CH Oneshots

Paintings and Primroses

This is somewhat of an accompanying story to @WeirdestArrow's oneshot Shot From the Sky. Its not necessary for you to know that to understand this, but it probably would help.

this was very fun to write, if I have the numbers correctly its my new longest oneshot.

 I hope you enjoy!

-Lost

━━━━━━━━ ✠ ━━━━━━━━

How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself - Publilius Syrus

Sometime Post US Civil War
Michigan POV

Part of me hated being here again, at the house. Ever since the start of the civil war it seemed like a different place. Any sense of connection and warmth it had once fostered had been whisked away and shattered, leaving it feeling like a ghost of its former life.

Even now, walking through our home it felt cold and empty, As if the building itself had turned hostile during the years of war, and refused to heal now it was over.

'I need to get out of here.' I thought urgently, taking a sharp turn and heading in another direction the moment I heard voices nearby, Arguing, someone crying.

It only added to the miserable feeling that clung to the air.

Taking a shortcut through a different door, I cursed, having incidentally wound up at the portrait hall, Starting at the end with the most recent additions to the Union, and continuing down the hall in order of admission.

Walking quickly, I avoided looking at the paintings, but it still felt as if the shadowed faces were watching me somehow.

I stopped momentarily upon reaching the spot where my own portrait hung, and stared, meeting the gaze of the younger version of myself. Struggling to fight down a strangled feeling of grief and loss on seeing it.

I'd been so proud when that had been made, so proud to see it hung here, as a new state, nearly thirty years ago.

I could barely remember what that was like.

I doubted my life could ever go back to that way, too much had changed, too much was broken.

It hurt to see laid out so plainly, an image of happy days that would never return, frozen in time. A version of myself I would never be again. My breath sharpened and I tried to force myself to be calm, blocking out the thoughts that always seemed to resurface.

There was a little guilt in taking it off the wall. Portraits took a long time to make, and were something to be displayed with pride and respect. A work of art that deserved to be admired by many.

But I really couldn't bring myself to care.

In a second I'd decided It needed to be gone, off the wall and away. Seeing it there made me feel something, whether it was anger, grief, or jealousy, it was too many emotions to deal with right now.

Better to ignore it all, while I could.

I followed the portrait hall until it opened to its larger connected room, scanning the area for a closet where I could hide the painting, at least until I felt a little better about seeing it on the wall.

Thankfully, there was the perfect place, a small storage room, already packed full of old sentimental objects, photographs, and random assortments of dusty heirlooms.

It wouldn't make a dent in the clutter that was already there.

I was about to put the painting down when my eyes drifted instead to the fireplace. The fire was still lit, starting to die now, but the embers still burned hot.