#like. what does it mean when a woman adorns herself???? dead end. changing the subject!

[finelythreadedsky]

ancient greece had some weird notions of the female going on. like what do you mean the innermost nature of women is the concealment of their nature? what is pandora an imitation of? if women are by nature deceptive, do they in fact reveal the truth of what they are in using their bodies to deceive? can you cover covering itself?

[trinuviel]

Regarding that feather...

Ever since the Game of Thrones season 8 teaser Aftermath was released people have been debating who or what is represented by the feather that slowly falls from the broken railing on the battlements of Winterfell down to the remains of Bran’s wheelchair. Some people think the feather symbolizes Lyanna, other people think it represents Sansa and yet others claim that it represents Jon’s parentage.

I’m here to say that the feather actually represents all three options! In itself the feather is just an object, a prop - what it means is completely dependent on the context in which it appears - and when the context changes, so does the meaning of the feather.

At various moments in the story, the feather symbolizes different things - and it all depends on the context in which it appears!!!!!

In order to ascertain what the feather might signify in the teaser Aftermath, we’ll have to take a look at the circumstances where it has previously appeared. The feather has made appearances in season 1 and 5 as well as in 2 of the promotional teasers for the upcoming season 8. 

Season 1

The feather makes its debut in the very first episode of the show, when the whole story takes its beginning. Immediately after his arrival in Winterfell, King Robert goes with to crypts with Ned Stark to pay his respects the Ned’s late sister Lyanna Stark whose “abduction” by Rhaegar Targaryen was one of the events that sparked Robert’s Rebellion, which put an end to the Targaryen dynasty. (Now we know that Lyanna wasn’t really abducted by Rhaegar but this is the official story and what Robert believes).

(GIF by Zulzibar)

Robert has brought the feather of an exotic bird which he places in the hands of Lyanna’s funerary statue. He laments that she is buried in such a dark place and when Ned says the she belongs there because she was a Stark, Robert angrily retorts that she belonged with him. Then Robert says that he kills Rhaegar all over again in his dreams, even after 15 years.

In this context, the feather represents Robert’s love for Lyanna - and it is thus a symbol both of Lyanna herself but also of his love and his loss, which haunts him to this day.

Season 5

The feather reappears in season 5 when Sansa Stark returns to Winterfell to be wed to Ramsay Bolton. Shortly after her arrival, we have a scene where she’s in  the crypts, lighting a candle that she places in the hands of Lyanna’s funerary statue, much like Robert placed the feather there. She notices the feather lying at the feet of the statue, picks it up and blows off the dust that have accumulated on it.

(GIF by @thelawyerthatwaspromised)

The showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss explains one of the reasons why they included the feather in this scene:

"The last time we saw the statue of Lyanna was in the pilot episode," explains series co-creator David Benioff. "King Robert Baratheon laid this exotic, tropical bird feather in her hand. As we were preparing the scene [with Sansa], we thought: That feather’s probably still there. People haven't been going down there and cleaning up much. Certainly after Ramsay destroyed Winterfell, there hasn’t been a janitorial crew going down and vacuuming." "We thought it would be kind of a great thing to have Sansa wondering about it," co-creator D.B. Weiss notes. "Hopefully viewers wonder: Where did I see that before? – and then remember that in the first episode of the show, this is something that Robert left to remember the woman he loved." (Making Game of Thrones)

Now this sounds like the feather is just a sort of nice little Easter egg for the attentive viewer to remember. However, the context of the scene adds a layer of significance to this little object because the official story of Lyanna’s fate comes to function as a foreshadowing for what happens to Sansa later in season 5.

Just after she has picked up the feather, Littlefinger intrudes upon Sansa as she pays homage to her dead:

Sansa: Father never talked about her. Sometimes I’d find him down here, lighting the candles. They say she was beautiful.

This shows that Sansa didn’t really know much about her aunt who died before she was born. She doesn’t really have a connection with Lyanna but yet she’s down in the crypt lighting a candle to her. Why? The line quoted above subtly tells us that this is Sansa’s way of remembering her father. There’s no statue of Ned in the crypts but she remembers her father lighting candles to her aunt - and so she does the same as a way of remembering him, which is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

Littlefinger then goes on to tell the story of the Tourney of Harrenhal where Rhaegar first met Lyanna and crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty - causing a scandal. Sansa finishes the story by saying that Rhaegar then kidnapped and raped Lyanna. This shows that while Ned never talked about his sister, her story (or the official version of it) was well known in the North and that Sansa knew about it from other sources. The conversation about Rhaegar and Lyanna also serves as an extremely subtle hint of a big secret (Jon’s parentage) for the discerning viewer, especially one who’s familiar with the books.

As they walk away from Lyanna’s statue, Sansa is still holding the feather! They discuss Littlefinger’s plans for her to end up Wardeness of the North and as he prepares to take his leave of her she says:

Sansa: I expect I’ll be a married woman by the time you return.

We never see Sansa return the feather to Lyanna’s statue, which I think is important to note!

Within the context of this scene, the feather is obviously connected to Lyanna but it also becomes connected to Sansa more than one way. Firstly, because Lyanna’s fate comes to serve as a dark foreshadowing of things to come for Sansa as she is raped on her wedding night by Ramsay Bolton. This narrative connection between Lyanna and Sansa is further elaborated when Littlefinger serves Lord Rhoyce the lie that Sansa was abducted by the Bolton in season 6. Thus, the official story of Sansa’s presence in the North is one of kidnapping and rape, just like the official story of Lyanna is - and it is used to prompt the Lords of the Vale to go to war for her, just like it prompted Robert and the Starks to go to war for Lyanna.

