Anathema

☾Chapter Seven

A/N unedited gif of North to the side.

June First, 1836

I saw her again today.

Dressed in frilly calicos, and the air of elegance only a wealthy woman may have the pleasure of possessing.

She bought things at the town square, ignorant to the hungry eyes that followed her every move, she spent coins on things they could only dream about.

An entire nickel on a fan for the upcoming heat.

I wanted to hate her.

I had every intention to forget her blonde hair, and golden honey eyes that glimmered with every beat of the sun's rays.

She was nothing different than them, she was them.

But just like so many times before this one, she did something remarkable that had me reeling in such a stupor that I could not begin to have any discretion towards her.

A little girl had fallen, I knew her, she worked on the water wheel, taking care of six siblings while her parents worked their fingers to the bone doing odd jobs to make end's meet.

She was running, and scraped her knee on the cobblestone of the town square.

At first, a well dressed banker bent to help her up, and a florist ran to get a rag for the girl's bloody knee.

But the girl- her name was Mira, she looked up to thank the man and the florist.

When they noticed her eye color-

black.

Immediately townsfolk stepped back, their eyes going wide in fear, as mother's ushered their children behind skirts, and everyone was more than content to ignore the panicking girl with the bloody knee.

But she, she put down her parsoles, and helped the little girl up with all the grace of meeting the president, and then gave Mira a daisy that had been stuck in her ear.

She was different.

Which made it oh so much harder.

Cedric threw the leather bound journal on the coffee table, his ripped jeans catching the corners as easily as slicing melty butter.

The mud caked on the ends of the threads smearing against the wood as he sunk deeper into the weathered couch.

"Cedric you better not be throwin' a damn fit in there."

He heard his mother call from the kitchen, her tone of warning shining true and clear in every word.

Cedric's sister Claire sat across from him, her eyebrow arched at his so called "fit", Claire's hands were clutching a worn copy of 'Gone With The Wind' the thickness of the book not having any effect on her, nor his nephew who sat curled up in her lap.

"Mama, you wouldn't believe Cedric and this fit, he's practically a toddler." Claire smirked at Cedric, her eyes wide with mischief even being five years older than him, she still couldn't help but tease her younger brother.

"Cedric Beaumont Chauvert get your ass in here and apologize!"

...

North looks out the window to her right, a light fog glazing the panes.

There's an old worn sketchbook bound in her hand, and a black tipped pencil clutched in the other, her hair is freshly washed and drips down her back of her neck and onto her pajama shirt.