𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇
⸻ Cordelia Winterbourne's ordinary life with her mother was shattered by the onset of war, prompting Cordelia's mother to make a gut-wrenching decision by sending her daughter away for a while to keep her safe.
However, fate had a di...
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As our lengthy journey drew to a close, a looming mansion appeared on the horizon. Glancing at the Pevensies, I noticed their unease mirrored in their expressions, evident from the aged and somewhat ominous appearance of the estate.
Throughout the ride, a thick silence enveloped us. Finally, we halted before the grand doors of the mansion.
Peter offered assistance, extending a hand to help us disembark, but the younger boy deliberately sidestepped his aid.
"I can manage," he grumbled, leaping off the cart with his luggage in tow. Peter's face betrayed clear frustration at his brother's attitude, evident in his sigh.
Gratefully, I offered a smile to the blond boy, expressing my thanks for his help, especially considering his brother's less appreciative demeanor.
"Professor Kirke isn't accustomed to having children around," Mrs. Macready announced firmly, setting the tone for what was to come. "There are rules we must abide by."
"Barely set foot and there's already a rule," I muttered quietly under my breath.
Mrs. Macready continued her list of prohibitions: "No shouting or running. No improper use of the dumbwaiter." She intervened as Susan attempted to touch a statue, reminding us firmly, "No touching the historical artifacts!"
Amidst the Pevensie lads, I noticed shared glances, barely contained laughter marking their first interaction without discord.
"Above all, no disturbing the professor," Mrs. Macready finished, ascending the stairs to show us more of the mansion.
As everyone followed, I realized Lucy was missing. Glancing back, I found her lost in thought by a door.
"Lucy," I called out, causing her a slight start. She quickly joined me, wearing a troubled expression.
Post the mansion tour, Mrs. Macready directed us to our bedrooms.
I was assigned a separate room, while the Pevensie boys shared one and the girls had their own. Understandably so, given their familial ties compared to me, a mere stranger from the train. It seemed they weren't entirely comfortable with my presence.
After settling in, I released a sigh, removing my hat to reveal neatly styled brunette hair with distinctive white strands framing my face.
Ah, these white strands, an inheritance, I presume, from my father, a man I've never met. They bring their own set of challenges. I feel compelled to always wear my hat outside, fearing judgmental stares at my "abnormal" hair.
Whenever I asked my mother about the origin of my white hair, she'd evade the question, leading me to eventually stop asking.
In the dimly lit hallway of our shared residence, I adjusted my attire before deciding to venture out and engage with the enigmatic Pevensie siblings. Slipping on my favorite hat, its brim casting a slight shadow over my eyes, I emerged and encountered a mysterious brunette boy.
"Hey," I initiated, seeking a connection. "I never learned your name."
His response was a curious silence, his gaze fixated on my choice of headwear. "It's night. Why the hat?" he questioned, his tone tinged with intrigue.
Before I could articulate a reply, he pivoted away, striding purposefully toward the adjacent room. Frustration rippled through me as I pursued him, the soft echoes of my footsteps resonating in the corridor. The murmurs of conversation seeped from the room, drawing me closer.
"Ed!" Peter's firm voice reverberated through the door, It was my cue to step into the room, a tense energy palpable among the siblings, leaving a sense of unresolved tension lingering in the air.
Well, at least I got to learn his nickname.
In the doorway, amidst the tension, Peter's demeanor underwent a noticeable shift upon spotting me.
"Oh, hello, Cora," the blond lad greeted with a warmth that contrasted the room's atmosphere.
"Why the hat? It's bedtime," Susan inquired genuinely, her confusion evident.
"That's what I said," murmured the brunette boy, his tone holding a hint of exasperation.
Caught off guard by their curiosity, I hesitated for a moment, grasping for an explanation. "Well, uh..." I started, trying to find a plausible reason. "I'm just used to hats," I offered with a faint smile, hoping it would suffice to divert their attention from further inquiry.
Exhaling a relieved sigh as the siblings seemed to let the matter rest, a brief moment of quiet settled in the room. Gathering myself, I decided to gracefully conclude the encounter.
"I guess I'll head off to bed now. Goodnight, see you tomorrow," I expressed with a gentle smile, pivoting to depart from their room, leaving behind the enigmatic dynamic of the Pevensie household for the night.
I walked back to my quarters, the mansion now quieter, an unsettling calm filling the halls. Settling by the window, I took off my hat, feeling the chill of the night air on the white strands of my brunette hair. Memories emerged—shadows of a time marked by war, its echoes still vivid in my dreams.
In the unsettling realm of sleep, I found myself back amidst the echoes of conflict. My mother's firm grasp, seeking refuge in a shelter, the deafening sounds of war tearing through the air. Fear enveloped me.
"Mum, I'm scared," I trembled, my voice lost in the chaos.
Her embrace offered scant comfort amidst the turmoil. "Hush, my dear, we're safe here," she whispered, her voice strained yet unwavering.
Yet shadows crept closer, threatening the fragile haven we clung to.
Suddenly, a distant roar jolted me awake. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. The vivid remnants of the dream lingered, haunting my senses.
The night had swallowed the mansion in an eerie hush, its walls casting long, foreboding shadows. I couldn't shake off the memories of war, each reminiscent of the haunting echoes from the past that still echoed within me.
I pulled my blanket tight, staring at the moon casting its pale glow through the window. Sleep eluded me as I lay there, lost in thoughts that strayed far beyond the walls of the unfamiliar mansion.
The memories lingered, refusing to dissipate, echoing the distant roars of a war-torn time, weaving a haunting symphony within my mind. Sleep felt like a distant friend, veiled by the remnants of an unsettling dream.
Outside, the moon cast its ethereal light upon the sleeping world, yet within the mansion's walls, dreams turned to fragments of memories, intertwining with the silence of the night.