It is also worth noting that Sansa wears her black, feathered gown during the scene in the crypt. The costume design is important but WHEN the costumes are worn is equally important - and Sansa’s gown also sports feathers dangling from her wrists, which the camera work draws attention to in another scene. Sansa is thus already connected to feathers visually and she has quite a bit of bird imagery as well - she’s been called both Little Dove and Little Bird in King’s Landing. So there’s a visual comparison drawn between Lyanna’s feather and Sansa’s costume.

The there’s the fact that the show draws visual comparisons between Lyanna and Sansa in season 7. Thus, Sansa wears her hair just like Lyanna did during her secret wedding to Rhaegar Targaryen.

Furthermore, Lyanna’s wedding gown features a belt that looks very similar to the one that adorned Sansa’s wedding dress in season 3 in the way it cross over her torso and sports an embellished collar. This is NOT a coincidence since costumier Michele Clapton is very particular with her designs and how they support the narrative - and in season 7 she was especially insistent on how each costume detail is symbolic:

We try to be really symbolic about everything everyone wears now.” (Michele Clapton, Insider)

Thus, the show creates a subtle connection between Sansa and Lyanna through the costuming and that adds to the way that the feather connects the two characters through the context of the scene in season 5. In light of this we have to ask ourselves WHY? 

Why has the show gone out of the way to connect these two characters?

Crypts of Winterfell - season 8 Teaser

The feather makes a third appearance in The Crypts of Winterfell teaser for season 8 where we see Jon, Sansa and Arya stride through the crypts of Winterfell only to be confronted with statues of themselves. Though we never saw Sansa return the feather to Lyanna’s statue in season 5, it is back in this teaser where we see it cradled in the hands of the statue.

As Jon walks past, the feather is disturbed and it flies away from the hands of the statue as a Lyanna in a Voice Over says: “You have to protect him.”

These are the very words that she spoke to Ned on her death bed, which we saw in the flash back of season 6 - a scene that revealed that Jon Snow is not the bastard son of Ned Stark but rather the son of his sister Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. Baby Jon’s life was in danger because Robert Baratheon would kill any Targaryen he could get his hands on, even a child. Thus the lie that Jon is Ned’s bastard was born.

In this context, the feather comes to represent Jon’s true parentage, which is a narrative bomb set to go off in this final season of the show. It is a secret that promises to radically reconfigure the narrative and have a huge impact on both political and personal relationships.

The feather IS important because the teaser draws special visual attention to it, not just by focusing on it after Jon ahs walked past Lyanna’s statue but also by making it the subject of an extreme close-up at then end of the sequence.

In short, once again the feather is ascribed a new meaning due to the context of the scenes where it appears in the teaser.

Aftermath - season 8 Teaser

The feather makes yet another appearance in a second teaser for season 8, The Aftermath, which I mentioned in the introduction. In this teaser we see a broken and abandoned Winterfell covered in snow. The Stark direwolf banner is torn and as the camera moves about the ruined castle, we notice objects associated with the main characters: the golden Hand brooch of Tyrion, Arya’s sword Needle, Bran’s wheelchair, Daenerys’ chain of intent, Jaime’s golden hand and Jon’s sword Longclaw. However, we don’t see any object that is obviously associated with Sansa. Yet Lyanna’s feather makes another appearance. Right before we see the feather, we get this shot of the battlements:

This particular place is a place where we’ve seen Sansa several times during seasons 5-7. It was where she was threatened by Myranda just before she and Theon jumped from the walls to escape their prison. It is where she talked with Jon in both season 6 and 7 and it is where she and Arya buried their differences at the end of season 7.

Sansa has also been at the battlements alone in season 7, right before she held the trial of Littlefinger.  She the ONLY character that is especially associated with this particular location in Winterfell.

After the establishing shot of the battlements the camera zooms in on the wood guard rail that has been broken. Lyanna’s feather rests on it until the desolate wind picks it up.

Then it slowly falls down on the ground.

Right next to the broken remains of Bran’s wheelchair.

The camera focuses on the feather for 9 whole seconds, which is a long time in terms of television, especially in a trailer that is just a little over 1 minute long. In comparison the camera spends only about 3 seconds each on the other character symbols except for Jon’s sword, which the camera lingers on for 9 seconds. This proves that the feather is obviously important.

So does the feather represent Sansa in this teaser? It isn’t a question that can’t be answered conclusively unless the creators either confirm of deny it. However, considering that the battlements is a place especially associated with Sansa, combined with the fact that she was associated with the feather in an earlier scene in season 5 + the visual connection made between her and Lyanna in season 7, I’d argue that there’s a very high possibility that the feather does indeed represent Sansa. But why use Lyanna’s feather and not a more recognizable item, like her necklace, that is more readily associated with Sansa? I don’t really have an answer for that other than the creators have decided to infuse the teaser with some ambiguity and that the Lyanna/Sansa/R+L=J connection that the feather symbolizes will be narratively important in some way.

