( 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗟𝗬 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 )
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...
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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, a response to the estate’s aged, slightly foreboding presence.
Throughout the ride, a thick silence enveloped us. Finally, we halted before the grand doors of the mansion.
Peter extended his hand to help us descend, but the younger boy shook his head and stepped aside, a stubborn edge in his movements that refused the offered assistance.
"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!"
Among the Pevensie boys, I noticed exchanged glances and barely suppressed laughter, their first interaction free from any hint of 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, making her startle slightly. 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 step out and interact with the enigmatic Pevensie siblings. Slipping on my favorite hat, its brim casting a slight shadow over my eyes, and stepped forward—only to come face-to-face with 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 and strode purposefully toward the next room. Frustration surged through me as I followed, my footsteps softly echoing in the corridor. Low murmurs of conversation drifted from the room ahead, pulling me closer.
“Ed!” Peter’s firm voice rang through the door. It was my cue to step inside, where a tense energy hung among the siblings, leaving an unmistakable sense of unease 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 asked 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 began, searching for a plausible reason. “I’m just… used to hats,” I said with a faint smile, hoping it would be enough to steer them away from further questions.
Exhaling a relieved sigh as the siblings let the matter drop, a brief calm settled over the room. Collecting myself, I decided to end the encounter gracefully.
“I suppose I’ll head to bed now. Goodnight—see you tomorrow,” I said with a gentle smile, turning to leave and stepping away from the enigmatic energy 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 uneasy realm of sleep, I was once again surrounded by echoes of conflict—my mother’s firm grip as we sought refuge in a shelter, the deafening roar of war tearing through the air. Fear wrapped around me like a heavy shroud.
"Mum, I'm scared," I trembled, my voice lost in the chaos.
Her embrace offered little comfort against the chaos. “Hush, my dear, we’re safe here,” she whispered, her voice strained but steady.
Yet shadows crept closer, threatening the fragile haven we clung to.
Then, a distant roar jolted me awake. The room was still, save for the soft whisper of 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 the memories of war, each one a haunting echo from the past that still lingered 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, my thoughts wandering far beyond the walls of the unfamiliar mansion.
The memories lingered, refusing to fade, echoing the distant roars of a war-torn past and weaving a haunting symphony in my mind. Sleep felt like a distant friend, hidden beneath the shadows of a troubling dream.
Outside, the moon poured its ethereal light over the sleeping world, yet inside the mansion, dreams fractured into fragments of memory, intertwining with the stillness of the night.
