The True Story of Emily Lockwood / g. karim

𝟙𝟟. 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖

~ / Episode Five - Part One \ ~

"everybody wants to rule the world"

❀

--Emily did not sleep in the attic that night. Thing between her and Lucy were not yet repaired, and the Lockwood girl was not sure how she would go about things. Judging by the feeling she got from Lucy - awkwardly passing one another in the main hall - she was hurt, but not angry. 

What did Anthony say to her?

Nevertheless, when she was sure her brother had actually gone to bed, after they found George, she slinked out of the bathroom, where she'd hidden for half an hour to avoid bumping into either of the two occupants of 35 Portland Row that weren't George. 

God, she couldn't imagine.

The next morning found Emily waking early as usual, and even earlier because George's elbow was jabbing her in the side to the point of where his pillow was looking like a rather useful tool in his demise. 

Of course, Emily being herself, she turned her wince into a smile, and watched the light from the rising sun illuminate the room. He never slept with the curtains drawn, he told her in the darkness hours prior, always left open a crack. 

After a few minutes spent agonizing over every creak in the floorboards beneath her feet, Emily opened the kitchen door, stomach grumbling. She hadn't eaten in - God, how long had it been? - and the bread on the counter seemed to be calling her name. 

She stopped in her tracks, however, when Lucy Carlyle, munching on toast, froze and stared at her - like a deer in the headlights. 

"Morning," Emily yawned, and padded over to make herself a bite to eat. Lucy swallowed, and nervousness crept its way up into Emily. Oh, well that just won't do. 

"Hi," she said quietly, busying herself pouring another cup of coffee.  Emily pushed down the toaster lever and turned to look at her friend. 

"All right," the girl sighed, pushing her dark hair from her face. "look, I know - Anthony and I were sort of assholes the other night, but-"

"You don't need to tell me," Lucy cut off, hesitantly. "he already sort of filled me in. I do wonder, though, what did you mean?"

"When I said that thing, about the Sources?" Emily asked over her shoulder, spreading jam on the bread with probably more force than was necessary. "Because it's true." She heard Lucy swivel in her chair. 

"No, " she decided. "you gave me a clue, about the door. Why?" Emily turned around, her mouth curled up into a half-smirk. 

"Ah, so you did catch that. Anthony doesn't like it, but that story isn't his to tell. It's mine."

Lucy looked on, brows furrowed. But, she said nothing. Emily, knowing her brother was still asleep, lowered her voice anyways. Lucy leaned forward to listen. 

"My parents were collectors, yeah? Well, collecting can sometimes be the thing that kills you. Especially if you've a curious, empath daughter." Emily bit into her toast again while Lucy processed this.