Another interesting detail is the fact that the sequence with the feather is placed between the shot of Arya’s Needle and Bran’s wheelchair, which brings to mind the promotional photo shoots where Sansa repeatedly has been placed between Arya and Bran. 

Having the feather land by Bran’s wheelchair also connects it symbolically with Bran, which activates its symbol value as a signifier of Jon’s true parentage since he is one of the only two people who knows the truth of Jon’s parents as of the end of season 7 where he witness the secret wedding of Lyanna and Rhaegar. Thus, the feather comes to symbolize several things at the same time: Sansa as well as Jon’s parentage, also invoking Lyanna by association.

The Crypts of Winterfell teaser invoked the feather as a symbol of Jon’s true parentage and its importance for the narrative. It is the most narratively coherent of all the season 8 trailers and it establishes the importance of who Jon really is and hints at what it could mean for him politically (”You have to protect him”).

The Aftermath teaser is quite different. It is akin to the season 6 Hall of Faces teaser where the faces of both living and dead characters adorn the walls of the temple of the Many-Faced God. it was clearly meant to remind the audience that no character is safe on this show and to make people worry for their favorites. 

Aftermath serves a similar purpose. It teases a grim future where our heroes lose the War against the Dead, leaving behind a frozen wasteland. It teases the ultimate defeat and the death of all the characters, making us worry just like the Hall of Faces teaser did. There’s no room for politics in this apocalyptic scenario and you have to wonder why the camera takes its time to linger long on an item that symbolizes Jon’s parentage as well as Sansa. You have to wonder why they’ve chosen to put so much focus on this humble feather that is narratively connected to both Lyanna and Sansa as well as serving as a symbol of Jon’s royal heritage.

[coughupmoney]

Dead On Arrival

Awakening to a sharp pain in your chest is scary, but also it’s really really funny. It was funny even at the time. I had started my first antidepressant about a month before this incident; Viibryd. I hate to say that I love doing drugs but I love doing drugs.

When I was diagnosed with depression, Viibryd had just hit the antidepressant scene, a new drug that would dramatically decrease the latency period before the antidepressant would take effect. The day I was prescribed, I was told the effects would be immediate. As soon as I took the drug, I didn’t even feel happy--I felt balanced. It wasn’t an “upper”: a perky, pleasure pill. It was a secret ingredient that provided my brain with some homeostasis. As immediate as the effects were, so were the adverse effects; but that is the trial by fire you face when you relinquish yourself to the world of pharmaceuticals.

The stability I was finally feeling was wonderful, but was it worth the cost of waking up everyday at four in the morning with a searing pain in your chest? I’ll tell you two truths: one, that this deliciously, delectable drug exacerbated my anxiety and two, I secretly enjoyed waking up everyday at four A.M because it was something I could count on. I’ve always been comforted by stability even if it came in the form of torment. All I craved was some structure. However, the pain started to worry me.

At the time I hadn’t recognized that this searing pain was an anxiety attack. That diagnosis came later, in the hospital. Day after day, I awoke in pain, my hypochondria sighing in sorrow. For the sear, for the burn, for the meeting of tomorrow. Every attack was greeted with overwhelming fear. Fear that I was dying. That I was having a heart attack. I went to sleep thinking that every night would be my last. Eventually, after I had let this fear build up in my chest, the fear overwhelmed me. So naturally, I turned it loose on my parents. I allowed my screams and cries to fall upon their sleeping ears. I desperately knocked on their bedroom door.

I hear muffled voices and footsteps creaking on the hardwood floor. “What’s wrong?” Father answers through a crack of the door. I’m not sure how to explain the pain that I’m in.

“My chest hurts.” I say, with efforts of sincerity. My fear is that my plea will be disregarded. Luckily, I was first held at the will of my overbearing Father.

For him, my plea was an immediate call to action. “Do you want to go to a hospital?” He responded. “I think I have to.” I said. Here’s where the water works start. How pathetic. I mean at this point, couldn’t you have just quietly driven yourself to the ER? Here we go, become a burden on all those forced to love you.

Father and I were panicked, quickly collecting ourselves and carrying our urgent vessels into the vehicle. Mother, on the other hand, was at ease. What a fucking bitch. She slowly made her way out of bed and into the shower. While she soaked herself in relaxing hot water, I waited in the car clutching my chest. Like, way to make me feel like shit, I’m sitting in this musky-ass car possibly having a heart attack and here you are taking your sweet time probably awaiting my possible death. She took her time, drying her hair, putting her face on, and adorning herself in a beautiful outfit. I was clearly no cause for her concern. Not like I’ve ever been...are you kidding? She finally made her way out of the house and into the passenger side of the car. Fuckin’ bitch. As soon as her door shut, Father hit the road and said nothing. How could he just sit there and say nothing to her while she treats me like nothing?

The closest hospital was only 10 minutes away. The ride halted at a red stop light. We sat in silence for a few minutes. I would assume if anyone gave a fuck about me they would have flown through that stupid stop light to get me some proper medical care. On the outside I was cold, stern, and stoic. WHY HE WASN’T RUNNING THE FUCKING RED LIGHT? It was five in morning, there was no other car in sight. The silence was broken by my Father who needed my Mother’s permission to run the light. Of course she made us wait. For a moment I couldn’t believe it. Until I could. It made so much sense. No ticket was worth the potential danger my life was in to this woman.

