behind people she adored, and had left them with little to no answers or explanation. Instead of staying to face them, she’d tucked tail and ran away to lick her wounds. In the end, her problems only haunted her even more; distance didn’t do much, and only served to distract her to a certain degree.

Elias had confirmed her suspicions about the painting she’d given his father, though. The minute she realized the very nature of the painting mimicked her emotions, it was too late to turn back. Not wanting to clue him in any further, Irene only hummed along and nodded. And even as he answered her question, she loosened her grip on his arm and let it slip away as her hands came together to clasp in front of her. “Many happy returns to you both.” She murmured, and inhaled deeply before turning to him with a smile on her face. “I’m happy to know you’re happy.” And that was all she could say on the matter, because her throat had suddenly closed up.

Swallowing, she tried to take a deep breath once more; she picked up the pace as she directed her gaze towards the carriage in front of them. When her tongue finally seemed to unstick from the roof of her mouth: “When is the wedding to be, then?” She thought back to the gift she’d left for him at Evergardens, wondering if that was something he’d share with Daffodil. She hoped it would be, if not because the young florist or at least someone in her family would know what to do with them, then for the sake of the kind welcome witch who had been reluctant to part with such precious and rare seeds.

Looking up, the door to the museum had materialized in front of them, beckoning them in with a warm gust of air. With a sigh of relief to be out of the cold, Irene reached up and pulled at the scarf around her neck.

---

She had let go of him; it felt like something was slipping away from him now. He wanted to grasp at her hand again, press a hand to her wrist or her arm or something to tell her he was still here for her. As here as he could be.

“It’ll be spring, I think,” he offered quietly, and then joked – “For the flowers, if nothing else.”

He looked at her face again as they reached the museum, bemused. “Well?”

---

“Flowers,” Irene echoed absently, thinking again of the seeds she’d given him, wondering if they’d been planted yet. Frankly she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “You don’t need to come with me, Elias.” She said, gripping the door. She mustered a smile again before turning back to him. “Cousin Cece should be back shortly, I think and we were — ow!”

The draft coming in from the museum was warm, but in a split second the air turned scalding and strong, forcing the doors open. Irene tugged Elias’ arm, backing them away from the gaping pitch black of the inside. “Nononononoooo,” It was happening again. “Elias we have to go. Now, this has happened before, it won’t be long until —”

A rattling sound echoed from within, and soon two glowing eyes could be seen from the depths of the museum. And pair of eyes were getting closer. “Nooo, he’s back…”

---

Something had – changed, with Irene. She was different, all of a sudden; Elias was sure he felt a trickling of tension in his shoulders, a burst of panic from her. His face had mirrored the feeling, with a furrowed brow and a sombre frown.

“Irene,” he said, insisted; a surge of urgency in his gut, something happening he didn’t understand. “What’s happened before – what’s happening?” He had grasped at her as she clutched at him, trying to keep solidly with her. “What is it?” Or ought he ask who?

---

She was caught between throwing herself in front of him and wanting to shrink and hide behind him for refuge. But neither would suffice because the glowing eyes kept advancing, surrounded by a shadow that kept shifting. She couldn’t tell if it was in the outline of a man or something larger, and a whimper escaped her as she clung to him. “I don’t know,” she said desperately, tugging him back even further. “I think I’m going mad, Elias.” She whispered, eyes on the advancing figure. “This has happened before, but I can’t remember it. It feels like I’m stuck and I can’t get —”

A horrible droning noise sounded, cutting her off as the figure sped towards the both of them, shadowy with a gaping mouth, opening far too widely. Hot air swirled towards her, and she tugged him backwards even further. “I don’t want to do this again, please don’t make me,” She murmured, ducking her head against his shoulder. Dread had trickled down her back and pooled in her stomach. Nausea roiling in he gut, Irene felt something pulling her gaze up once more. “Please, leave us alone.” There was no time for a sob to work its way up her throat because the shadow exploded out from the doors.

Irene screamed, stumbling backwards, her grip slipping from Elias’ arm. Except for she didn’t hit the ground, or plunge into brackish water like she usually did.

Instead she found herself blinking up into a bright light and - and her eyes were open. It took a few moments to realize that she was breathing hard and that her hands had gathered bedsheets into a crumpled ball in her palms. Where in God’s name was she?

---

(The dream had taken on some nightmarish quality now; Elias could feel a ball of tension in his chest, Irene’s panic seeping into him. It felt like there was no escape; that neither of them would make it out of there alive.)

