₁.₀ SUPERCUT; gilbert blythe ✔

023.

Lunch break arrives at last and Marianne is completely exhausted.

For a short moment this morning, she was actually pleased to leave the house (and finally get away from the overbearing presence of their boarders). She even pulled a smile onto her face as Anne went on inventing a story about evil skeletons and haunted forests; she's got to give it to the redhead girl - the force of her imagination truly is something to behold.

Most of the good feelings disappeared as soon as she stepped through the threshold.

"You two should've stopped him from getting on that steamship," complains Ruby; as though they forced the Blythe boy to step on deck. "If Gilbert falls overboard and drowns, it'll all be your fault."

"He'd come home soon enough if he knew there was gold on his farm."

"Anne is writing him a letter, aren't you, Anne?"

But the redhead girl doesn't respond, focusing her attention on something entirely else.

"He looks so awfully lonely."

Well, someone, more of.

Marianne fixes her stare on the same spot Anne's looking at. In the opposite corner of the classroom is Cole Mackenzie, sitting there all alone; behind his back the line Mr. Phillips made him write over and over again.

It is rather unusual for their little academic environment. As far as Marianne can tell, it's the girls that eat their lunch inside, while the boys are occupied with all kinds of outdoor activities that she couldn't even name. It's not a rule, but everybody know this - more like an unspoken agreement among all the pupils. Break out of it and you are sure to become the talk of the school.

Though it would be hard to blame Cole for seeking a moment of peace and quiet after what happened earlier today.

Marianne's not gonna lie - she's never paid much attention to the boy before (to be honest, she's never paid much attention to any of the boys, with only one exception). All she knew before was his name and now she doesn't know much more, beside the fact that he must enjoy drawing and has a gift for calligraphy, which their teacher didn't find impressive after he'd call him to the front of the class for a completely ridiculous reason.

She's not fond of that word, but Mr. Phillips really can be kind of a prick sometimes.

"I think he's more sad and handsome than lonely."

"Josie's dead gone over Cole." Jane sends her a teasing smile while the other girls giggle.

"I am not. I'm simply observant."

"There is no boy more sad and handsome than Gilbert Blythe."

Those are ridiculous words to say and Marianne chokes on her scone, one of the many Mr. Dunlop conjured up in their kitchen. She's thrown into a fit of coughing, tears swell in her eyes as Tillie pats her on the back.

She tries to blink them away as quickly as possible, but when she raises her head, her vision is still clouded with water. It's only by the red hair that she recognises Anne, striding through the classroom with Diana trailing behind.

It's not like she's got anything against the other girls (aside from Josie and her unthoughtful remarks), but it's obvious who she'd rather sit with. Grabbing ahold of her basket and following the two younger girls is the only sensible choice for her.

"Your drawing was exquisite," Marianne hears Anne say as she approaches. "It brought Camelot to life. And plus, Billy Andrews is a barbarian."

Diana smiles sweetly. "I have strawberry tarts to share. May we join you?"

The boy moves to make some place for them, and Marianne sits down on the other side of him. The other girls follow their footsteps soon enough, encouraged by Diana; Josie is left alone in their previous spot, and Marianne almost pities her as the blonde turns to leave with an unpleasant scowl on her lips.

Turning her attention beck to Cole, Marianne can tell he is somewhat uncomfortable, a little overwhelmed by the sudden attention from all the girls; after all, the look on his face is not unfamiliar to her. But for this very reason - because she's accustomed to seeing it on herself - she can also tell that he is thankful, too, and happy.

After all, who could ever resist the charm of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?

🌼

How hard can writing a single letter be?

Marianne lets out a long sigh. Her head feels heavy and she lowers it down until her forehead touches the wooden desk; she's been trying to find the right words for at least half an hour, now she can feel firs waves of headache building up behind her eyes.

It's never that hard to write to Edward. Usually, Marianne would just describe the most interesting events in their family's life in Avonlea, tell him about her best drawings and of Anne's tales, and Marilla's attempts to tame the redhead's imagination before it gets the better of her (just like now, Anne's ghost story from this morning is the very reason she pleaded Marianne not to close the door completely). Last time she sealed an envelope meant for her brother, it contained the information about the gold.

(As a matter of fact, she's yet to receive his response.)

But, for some reason she's afraid to acknowledge, the matter seems entirely different when it's Gilbert Blythe on the other end of the words.

She's got trouble getting past the 'Dear Gilbert" part, which is rather pathetic. All the education she's already received means nothing at the moment, all the smart sounding words disappearing from her head as she stares down onto the blank sheet of paper placed before her. Not to mention the ones she already angrily crushed with her palm and placed in one of the drawers.

To prove how great her current struggle is, Marianne almost feels grateful the moment a scream is heard. Anne's voice gives her a reason to postpone the task, and the Belware girl is almost too eager to leave her own bedroom.

Careful not to let her hair get to close to the candle, she pushes open the door to the redhead's room. "Anne?"

"Could that be the long-drawn sail of two boughs running together, or the cry of the unearthly creatures I've called into being?"

For a moment, Marianne just stares at the girl hidden under her overlay. Wasn't she aware of Anne's character, she she would wonder if the question is serious.

Instead, she says, "The boughs, definitely."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, a skeleton is only made with bones. I cannot imagine how he could make move without muscles and tendons, and all the other parts that would come in handy should one want to climb up here and snatch you."

Anne peaks from underneath the thin fabric, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

"Considering your lack of imagination in that matter, your relation to Marilla really seems to make sense."

Well, that could be perceived quite offensive.

"Just... try to go back to sleep, Anne, alright? I can promise you, we are safe here. Otherwise, Marilla and Matthew would never let us alone in the house. Besides, rarely anything extraordinary seems to happen in Avonlea, don't you think?"

With that, Marianne turns to leave, but Anne's question makes her stop in her tracks.

"Will you stay? At least until they come back..."

"Make some room, then." Marianne sets her candle on the desk before walking over to the bed. "And I hope you don't get too clingy when you sleep. I recall no such thing, but I've been told before that I do tend to kick."