When I had finally realized that, I laughed my fucking head off. In the car, my explosion of laughter was grounds for mental insanity. My Mother questioned the validity of my pain-of course-but I just couldn’t stop laughing even as I clutched onto my chest. The pain had not subsided, even when the light turned green, even when we had made our way into the emergency room. The pain remained, but the irony was not lost on me. It was truly funny to me. This was the first time I had the full realization that I meant nothing to her. I meant absolutely nothing. I had also seen my Father for the coward his is. I realized that there was no one that could protect me from this environment and at that point all I could do was laugh. My laughter was rooted in disbelief, even though I had an entire lifetime of evidence that convinced me that this experience was completely plausible. I found this cognitive dissonance hilarious.

I guess with some introspection I realized that the alternative reactions wouldn’t have served me well. This is difficult to describe to people. Like, how am I going to tell you that depression and anxiety has been the worst challenge of my life? That it has given me insurmountable pain, and yet it has saved my life on multiple occasions? I revere mental illness as the miracle reaper of life. It has challenged every molecule of my being to give into death, yet has allowed me to navigate traumatic situations with ease because, of course, with anxiety, I expected all this to happen anyway.  

The rest of the trip wasn’t as eventful. The first course of action included attaching stickers onto my chest to monitor my heart’s rhythms. I remember two things about this scene; I had to take off my shirt, and I was afraid. What does it say about me that I was more concerned with the fact that I would be taking me shirt off rather than being concerned with the probable cause of my lurid chest pain? The technician was sweet. Tasty even, his skin looked soft and I wanted to touch it. From what I remember, I had made it clear to him that I was uncomfortable. I fear that I secretly wanted his pity. I realized that this would be the first time I was going to take my shirt off in front of a man. Honestly, it was hard to not be a little turned on.  I had spent about two years trying to avoid this moment and here my life was depending on it. I took off the white cotton sweatshirt I had fallen asleep in. Sexy right? I laid myself down on the thin, noisy paper availed upon the hospital bed bust. Pieces of my skin stuck to the leather peeking from beneath the tissue.

I knew this was standard procedure, I knew he did this everyday to all sorts of people. It still felt intimate for me. He and I made eye contact while he slowly stuck cold plastic stickers all over my chest. It made me embarrassed. I was a little wet. I was self conscience about my body. He assured me that I was doing great. The technician had no idea that I was slightly turned on and that’s okay with me. But honestly I thought we had a connection. He turned to me and showed me my heart monitor. The technician said that my results were normal. Normal heart rate, regular rhythm and if I remember correctly, he said I had a beautiful heart rhythm. What did I tell you? He loved me.

After we had ruled out that I was in fact not having a heart attack, we moved on to see if there was any damage to my upper body organs. I walked with another technician to get a chest x-ray. For this I had to change into a fabulous white hospital gown that showed off the spine line that led to my glorious plush pyjama pants. This technician was different. He was more personable. He left the room while I changed and when he stepped back in, he lifted my chart from the box above the door. I studied his face as he read my chart. I was looking for hints and tone. How was he going to address me? When he finally looked up at me, he smiled and asked, “How are you liking Viibryd?”

I was surprised but I responded slyly, “It’s pretty immediate actually, I’ve heard that other antidepressants can take up to six months to take effect.” When two people with mental illnesses get into a room together, there's an immediate sense of comradery. As long as someone is brave enough to out themselves first, the bond of emotional strife, taking drugs, and going to therapy is pretty immediate.

“I’ve been taking Zoloft for a while now”, he added.

“How long have you been depressed?” I asked. I was really hoping he’d say “Not very long! It was a temporary thing for me.” That was not the answer I received, of course.

He told me he had been depressed his entire life. That’s it. That’s always it. No one ever just does a stint with depression, it’s always a life sentence. A struggle that starts but never ends. At least, not until you end. He went on to tell met that it’s been an ongoing struggle for him and that he’s only recently been properly medicated. This is another thing that bothers me. Anytime you talk to someone struggling with depression They suffer for so long before they seek treatment. I am curious to know whether this is a folly on culture and institution or just a hazard of the illness.

He interrupted my thought, he had to ask me some health related questions before we did the chest x-ray. The technician jotted down some quick information about my age and medications I was taking. He also shyly asked if there was any way I could be pregnant. I said, “There’s no possible way.”

He responded “You’re not practicing huh?” I quickly wanted to change the subject but instead replied with a stern “no”. I don’t know why I was embarrassed to be a virgin. Maybe I was just embarrassed, about being a virgin and about my body. Two singularities existing in the multiplex of life. Whatever. He lead me to the machine. He placed a heavy lead cover on my chest. I knew this was to protect me from ray scatter.

“Just like the dentist” I joked. He told me that he was going to step into the small boxy closet in the corner of the room to take a few pictures. I stood still. I never thought anything could be wrong with my chest organs, yet my hypochondria sense was tingling. He left to take the pictures. It was painless. When he came back, I wanted to probe him with questions. “So is my chest okay?” My organs? My lungs? Was I slowly but surely dying? Was this the end of life as I knew it?

He spoke casually, “Only the doctor can really tell you that, I only take pictures.”

“That doesn’t help me.” I said.

He turned to me, not as a technician but as a person, and said, “I really think you’re fine.” I smiled and nodded. That is honestly all I’ve ever wanted anyone to say.

