The softest blush of rose petals permeated the small bedroom set nestled on Watery Lane. It was a gentle aroma, resembling the fragility of a new spring breeze. For it fought for a presence amongst the strength of rich tobacco that engulfed the atmosphere, clinging to the sheets messed on the narrow twin bed and nearly sewing itself into the very stitch work of the dress that flowed down your frame. The floral notes were weak in comparison to the heady masculine scent of Tommy Shelby's distinct and damningly intoxicating cologne. Lingering in the air from his early rise with the morning's fresh light and remaining on the pillow case that absorbed the spice of his scent.
The bottle glinted the faintest spark of light that the Birmingham sky would allow, even as morning had engulfed the atmosphere, the smog and dense ashen haze persisted as if you were never bound to see the sun again. The delicate glass bottle clanked as you set it back down on the mahogany dresser, relishing in the way your skin carefully absorbed the sweet scent. The aroma that you loved dancing along the curve of your neck, seeping across the collar of your powder blue dress. For it was a scent that felt like it didn't belong here in the cold and depressing streets of Small Heath and yet, when you wore the perfume that erupted like the blooming of fresh petals, it reminded you that even in the shadows where perhaps God didn't often look, beauty was still possible.
Looking up from your fingertips that grazed against the side of the cool glass, you caught your reflection in the mirror and felt frozen staring back. For to any other, today was simply another day. The sun would rise and the moon would surely take it's place at the end, but something imbued through the atmosphere of the Shelby house and it felt all-consuming in it's indisputable presence. Today was not just any ordinary day, today was Black Star Day, the day Thomas Shelby would take down Billy Kimber for good.
Releasing a shaky breath through the soft part in your lips, you watched as your chest dropped with your exhale, but none of the anxiety that clutched to your heart that strived to beat through the sensation, was alleviated. For you could feel the nerves gnawing at you from the inside out. Your stomach twisted into a million tiny knots, as though it just might never unwind. Your chest felt tight, like the oxygen that continued to flow down into your lungs, had to force their way, fighting to get you your each and every breath.
The day fell cold on the other side of the ghostly frosted windowpane, but the cold that consumed your body was different. For your flesh felt clammy, as your palms wrung anxiously over and over in front of your chest. Heat flushing your cheeks, appearing as the only hue of color to grace your suddenly paled and weary expression. The anxiety flooded you with warmth that threatened to make you dizzy, but the trepidation for the day's events, sent the blood coursing through your veins running cold.
"You look as if you've seen a bloody ghost."
Perhaps, you'd known he had been standing there the entire time. For you knew if your eyes had the clarity to focus on the entirety of the reflection in the small dresser mirror, apart from the sole sight of your nervous expression, you would've seen Tommy leaning his weight against the doorframe. Clad in deep charcoal tweed and a three piece suit that fit him to perfection. His peaky cap snug against his scalp, pulled lower than any of his brothers as though he aimed to hide the power that resided in his blinding orbs of rich cerulean blue. His hands hidden away in the depths of his pockets, the faded light that had glinted across your perfume bottle, finding the gold chain along his waist coat.
Blinking your eyes as they'd begun to burn from the lack of motion, feeling the wild flutter of your lashes batting against the flesh of your cheekbones, you centered your attention on the Tommy's reflection. The glass distorted his expression in the space in which he stood away from you and from the lack of pristine clarity of the glass itself, but you swore you were still able to observe the ghost of a curl along the stretch of his plump lips.
