Obscure Occurrences |C. BAREBONE|

☛ One ☚

• July, 1918 •

Genevieve Burnett slowly watched the tailoring factory be embraced by heated flames and terror-filled screams. With every lick of the amber element the walls began to disintegrate and damage the mentality of every passerby. Yet, that fragility couldn't compare to what Genevieve was experiencing. She knew her mother was locked on the highest floor, forced by her boss to work tirelessly with no break.
Out of the horrible exclaims of pain, Genevieve attempted to decipher which belonged to her Mother. Which scream came from the plump, pink-stained lips of her young Mother. However, nothing was plucked as the man-made sounds slowly lowered in volume.

While Genevieve stood, traumatised, against the backdrop of fire; finally firemen appeared with weak stretchers meant to save the women from the tarred walk-way. Instead, as they hosed down the factory with a futile effort, in an attempted to water down the flames, one by one, women of young and old jumped through the windows (unable to care if they would survive the drop or not). They simply held each other tightly, never falling alone as they quickly dropped to the hard cobblestone beneath their feet.

Like angels drifting from heaven to earth, dresses fluttered against the blistering air while hair created uncontrolled halos around their smoke-smeared features.

Meanwhile, Mary Lou stood with Chastity and Credence forcing them to break through the crowd, to bring the 'witchcraft' to light against the image of pain and disaster. Mary Lou desired both children to spread the word with her.
Handing out the flyers -even if small- brought awareness to the evil that lingered amongst the crowds of mundane citizens, the ones who deserved the truth.

As Credence carefully shuffled through the crowds, his hands full of words he could barely comprehend, he witnessed the darkness behind eyes of the deepest grey. They were a shivering cold that only came on the brutal winters but despite the blackness sitting behind the orbs of silver, he saw a familiar pain, a loss more like.
Credence knew why she looked so hatefully once he followed her gaze. He forgot to notice the wisps of flames that were reflected against the mirror of her eyes. Allowing him to know her story by her painful expression.

Someone she loved was in there.

Suddenly, at that realisation, he stared at the girl while mechanically extending his hands full of leaflets. And never -throughout the whole burning of the factory- could he lower the exclamations of torture.

Never in his life had Credence wanted to break past his insecurities to touch, feel, speak even. Yet instead, as he watched from afar, he couldn't help but imprint her daunting image upon the fore-fronts of his memory. She was so mysterious, so enchanting in her silent and violent lamentation. She changed the very way Credence Barebone had sobbed over the lashings that still haunted his hands and back.

Genevieve Burnett couldn't notice the boy with ink pools for eyes and the cleanly cut, raven hair. In his presence's place she felt the warm hands belonging to her Father. It wasn't like the fire, it was a kind heat and it felt too kind compared to similar object of destruction before her. And unlike her, his cheeks quietly ran with shimmering tears, no longer could he hold back to be the man society expected him to be. In replacement for the trauma of watching the factory collapse to the ground, Victor Burnett quickly hoisted his daughter into his arms and walked from his wife's ashes.

Credence watched both man and child flee the scene with haste. How he hoped he could be beside her, basking in the warmth of a parent's embrace. Yet all he could do was fill his lungs with smoke and watch the downfall of many women and few men. And in that moment, that split second of freedom of thought, Credence came to two conclusions about the girl.

He was either Jealous... Or he wanted to be by her side.