He walked me back to a regular hospital room to wait to speak with the doctor. I sat on the bed while both my parents sat in chairs in the corner of the room looking at their phones. Eventually, Father looked up at me, the gleam of screen still in his eyes, and asked how it went. I replied “It was fine”, so that he could get back to his phone.

Soon after, the ER Doctor knocked on the door and walked in. She looked at me hopefully. I feel like a sigh, like deflated air. She was carrying my chart, she flipped a few pages and said that my heart and lungs looked perfectly healthy. She deduced that my chest pain was an adverse effect of my new antidepressant and should subside over time. Of course at this point, Mother chimed in to say “I told you, antidepressants are bad for you.”

The ER Doctor responded, “Actually these symptoms are common while the body acclimates to the new drug.”

I’m not sure if Mother listened to one word that came out of the doctor’s mouth, she only replied, “I just believe that they’re bad.”

The doctor wasn’t sure how to respond. She told me that she was going to give me some Klonopin and beta blockers to subdue the anxiety. I took them both before we left. Within 30 minutes, my chest pain subsided. I felt lightheaded in the best way possible. We walked out of the ER and I listened to my parents talk as I slid back into the car. The only thing Mother had to say to Father about the experience was, “I can’t wait to see how much that bill will be, she shouldn’t even take antidepressants.” And maybe I would’ve cared, if I wasn’t so fucking high.

[alittlecstaticxilophone]

Who told your story

So, here’s this for the sweet anon who requested number eight with hamliza. Thank you for requesting and I hope you  like this 

If anyone is curious about the prompt list HERE it es and feel free to request.

The light of the candle was the only thing that illuminated Eliza’s bedroom and it seemed like that little light was going to be consumed soon. Now at her age and after passing most of her recent days in bed she was unable to fall sleep finding difficulty to find a position that would warrantee a comfortable sleep. Usually her family kept her company during the night but it was too late and they were all sleeping leaving her alone with her thoughts. Nowadays, she didn’t have many things she had not passed already through her mind, instead, she had memories. Thousands of precious things to remember were locked inside her brain and most of them still made her smile today.

She was unused to be ordered to stay in bed she had spent most of her life (especially after she got married) running around helping people, carrying herself and sometimes another bundle in her belly. Being confined to a bed, no matter how necessary, was bothersome for the old woman that always looked for ways to be able to at least visit her own backyard without her entire family gushing about her health.

Suddenly she heard a soft knock on the door interrupting her thoughts, curious; she tilted her head looking at the clock that marked the one a.m.

-Come in- she muttered hoping the person at the other side would hear her. Perhaps it was one of her sons or daughters coming to check on her or bring her a little company knowing she would complain jokingly of expending a night entirely alone.

The door cracked as it was opened and a figure stepped inside Eliza’s bedroom, the woman stared in disbelief at the masculine figure as it made its way to her bed and sat at the end of it, it took it a while to adjust to the soft mattress and it smiled softly as tears filled Eliza’s eyes.

-It’s good to see you Eliza- the figure smiled and Eliza felt the tears run down her cheeks, when the figure saw this his face turned into a more worried one surprised at the woman’s reaction and how calmed this was, but still heartbreaking

-No, no- he whispered leaning closer to her careful not to invade too much of her space–Eliza, don’t cry, I crumble completely when you cry- he spoke bringing a smile the woman’s face, she lost the count of how many times she had dreamt with hearing that voice again.

-It’s not that- she laughed -I’m just-she cleaned the tears that rolled down her cheeks –surprised to see you, it’s been fifty years Alexander- She said and he nodded in understanding, if the situation was reversed(thank god it wasn’t) he would also be surprised to see his dead wife in front of him.

-I know- he answered knowingly sitting closer and reaching for her hand–I was waiting and counting any minute until the day I would get to see you again. - he kissed her knuckles like the first time he had met her all those years ago, the gesture made her feel young again and brought another smile to her face, oh she missed his unnecessary attempts of flirting.

-You could have come earlier, when I was still young- she joked as he caressed her ridged hand, he looked at her almost as if what she said had offended him directly.

-Don’t say that- he sat next to her interlocking his hand with hers letting her rest her head against his shoulder –You did so many wonderful things without me around, besides you definitely are beautiful no matter your age- he kissed her forehead, she furrowed her eyebrows with a smile adorning her face –And it wasn’t the time for me to come, but now it is- he whispered quietly, she widened her eyes at his choice of words noticing how he seemed to look at her but at the same time avoided her gaze focusing instead in her hands or head but never looking into her eyes.

-Does that mean I’m going to…?

-Yes, I’m sorry I can only seem to bring bad things to your life- he apologized knowing she would pick up whatever he said almost instantly, she had always been a smart woman, he waited her to fight or refuse the fact that she wouldn’t survive the night, she was a fighter, instead, she nodded and adjusted herself better to him and he held her closer as he used to do.

-Well, you also brought some good ones- she remembered fondly the night they had gotten married, and how happy she was after she had Philip, now she wanted to remember the happy things she had while he was still married to her. He smiled softly.

