A/N : Please Read!! As social media spreads news faster than I can even conceive, I've become aware of the stuff about Percy H-W. Obviously I know some people prefer to think everyone is innocent until proven guilty, but as a survivor of SA and domestic abuse I want to say regardless that this is a horrible thing these poor people have been through. Allegations such as the ones surfacing now are extremely serious, and we need to be compassionate and listen to everyone; regardless I will ALWAYS side with victims that come forward. I know the majority of people that know about these new allegations side with the victims, and a lot are feeling guilty for fancying him or the character Xavier that he portrays. I have to let any of you who feel this way know: it's not your fault that you fancied him. I did at one point. If we aren't privy to this information beforehand, it can skew how we see some people. Regardless, I wish to continue this story, because I am luckily able to separate the art from the artist/ actor from the character. I will not post any images relating to his portrayal, so that as an audience we can picture someone with the same features as Xavier Thorpe. IMO I'm going for Fletcher Shears from The Garden - spitting image but less icky. I'll finish my little rant, but for anyone who has ever been in a situation where they haven't been believed for being a victim. I understand you. And I'm sending so many hugs xoxoxox
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Roselyn was so tired. Thrumming an incomprehensible beat with her fingers on the steering wheel as she wait at the traffic light, her eyes drooped in drowsiness. Upon feeling her energy drop rapidly, Roselyn was concerned. She had assumed naively that the few weeks away from Nevermore would be like respite; no worries about demonic colonisers resurrecting out of nowhere, no Hydes. Just a frustrating domestic setting. She could at least cope with that. Normality was a painful thing, but apparently her bingo card of stranger things to happen just kept getting stamped.
Flitting her eyes across her peripheral, Roselyn's chapped lips parted in shock. There, in the flesh, was a girl her age leaving a building. Even as the green light beamed onto the tears in her eyes, the chestnut girl didn't drive off. It was as if a mirage, some trick from the demons of her past, that that girl was standing there. Alive. Just living, breathing.
Roselyn was so submerged in her stupor that she only noticed the girl was looking at her when cars behind frenzied their horns in anger, a long line of static vehicles impulsive to get to their destination. But that seemed to be her destination. In that moment, the world stopped turning, the sun exploded into a billion comets, and oxygen burned her lungs. And just as comets pass by the sky, they burn out and die. A sole fragment of Roselyn's soul latched onto the fleeting star, just as her head rushed down from the clouds.
Choking on her words, her mouth agape imitating a fish, Roselyn's head bounced from the lights, to the girl stood by the sidewalk. Slipping from her grasp, as soon as she saw her, the girl flurried around the corner. Tears doubling in her eyes, the witch revved her engine, much to the pleasure of the disgruntled people behind, and tried to follow this girl. Only, as she turned the corner, now alert, there was nobody there. The street full of strangers, and the face of the girl nothing but a remnant of her past.
She sighed, slumping into a melancholic silence. Was it in her head? What the hell was wrong with her for her to be conjuring such painful visions? Roselyn was stumped, sitting in the void of her mind as she drove onward. it had been so long, so painfully long. Time was relative, and the wounds that stung deep in the fortress of her ribcage had never truly healed. She had tried burying the hatchet herself, assuming things could mend over time. All that she discovered was a pit of fresh pain. And it was her fault.
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Carelessly throwing items into her trolley, Roselyn padded along the isles. With the little money she had left on her card, she had gone into the local supermarket for food and cleaning supplies. She wasn't careless; she never liked throwing things absentmindedly. Yet, here she was, swiping her hands along the metal shelves and swooping the boxes and bottles into the trolley. She knew what she was doing, but felt too detached from her body to correct her behaviour. A walking corpse, perhaps, as she just sauntered around. Only the red puffy bags under her glazed eyes indicated that the girl felt anything in that moment.
Her shopping trip flew by, barely acknowledging her actions as she slipped into her car once more. Roselyn's breath grew heavy, her hands moving to her mouth as if to silence her heaves. With shaky fingers and her eyes growing bleary, the poor girl rested her head against the steering wheel, clinging onto anything that could hold her. Sobs wrenched themselves free from her throat, uncontrollably echoing throughout the car. She was suffocating, drowning in her own personal abyss. Moving to claw at her hair in anguish, the brunette let out a painful cry.
"Why?" Roselyn wailed into the silence, curling herself up as if to hide from the universe. Making herself smaller, like an infant in need of its mother. Only, she had nobody to nurture her back to wholeness. "Please, it's been so long. Why am I still a monster?"
No answer came for her as she fought over her thoughts.
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Getting home, Jiji had immediately rushed towards Roselyn, swiftly swaddled in her arms. The little black cat was never usually one for oodles of affection, but in the moment that salty tears dropped onto his fur, he started to work his fluffy magic on the girl. Purring loudly against her chest, baking innumerable biscuits on her chest, the cat managed to bring a smile to Roselyn's face. In that moment, all Roselyn could think of was how lucky she was to have someone like Jiji in her life.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
And that was all she said before letting the black cat down, off to retrieve her groceries. Wiping her hands under her eyes, Roselyn shook off her sadness, motivated to get out of her funk. Cleaning the house brought a sense of control for her, something to physically do in the midst of chaos. Hours spent slaving away in the kitchen, Roselyn ended up sat on a counter nibbling at some pasta carbonara. The sun was grazing the horizon, kissing the earth goodnight. The quiet witch basked in the last golden rays, lulling herself with soft jazz records. Her sleep was just as mellow as her mood, restless and void of depth. But at least she wasn't plagued with awful images for five hours. That was enough for her.
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She rose with the sun the next morning. Drowsy, and full with a sense of calm, Roselyn got ready for the day with a steaming mug of herbal tea. She specially prepared a peaceful brew with some of her favourite medicinal herbs, adding rows of crystal bracelets to help her get through the day. It was okay to just exist, today, yet she needed something to help her. So she ended up driving into town to start her first shift back at her beloved café.
Upon noticing Beatrice's closed sign still on the door, Roselyn texted the owner to make sure she was alright to go in and start up like she said the night prior. receiving a 'yes', she dug into her jacket pocket to unlock the door. Feeling an oddly long metal object in her pocket, she pulled it out only to find a decadent gold key. Suspiciousness overtook her; she had never seen that key before. Shrugging her wariness away, she swapped the key for the one to Beatrice's and started her opening shift. She could deal with the random key later. For all she knew, she must have found it on a walk many moons ago and slipped it inside her pocket.
