What's Past is Prologue (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction)

Chapter One

August 2013, Stratford-upon-Avon, England, UK

"Ellie Donahue, you are gorgeous." I looked in the hotel mirror and smiled. I was wearing a fancy white lace tank tucked in to a simple, black, high-waisted skirt, and I looked amazing. Until last month, I never would have thought so, but when you are forced to begin again at the ripe age of 28, why not try to be more self-confident? I pulled my long, brown, wavy hair off my neck and to the side, uncovering my left shoulder. What is it about shoulders that can make you feel so... free? It's a silly thought, I understand, but think about it. Most workplace dress codes require covered shoulders for some reason. What is so secret about those specific joints that we have to hide them under cardigans and long-sleeved button-up shirts? I checked my new watch that I bought the day before from a small shop in the center of Stratford-upon-Avon where I had been staying for the past few days, and walked to the door, grabbing my purse along the way. For a second, I thought about bringing along the cardigan I had picked out earlier, but wave-off that idea once I remember about how wonderful it feels to have my shoulders bare. Plus, the weather had been wonderful lately, and in a climate that constantly rains, you have to take advantage the few opportunities when they present themselves.

The walk down to the theater from the Falcon Inn only takes a couple minutes. I timed it out earlier in the day so I would know exactly where to go that night. I didn't want to get lost in the dark streets of Stratford on the way to see one of my favorite plays at one of the best theatre companies in the world. While walking past a Thai restaurant called The Giggling Squid (seriously, how is that not the best name ever?), I realized just how great I felt. For the first time in years, I had no one holding me back. It was just me; a thought that would have frightened the old me. I pictured my home in Wisconsin, and how I didn't want to go back to the life I had, and how I couldn't go back to the life I had even if I wanted to. Which I didn't. Really. I needed to find a new apartment, and new job, start over fresh. Everything that I had and was was shared with him.

At this point, a little voice in the back of my mind told me I could move to England. I'd had this thought pop up many times within the past 48 hours, and each time I tried to come up with a reason why it would never work. I had enough money for the move, even though it would mean living on grilled cheese sandwiches for a month, and I had no one back in Wisconsin to care for. It was just me.

As the Royal Shakespeare Company came into view, I pushed all my thoughts aside and started wondering what the performance would be like. How would they do the very first scene of the play? How would they portray Ariel and all of the other spirits? My excitement was practically overflowing as I walked into the building and a short British woman scanned my ticket, telling me to enjoy the show. Splurging on my seat was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I realized this when the only stairs I had to use were ones that led down to the seats on the floor-level. I looked at my ticket. Row D, seat 8. I was on stage right, but only four rows back, and since it was a thrust stage, I knew I would have no trouble seeing everything. Even though I arrived early, most people were already in their seats, and I had to squeeze my way through people's legs, purses, coats, and whatever else they decided to throw on the ground at their feet. I apologized to everyone as I passed them, and felt horrible for making an old man with a cane stand to let me by. The seat would be wonderful once I actually got there, or so I had to keep telling myself so I wouldn't get frustrated at having to sit right in the middle of the row.

I was almost to a clearing, which I assumed was my seat, when I twisted my body to get past an older woman who had tried to position her knees to one side so I could get by. Only, she had forgotten to pick up her purse, and my legs had forgotten how to walk once they got trapped in the strap of her bag. Tumbling forward, I silently cursed and prayed for an elegant landing.