-If it wasn’t for me we could have had an incredible marriage- he reasoned – You managed yourself amazingly without me, there are not words to thank you enough for everything you have done for me Eliza, now I have a name, a legacy. Thank you- he recognized kissing her in her forehead,

-I wasn’t going to cry forever Alexander, someone had to finish the job you left half made-she reasoned –It wouldn’t have killed you improve your handwriting when you were alive, you know? I found it charming when you were courting me but as your widow it was painful to read, John even asked what I had seen in you because with that handwriting it was impossible that I could have understood your letters- he chuckled at the choice of words she had used,

-I’m sorry- he apologized, still with a smile on his face, -Thank you for organizing my writings, I’m sure it was a lot of work-

-It definitely was challenging and a constant dare for me and Angelica’s patience- she reminded fondly how Angelica would help her and complain at the same time about Alexander and how the man didn’t deserve all the troubles Eliza was going through for him, it had pained her when her sister passed away but she moved on, she always did

-I can see that- he pictured an angry Angelica –That woman slaps hard, as soon as she found me on the other side she slapped me twice one “in case I forgot what I had done on earth” and another, quoting her “Look after Eliza even from here because you did not deserve her and still don’t, so watch her as she does wonderful things for your sorry undeserving ass” she didn’t have to tell me a single one of these things- he mumbled as he rubbed his cheeks remembering the pain of the ghostly slap Angelica Schuyler had given him.

-I can picture that, she used to say if she died before you she would come to haunt you- Eliza mumbled, if he wasn’t dead Alexander would have sweated nervously expecting Angelica’s ghostly figure to appear in front of them ready to hug Eliza and slap Alexander once again. It took him a few seconds to assure himself that angelica wouldn’t come to haunt him so he could speak again.

-Washington told me to tell you that he was grateful for the monument; he was touched for the gesture and the effort you put into it- Alexander spoke as he traced with his hands the details in Eliza’s dress, she raised her shoulder like a child that didn’t know the correct answer to a question.

-It was nothing, and it was mostly Martha’s idea I just helped with the found rising- she answered dismissing his opinion being as humble as she was, the truth was that she had tried as hard as she could and her husband knew it just like everyone else should have known.

-You need to stop belittling yourself like that Eliza, you are a wonderful, fierce woman.

-I know who I am Alexander; you don’t have to remind me- She interrupted him sternly, not letting him continue with the trace of compliments –I’m just stating the truth, I helped Martha, the monument was not my idea- She finished leaving him speechless, when they had met she would accept any compliment with a soft blush on her cheeks, now with the severity of her voice, there wasn’t any trace of hurt in it seemed like he was scolding him for doing something stupid rather than reminding him who she was, it was rare to see Eliza like that, she tended to take things in a softer way, scolding the person but more softly leaving them to think about what they had gone wrong.

-The boys told me you interviewed them- He opted for changing the subject knowing that conversation wouldn’t lead any of them to anywhere,

-their stories also deserved to be told – she reasoned, she chuckled when she remembered how much Lafayette gestured whenever he spoke telling her about his battles and the French revolution and everything he had done in his life, or how Hercules told her that he convinced a poor British officer to tell him their plan and the man told him, they saved Washington’s life thanks to that.

-I know- Alexander responded as their promises of success in a bar filled their minds.

-Have I told you what I’m the proudest of?- She smiled nervously he opened his eyes in child-like curiosity waiting for her response

-What?- he urged her to speak unable to wait any longer, she let out a soft heartfelt laugh aware of her husband’s limited patient.

-The orphanage-he kept quiet, she took it as a sign for her to continue –I helped to found it and was the directress for twenty seven years, there were so many beautiful children Alexander, all of them needed a home and I did my best to be able to give it to them, I watched them grow.-She smiled widely remembering every single one of the kids, her children complained about how she forgot about the simplest things nowadays but she still seemed to recall every single detail about her past. –Sometimes they reminded me of you, when they ran around, with their endless energy, I thought I didn’t have enough hands for all of them- She laughed as she looked at her own hands –I wonder if I did enough for them, for all of us, for you- she mumbled, he looked at her shocked unable to believe the words that came out of her lips

-Why do you doubt yourself Eliza? - He exclaimed, -What you did was more than enough, hell you didn’t even had to do nothing at all, it wasn’t your duty and you still. All those kids will remember you forever as the kind sweet woman that gave them a home. You might never see the result of your work, but that doesn’t mean what you did was unimportant Eliza- he consoled as she sank deeper in his arms Alexander felt how her heartbeat got weaker and weaker, he turned his face to the clock noticing that it was the three AM and it was almost time for them to leave.

-I know- she yawned closing her eyes slowly –I was just wondering how was it, from someone else’s eyes.- It was the last thing she said before her eyes closed completely, his eyes filled with tears as he slowly accommodated her in the bed in the position she liked to sleep when she was alive.

-It was amazing Eliza, you are amazing, I love you so much- he stood up and watched as her soul did it as well separating itself from her body ready to reach him. She stood slowly in disbelief taking a look at herself noticing she looked young once again, like Alexander who looked like he did the first time they met. He stretched his hand to her so she could reach him, she kissed him it was slow, kind and soft and everything Alexander missed about her. Eliza looked around the place one last time as he opened the door and gestured to tell her that they couldn’t stay much longer it was time for her to leave, they left the bedroom knowing they would miss their home and what they had built.

The next morning John was the first one to open his mother’s bedroom door to inform her that the breakfast was ready and that someone would bring it to the room. It surprised him to see that she was still asleep, with a soft smile on her face.

