𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝒕𝒆𝒏

Giselle had always been one of your favorite ballets. It was the very first show that your father took you to and you had no doubt that you would hold it in esteemed regard for the remainder of your life.

You arrived at the theater at the perfect time and quickly took your seats—Meg and Mr. Brooke together on your left and Laurie seated directly to your right. As the music struck up, it took your spirit right along with it. No longer were you in a one-story playhouse in Massachusetts. The majesty of it all had carried you all the way back to the Detroit Opera House.

If you hadn't been enjoying yourself half as much as you were, you would have perhaps noticed that Laurie observed the performance a total of once before his entire attention devoted itself to you. Despite this, the same gleam in your eye was just as present in his.

You wouldn't know this until much later, but you were just as much a spectacle to him as the uniformed dancers.

The theater emptied two hours later and you huddled outside in the cold as Mr. Brooke called for the carriage.

"Did you see–! Oh, and the costumes! It was marvelous, wasn't it?"

You were gushing. Meg giggled and looked up as Mr. Brooke approached with the polite tip of his hat. He offered his arm to your cousin and you could only smile proudly as they wandered off toward the wooded area where the carriages were supposed to arrive.

The cold night air bit at your nose as you watched them walk up ahead without you. The air was suddenly quiet and for the very first time that evening, you could think with a clear conscience.

"Doux ange?"

The French words danced nicely on Laurie's tongue as he approached from behind. His pale cheeks were unusually rosy in the bitter cold, but he was still smiling down at you as he offered you his arm. You took it without a second thought and the two of you began tracing the footsteps of the couple that came before you.

"What did you think, angel?"

"Oh, it was brilliant!" you laughed, leaning into his tweed jacket. "Nothing like the shows back at home."

He laughed and his breath curled in front of his lips like mist. "I'd love to take you to a real show someday."

You frowned in confusion and knitted your eyebrows together. "This wasn't a real show?"

Laurie looked down at you. There was starlight flickering in his dark eyes and snowflakes clinging to his midnight hair. He couldn't tell if you were jesting or not. "No, angel. I will take you to a true ballet. One in an opera house with real composers and the finest dancing you have ever seen."

You hummed and began your walk once more. "That would be nice."

"I would love to watch you dance one day."

You felt your face begin to heat up, but you couldn't tell for certain whether it was because of Laurie's words or the winter air that was gently fanning your skin. "I could never," you mumbled shyly in response.

"Please?" Laurie stopped you and stood directly in your path with a mischievous, pleading look on his face. His eyes were wide and begging and you nearly gave in right then and there. "For me?"

He rolled a thumb over your gloved hand, barely intertwined with his own. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It was just the two of you out there in the snowy meadow. Every other sensible person had already found their carriages or gone back inside. "For you, perhaps," you sighed in playful defeat.

It was a lie and you both knew it then. But neither of you cared as much as you made the rest of your journey to where the carriage was waiting with your cousin and Mr. Brooke already waiting inside.

The young men kindly offered to walk you all the way to the front door of the March house. You and Meg were giggling nearly the entire time, scolding one another for making the other laugh so hard. At the door, Mr. Brooke removed his hat and offered Meg a shallow bow before turning away.

"I bid thee adieu, doux ange," Laurie grinned in turn, his hand held out in the air between you as if it were an invitation. You let your palm slip over his and he bent down to kiss your bare knuckle, meeting your eye the entire time. Whatever weak 'goodbye' you managed to utter was carried away by the wind. It was Meg who had to eventually open the door and pull you inside behind her. Otherwise, you would have stood lamely on the doorstep with that glazed-over look in your eye until sunrise.

As the door slammed shut behind you, you felt the air become heavy and thick with tension.

All of your cousins were gathered together in the sitting room. Jo was pacing quickly in front of the fire as Beth and Amy sat obediently still on the sofa—heads hanging low in their laps.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, removing your coat and scarf before hanging them beside the door.

Beth looked between her sisters nervously. On the other side of the room, Meg lingered in the doorway with confusion swimming in her eyes. Jo pointed an accusing finger at Amy. "Tell her what you did."

The youngest of the March sisters nervously crossed and uncrossed her legs. "W-Well you see–"

"She smashed it."

You blinked and stepped further into the room. "I'm sorry?"

"Your locket. Amy smashed it. She took a rock from the garden and smashed your locket into itty bitty pieces."

Everyone in the room turned to look at you in the doorway, frozen still at the realization. "Amy?" you choked, hoping that she would be the first to break and confess that this was a poor joke.

She whined and wrung her hands together in her lap. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, (Y/N). I was so angry about being left behind that I wasn't thinking!"

You couldn't react. It wasn't as if you wouldn't—it was physically impossible. You had been stunned into silence like a marble statue.

"Give it to her," Jo hissed.

Without even a moment to process, Amy gulped and made her way across the room to you. As she walked, she dug into the pocket of her chemise and produced a handful of ripped paper and shattered bronze which she then deposited into your open hand. When you looked down, the very first thing you saw was a sliver of a torn photograph that displayed the top right corner of your mother's smiling face.

You took a sharp breath and Amy winced.

"This...This is the only photograph I have of my mother."

"(Y/N), please. I'm so sorry. You must forgive me!"

Jo stomped forward and yanked her little sister back by the shoulder. "She doesn't have to forgive you, evil girl. You ruined something important to her!"

Saying not even a word, you clutched the broken fragments of your locket in a tight fist. "I...I think I'll see myself to bed now. Goodnight everyone."

You refused to meet anyone's eye as you ascended the staircase and found your way to the bedroom you shared with your two other cousins. Only once you deemed yourself completely alone did you finally cry.

Although the shards of brass were painfully cutting into your palms, you did not loosen your fist. You fell asleep like that, still dressed from your night at the ballet, the last photograph of your mother held tightly in your fist. Unbeknownst to you, sounds of your broken sobs echoed down the stairs and settled deep in the conscience of your youngest cousin.

(A/N: I have no idea where this update came from. I got the urge and...idk. Totally out of nowhere. Do people still read this?)