In the hospital, the tension in his chest cracked open when he saw the flutter of her eyelids. His breath stopped, almost lurching out his chair at her bedside in fear or wonder or shock. He was worried: that he was delusional; that she was awake but something was wrong; that this was going to be a moment of devastation, a last burst of terror before the end.

“Irene?” he said urgently, conscious of her rapid breaths in the bed. He leant forwards, cautiously – ever so gently, in case she flinched from it – put his hand on her arm, hoping that she would loosen her fists and feel that it was all alright now, even though he wasn’t sure if it was. “Irene,” he said again, because her eyes were open, and relief flooded through his ribs, and hoarsely out of his throat – because this wasn’t the end, she hadn’t died, she was still here. “Can you – hear me?”

---

A shadowy figure came towards her, and she flinched, worried that two pinpricks of yellow would appear and haunt her until the end of time. As the figure’s features came further into view though, something inside her lurched and she gave a strangled sort of exclamation. There wasn't enough air in her lungs. Her vision stung hot and blurry and she blinked rapidly to be rid of the sensation. Her body hurt; that much was for certain. It felt as if someone had pressed themselves onto her chest with such force, such determination that she managed to unclamp a hand and press it to her skin there. There was no one. No one was forcing her down. So why did it feel like she was still struggling for air in that murky, brackish water?

Her vision focused even further and she saw who was hovering over her, the soft planes of his face creased with concern. She stared. Blinked once more. His blue eyes bore into hers and she momentarily got lost in her own mind again; it was trying to tell her something, trying to get her to grasp onto a solid thought— trying to…shield her from something? — but she just wanted to float for a while. She blinked again as her mind jerked once more, this time more persistently. It solidified.

Her neck hurt.

She hissed in pain. No, this is too much.

Then her head split open and everything was white. Tears poured down her cheeks and she couldn’t stop the pressure on her chest no matter how much she gasped for air.

---

“Irene!” Elias said again, too startled and worried that she might be dying to sound gentle about it. “I need a healer! Now!” he called out, reaching out to ring the bell at her bedside and then raking his gaze desperately over her again, sure of nothing except that Irene was in extreme pain.

He wasn’t a healer – he didn’t know what to do for her – he could see strained movement at her chest. “Irene, don’t leave me now,” he urged her – pleaded. It didn’t matter if she could hear him or not; seeing her like this in the hospital bed was making it hard enough to breathe on his side.

---

She didn’t know how long it lasted, just that it hurt and that she could only grit her teeth and bear it. The voice that came to her was urgent, she could tell that. It kept telling her to not leave, but she wanted to. She wanted to be anywhere else but here. At some point, there was a bustling beside her and she felt a cool liquid being poured down her throat. It was only after that when her vision started to clear that she was able to discern where she was. She felt the sheets tangled in her fingers, felt the rawness in her throat from crying, and felt a presence beside her that seemed all too familiar.

Her mind was still struggling to focus on one singular thing. Irene lifted her hand. Maybe the person belonging to the voice was still there. She might as well have been moving through quicksand as she turned her gaze towards where the voice had come from. She drew a breath and the familiar scent of wood and something else more acrid and bitter - varnish, a voice told her - and lay her eyes on the person sitting next to her.

She blinked again, staring at him. He was completely disheveled and his hair looked like he’d been attacked by birds. He looked tired too. Panicked about something, maybe? Irene tugged her expression into one that mirrored his. “What’s wrong?”

---

Help came, and Elias moved back only as far as he had to, because if these were Irene’s last moments, and whether or not she was really struggling with consciousness in them, he didn’t want to strand her in them alone.

She – seemed to calm, in her body, but Elias couldn’t decide if this was a good sign or bad, and he was almost too afraid to ask. But eventually they drew back and he had a better view of her again, just waiting for – some sign she was still here. He inhaled sharply when she spoke, to him, sounding uncannily like herself again. His chest hurt; his heart might have been beating hard enough to bruise his ribs from the inside. He let out the breath before he could speak. “I thought you were –” Elias shook his head rather than finish that sentence, and his frown shifted to a smile, helplessly. “You’re awake,” he said (as if she hadn’t noticed). How much ought he explain to her? The healers would do it better than he; he swallowed, overwhelmed. “It’s been a while, but I – oh god, I was hoping you would.”

He had come to terms with perhaps never seeing her again, when she had left the country; but he could never have fathomed her leaving like this.

---