-Mom- he called. It usually didn’t take long to wake Eliza up, so when she gave no answer he understood, he looked how her hand held her locket tightly and smiled softly as the tears accumulated in his eyes. As he left the bedroom to gave the family the news he thought he saw both of his parents waving goodbye, even if it wasn’t true he leaned his head to them.

[nytefall-blog]

Chasing Rabbits → Chapter One

It all still felt like a dream. A floaty, breezy, giggly dream.

Down, down the rabbit hole to the land of wonders. Mad, mad the young girl went, through Wonderland she plunders.

Alice couldn’t remember how long she’d been in Wonderland. Or maybe it was all a dream and she was really asleep in the tree where her mother abandoned her as an infant. All Alice can recall are eight little words, over and over. Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Soft white fur vibrated beneath Alice’s hand as her cat Cheshire kneaded his paws into her stomach. ‘Meow.’ Cheshire nuzzled his face in Alice’s hair. ‘Meow.’

“Oh Chesh, I don’t speak cat. Though, imagine if cats spoke English. What a strange world that would be, huh.” ‘Meow.’ Alice shook her head at the cat and chuckled. A light spring breeze fluttered Alice’s long golden hair, bringing the pleasant aroma of flowers to her nose. Roses, pretty. The tree limb beneath the girl and cat was thick and sturdy, able to hold them and the young woman that escaped. Alice’s only indication of her was the slight droop at the end of the branch but she could not see her.

Without warning, Cheshire leaped away from the tree and tore off towards the field of roses. A quick burst of white and gold before the cat disappeared was all Alice could make out. She was off the tree nearly as quickly and running after them. “Wait! Thorns, Chesh!”

The sound of mad cackling followed her the whole way through the roses, seemingly louder the farther she ran. Thorns pricked her skin and blood trickled down her arms and legs. Alice finally caught sight of Cheshire as he tackled something white, though both quickly fell out of view.

“Chesh?” Everything began to swim before her eyes; she was bleeding more than she’d realized. The girl could no longer see where she was going. Her heart seemed to drop in her chest as she missed a step. Darkness flooded the space around her and she started falling. Falling… falling... falling…

***

    Whispers; so many hushed voices surrounded the injured girl. ‘She’s so young.’ ‘How do you think she got here?’ ‘Does Adam know about her?’ ‘Where is he?’ ‘The bleeding stopped. Do you think she’s okay?’ ‘The Hatter needs to get here.’ All the murmuring went silent when the door opened. Thump. Thump. Titter. Thump. It was so quiet. Alice couldn’t stop herself from peeking out from under her lashes.

In front of her was a tall young man, probably only a few years older than herself. He wore a top hat with a tattered piece of red polka dotted cloth as the hatband, a little extra hanging off the back. Only a small tuft of black hair was visible under the hat. The eyes that watched her, knowing she was staring back, were a vibrant green. They held a trace of something the girl couldn’t decipher. Something frantic and jittery.

The left corner of his lips twitched every couple seconds. His arms were at his sides, the long slender fingers of his hands fidgeting and tapping against his ebony skinny jeans. On his right shoulder was a quick flick of blue, purple, and white. Two bright blue eyes and a wide grin full of big white teeth appeared, swiftly followed by the rest of the feline’s body. Its fur was striped blue and purple with flecks of white throughout. The girl realized it was the cat’s tail she had seen flick next to the man’s ear. “Hello, Alice.”

Alice quickly looked over at the man to see that it wasn’t him that spoke, but rather, it was the cat perched, not on as she had thought, but hovering just above his shoulder. She opened her eyes all the way and stared, stunned. The oddly colored feline jumped from above the man’s shoulder and onto the table on which Alice lie. “It’s me, Cheshire.”

“Cats don’t talk.” A couple whispers were passed through the room. That was when Alice finally looked at the people that were talking earlier. To her surprise, they weren’t people at all. She saw a lion, a mouse, a turtle, a hare, and a few more animals. The turtle and the hare were talking to each other, wondering if Cheshire knew the girl with the rose thorns.

“But Alice, hadn’t you been saying something about a world where cats spoke English? ‘What a strange world that would be,’ remember? This is that strange world.” Cheshire swished his tail in front of him and disappeared again.

“Welcome to Wonderland, Alice.” said the man with the hat. Alice sat up on the table and looked around, wide-eyed and curious. She finally noticed the walls lined with hats and that each animal had adorned one. “I’m Adam, though most people call me the Mad Hatter.” Adam reached his hand out to Alice to help her off the table. She took hold if it tentatively, still watching her surroundings in wonder.

“Mad Hatter? Why mad?” The animals begun setting teacups and saucers onto the table, some chipped and scratched, though no one seemed to notice or care.

Adam released her hand and moved to the chair at the head of the table. None of the chairs were alike. Some were only stools, others had crazy colored fabric, but Adam’s had the tallest back. It was made of blue jean material and stitched in black thread above Adam’s hat was the word ‘HATTER’. On the back in the same black thread were at least fifty names, all with the last name Topp. “It’s a family trait. Everyone born into my family goes ‘mad as a hatter’ eventually, including those who fall in love with a Topp.”

Alice continued reading the names. “I don’t see your name on the chair.”

“Means I haven’t lost it yet.” Adam tapped his head twice with his pinky. On his pinky was a small silver ring with words engraved on it. Alice had to squint to read it from where she was, not daring to get any closer. She was sure it didn’t matter since this had to be a dream anyway, but she didn’t risk it. Still, the words were too small for her to make out.

