#magsthefangirl

[birdofdoom]

Persephone

The poster asked for a fic in which Anna actually lived. They wanted to know what the interaction between Anna, Michael, and Polly would look like. In this chapter, Michael and Anna meet for the first time. They’ll meet Polly in Chapter 2. I had a lot of ideas so it was hard to do a one shot. I’m sorry I have so many ongoing projects. I hope it meets expectations if not just send some feedback and I’d be happy to rewrite it.

PS I am so so so sorry that I’ve taken so long to post. I’ve been pretty ill for the past couple of weeks and it all came to a head last week so I’ve been working on recovering. I’m sorry for the delay and thank you for being patient. I hope you enjoy it. Cheers.

The summer air was sweet. Heather and hollyhock wafted in the wind. Henry was stretched out beneath a lonesome oak tree in the center of a grassy hill. The tree was a remnant of antiquity, gray and gnarled with time. It stood tall creating a massive umbrella of shade, sunshine dappling the young man’s face. The saccharine sting in the air made Henry tired. He could feel his eyelids grow heavy as he drifted in and out of daydreams. The languid afternoon was soon broken. Noxious gasoline fumes and the roar of a car engine ripped through the quiet country town. The beast of a machine belched an air of foreboding, smothering the remnants of freshness in the breeze. Henry propped himself on his forearms to better see the interloper. The car had pulled off on a lane that led to Henry’s knoll. The driver cut the engine. A renewed silence fell over the meadow in a heavy shroud. He watched suspiciously as a man and young girl climbed out of the vehicle and began to make their way to his ancient tree. As the pair approached, Henry stood to meet them and saw the slightest look of recognition in the man’s shrewd gaze. The girl remained ten paces behind, too shy or too cautious to keep pace.   

“How old are you, lad?” Tobacco smoke poured from his mouth as he spoke.

“Seventeen, eighteen in a few weeks time. Why?”

“Do live with a Mrs. Johnson? You go by Henry?”

“Yeah? Can I help you? Why do you ask?”  

There was a pause and Henry could feel anticipation and tension grow. The man inhaled from his cigarette and oozed a sense of cool. The visitors were a welcome distraction in Henry’s dull life. However, the oddity of the man’s questions charged the air with disagreeable intrigue. Henry could feel his cheeks grow red with self-awareness as the man stared at him in appraisal. The silence was long and hung thick in the summer heat. 

“You taken by the Parish?” The man’s words were acrid and blunt.

“What of it? That isn’t any of your concern.” 

“That a ‘yes’?”

Henry felt shame and hurt well in his stomach. Words sunk like lead in his throat. He managed a meek nod.

“Good, lad. I’m round asking because, like you said, you’ll be a man soon. Eighteen. Therefore, it’s your right to know your family and where you come from. I’m here to ensure that right is protected. My name’s Thomas, I’m your cousin. Your mother, Elizabeth Gray, sent me.  She just wants to talk Michael.” Henry quirked his head with suspicion, the name making an intimate moment feel strange. “That’s your real name, Michael Gray, not Henry Johnson. Your sister,” he turned, glancing over his shoulder and gesturing to the small girl, “is on her way to meet your mother now. You have a home with them, if you so choose. Take some time and think on it, Michael. Here,” he handed Henry a small card with a name and address. “You can find them there.” 

Henry couldn’t bring himself to be so blindly accepting. The man ensured that ‘Michael,’ was his true name, but the designation felt melancholic in Henry’s mouth. As he wrapped his mind around the cadence of the syllables, it reminded him of loss. It sat in his mind; alien, unnerving, like an old friend that had grown distant with time. Henry yearned to be reunited with his real family, but distrust chilled any hope at gayety. He needed evidence to know if this girl was his sister and if his birthmother still lived. He needed proof. His eyes were interrogating. The sun stung Henry’s eyes and he squinted to see the girl, sweat prickling at his neck. She had since moved forward to stand at the man’s side.

Her hair was laid into plaits, forming twin sheaves of golden wheat at her shoulders. Like her brother, her eyes seemed to glow with a brilliant celadon sheen. She had that thousand mile stare that ripped through time and space; the kind of look one develops when they’ve seen too much too young. Refugee eyes. Survivor eyes. It was a knowing look, the kind of look that cut through bullshit and silenced emotion. She didn’t seem to see much of anything; rather she just looked past it, through it. Although four years his junior her stare was ancient. He felt exposed and pinned down under her faded jade eyes. They mirrored back to him an imagined understanding of what his father must have looked like. Somewhere deep in that knowing gaze was the galaxy: an abyss of apathy and indifference that revealed her lack of innocence. The kid had seen some shit, and her stoicism showed it. 

