The Dark Of Our Worlds

The Beginning Of The End

In 30 years, Lorelai had stepped foot on land perhaps five times, so the action of walking up an ice and snow covered cobbled path was one that caused her great discomfort. The Scottish wind bit at her face, snow pummelling down, tangling itself in her hair. How could there be so much snow on the coast for heaven's sake?  

When the wooden door of the cottage came into view, Lorelai sighed, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She started forward with a burst of energy - from where it came, she had no idea, all she knew is that the sooner she got out of the cold, the better. 

Eventually she reached the doorstep. It could be midday or midnight, she had no idea. The heavy clouds and gleam from the falling and fallen snow made the two indecipherable from one another. She knocked on the door, the impact sending shooting pain through her freezing knuckles. A moment later, the door opened, and there stood Miss Nuthatch, wrapped in a dressing gown, staring at Lorelai as though an apparition of the devil itself had appeared on her doorstep. 

"You..." The Ymbryne choked out. 

"I can explain" Lorelai instantly. 

"That I doubt" Miss Nuthatch replied, stepping aside and holding open the door either way.

Lorelai thanked her, stepped inside and pulled off her shawl, and with it, about six centimetres of snow.  She looked over at the Ymbryne, who was staring at her with an expression between relief, rage and disbelief. "Come in" She mutters, walking over to the kitchen "I'll make you tea. You're blue"

***

Alma Peregrine was angry. It was very rare that the Ymbryne felt true rage, but it was happening. The strange thing about it was that she wasn't angry at a person, but at herself. Over the last years she had lived with the fact that a part of her would always hold Lorelai dear. She had accepted that the Siren was going to reside in her head like an irritatingly appealing daydream. One thing she hadn't accepted was that the amount of time she found herself slipping into that daydream was noticeably increasing. More commonly she found herself imagining herself back in the sirens arms, or dancing around the kitchen with her, or watching her read in the window seat. More often she found herself staring at the old photo's she had previously cursed to the drawer, never to be looked at again. 

Oh what a painful thing it was to love a version of someone that no longer exists. 

A/N - Short and basically a vent because my ex is haunting my head and i hate it like motherfucker get out of my dreams.