“So you’re not really mad. You’re just waiting for the day you will be.” Adam didn’t answer. The lion poured him a cup of tea and sat down in a seat as Adam sipped it. “That’s no way to live. Waiting for madness will only induce it. You need to do something with your life.”

“Haven’t you noticed I make hats?” Adam was still sipping his tea and not looking at her. “How are your cuts? Those were some wicked thorns.”

Alice looked down at her arms and legs, only now taking account of the nicks and cuts in her skin from chasing her cat. “They’re fine. Now don’t change the subject. Making hats is not what I call doing something with your life. I assume that’s a family profession, something your father could do instead.”

“My father is dead.” Adam’s expression was nearly bored. “Check the chair. Leonel Topp.” Alice looked back at the names and sure enough, along the bottom of the back was the name, Leonel Topp. “Don’t apologize either. I hardly knew him. Another fun fact about my family: we rarely know our parents very well.They’re usually dead by the time we’re eight years old.”

Alice didn’t know how to respond to that. She’d never really known her parents either. Her mother left after she was born and her father always locked himself away. The only person she had ever been close with was her brother Peter, but Peter died four years ago. When Alice’s father secluded himself, he started working harder on his work as a scientist. Four years ago he’d tried something on his son and it killed him. Alice had no idea what it was and nobody outside the house knew that it was her father’s fault. Everyone believes Peter was fighting a bad disease and lost to it. Alice was twelve years old at the time.

“Now, if you would like to sit, please do. With our table back, we can have tea.” Alice watched the table for another minute. The only seat open was right beside Adam. She stepped closer to the table and the hare rushed to pull out the chair for her. Once she was seated and gave her thanks to the hare, everything became really noisy and full of laughter. It was like a light switch had been hit--although Alice had yet to see a single light switch in the parlor they were in--and everyone but her and Adam were up and dancing. Music seemed to be playing from the air.

The lion passed a cup of tea over to Alice. “By the way Miss, my name is Felix.” Alice smiled and nodded, watching Felix smile back and ruffle is grand orange mane. He returned to his dancing friends, leaving thorn girl and the hatter alone at the table.

“So Wonderland, huh? Seems like a nice place.” Alice played with the handle of her chipped teacup, unsure of what to do with herself. She knew she’d wake up soon, might as well get to know her dream world while she could.

Adam glanced at her for a second. “It is on this side at the moment. Wonderland isn’t a place of joy and fun. You shouldn’t have followed Cheshire. I’m afraid you’re stuck here now.” Alice set the cup down and chuckled.

“Stuck here? Of course, I’m not stuck here. This is only a dream.” The music cut off and the dancing stopped. Everyone returned to their seat at the table in silence.

“You think this is a dream? How very wrong you are. Cheshire and the White Rabbit led you to the entrance of Wonderland this morning. You’re lucky I’d been expecting Cheshire there and brought you back here or the Queen would make you her new plaything. Now that you’re here, you can’t leave without the Queen’s permission. However, you’re a trespasser, and she’ll have your head for that.” All the creatures nodded their head solemnly. “Although, from what Cheshire has told me, staying here is probably not such a bad thing. What could you possibly want to go back for?”

That question stumped her; what could she possibly want to go back for? A recluse father, an absent mom, and a dead brother was all she had. Her life consisted of quiet halls and talking to her cat, who in Wonderland, could speak back. With a life like that, who would want to go back?

“Nothing. There isn’t anything I could possibly want to go back for.” Alice hadn’t realized till after she spoke that she’d gotten out of her seat and walked across the room. The wallpaper is orange with purple swirls and green top hats, an ugly combination.

“You should get some rest then. Tomorrow, Cheshire can show you around the safe parts of Wonderland. Samson will show you where you can sleep for the night.” The hare, who she presumed to be Samson, got up and headed towards a door. Alice slowly followed him out of the parlor and down a corridor. After five rights and three lefts, Samson finally stopped at a door and opened for her to step through. The place was practically a maze.

“Here you go, Miss. There’s a bathroom down the hall, take a right, and it’s the second door on your left.” How does anyone remember that? “Cheshire can show you where to get clothes tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Samson nodded and shut the door, leaving Alice alone. The room wasn’t very big. A small bed sat in the middle of the far wall with two bedside tables. On one stood a plain lamp and a sleeping clock on the other. A sleeping clock? Alice cautiously stepped close to the clock and touched the top.

The clock jerked awake and stared at her. “Oh, my apologies. No one ever sleeps here so I was taking a little nap. Tock Bell is the name, please let me know if you need to awake at a certain time. That is my specialty.” Alice was… alarmed--for lack of better words. The clock is alive! How is this not a dream? Alice tripped over her own feet as she hurriedly backed away. Tock made an ‘o’ with his mouth and watched her in bewilderment.

“Are you okay, child?” A new voice came from behind her. She looked around to see the doorknob watching her.

“You can talk?” Alice looked between the clock and doorknob with her back against the footboard of the bed.

Tock closed his mouth and raised his bells which seemed to act like eyebrows. “Of course we do. Are you new to Wonderland?” It was the mirror across from Alice that spoke this time. Alice could see her own startled reflection and pulled herself up from the floor. Whispered to herself over and over were the words ‘this isn’t real’. They became a mantra as Alice lie down on the bed, her back to the living objects, and fell asleep.