Her somber eyes and smooth face were off-putting and unnerving. Her jaw was round and cherubic but her cheeks were gaunt; the jolliness of youth drained by hunger and illness. Her shoes were old and the soles had long since lost their glue; hanging precariously to the leather tops by a few shabby threads. Her dress was well worn. The matching jumper had mismatched patches at the elbow and hem where it had undoubtedly frayed with wear. She was short, but long limbed and gangly thin. He found her to be oddly reminiscent of a rag doll or a marionette with cut strings. She stood, chaos and rapture held at bay behind her silence. 

The omen of a man that brought her to Henry held similar power in his gaze. He was wealthy, as evidenced by the automobile and gold pocket watch. Henry found the man to be reminiscent of Death, handsome and villainous. The man with the posh car walked forward; smoke curling out of his nostrils. Everything about his presence read as sharp. He looked to be more serpent than man. His jaw was chiseled and smooth marble; eyes cerulean and frigid. The dragon wore a smart suit and a peaked cap. He looked beautiful and lethal, otherworldly. As he took an exceptionally long drag from his cigarette, he scanned the two children. Evaluating. Judging. Calculating. Henry could feel his gut turn. He was fascinated and frightened by the two ethereal terrors before him. Both the man and young girl were leviathans wrapped in beautiful faces; devilment only visible in their eyes. He could make out a possible ghost of kinship between the two. However, where her eyes held an opacity of emptiness, his held an icy fire, intense and electrically alive.

Taking another drag, the stranger pulled his hand from his pocket, reaching to hold the girl’s. His hands were scarred and rough but held hers with a tender softness.

“What do you say? He look up to snuff to be your brother?” his voice was smooth and playful, lightening the mood.

“I wouldn’t know, Tommy.” Her voice was like river-glass. 

Henry laughed nervously, realizing he wouldn’t either. He had memories, or rather shadows of memories, of the life he lived before. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Henry reached out his hand to shake hers. Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m sure it is.” The smoking man smirked at her reply. There was an edge in her tone that mirrored the man’s. She was quick-witted and her tongue sharp. “So this is what you got? A fucking home in the country?” Henry could practically taste the bitterness in her tone. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long were you a ward of the Parish? How long did you live with the Fathers? Even make it to the workhouse? Nah, I bet they took you in right away to this lovely, house in the country. Isn’t that right, Henry?” Her voice lingered on his name as an accusation, an insult to who he had become.

“It was little over two years.” He could feel the color drain from his face, a wave of nausea ebbing and tainted memories flowing. She nodded in silent agreement. She knew his pain. Henry couldn’t bring himself to imagine how time compounded her experience and trauma. He could feel himself fall into the well of shame and self-loathing that those vile memories slept in. He bit at the inside of his mouth in an attempt to stave off the embarrassment of tears. The girl reached into the pocket of her jumper retrieving a chocolate bar. She unwrapped it with precision and care, looking upon it with reverence. Henry could see that this treat was a treasure, something that she had been saving and protecting. She split the bar into three equal shares, handing one each to the men.

“To coming home.” She lifted the sweet in a mock toast and began eating. Thomas chuckled, halving his own chocolate then handing the pieces to the children. 

“Not one for sweets,” he soothed as tendrils of smoke danced in the still summer air.

Henry was grateful for the chocolate, but even more so for the understanding and care from apparent strangers. They both felt so wraithlike, so terrifying, and yet so nostalgic. The girl knew his secret. She had lived that secret. In their common suffering, she offered him an unspoken sympathy. Tommy checked his pocket watch and turned to face the girl.  

“Right. Into the car.”  He exhaled smoke into the command and it burned sweetly with his rough tambour. The girl walked robotically into the backseat.

“Goodbye then, Anna.” Her head lifted. She slowly turned to catch his gaze. As tears began to roll quietly down her hollowed cheeks, she formed a soft crooked smile in turn. Henry felt his heart soar and sing at her beaming face, surprised at the name tumbling from his tongue. The way her lips hooked slyly to the right mirrored his own. 

“I never said my name was Anna.” Her eyes had turned sharp, taking on the fire and conviction that Henry had seen in Thomas’ gaze. Hope kissed the corners of her cheeks as her smile broadened. In that moment he knew that she was indeed his sister. Something visceral and primal called out. The connection of kinship.

“Come on Michael, it’s just a chat.”

“Alright. Just so long as I’m back by sundown.”