𝙑𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙣 || 𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙧

Thirty.

Chapter thirty: Parchment

The winter time has passed in its sombre majesty; having brought skies of richly marbled greys and trees so elegant in their bare beauty. Those cold days for calmness and reflection are waning and a new energy rises. On the spring day, Margo sees the flowers that are to colour her world for the warmer days to come, waving in the breeze like a smile born of the cosmos - happiness in brilliant shades. She lets her eyes flow from tree to tree, noticing the buds ready to open into the light, to be as green flags in the ever-warming wind.

The river is soft, wending its way between the banks that are the new vivid turquoise only the springtime can bring. In the post dawn light the water doesn't sparkle like it does at noon, instead it is mellow like a Monet painting. Up ahead is the bridge Margo stand on every morning, it's basic and functional, beams of wood from bank to bank with a rail on each side. Already her eyes are scanned the ground for sticks to complete step one of her daily exercises.

 She spied a rotten branch, human snapped, likely dropped by some dog going by the teeth marks in it. She snapped it over and over until she can't get the leverage for another break. She wipe the damp fragments of bark onto the skirt of her flowing summer dress before throwing the stick far into the field for her dog to fetch.

Through the unmown grass which pushed against the vibrant flowers, blew a breeze that tickled her exposed skin. Stifling a smile, she enjoyed soaking up the vitamins the sun's rays had to offer. With a long exhale to the pristine clouds above, in through her nostrils and out through her mouth, she felt reformed.

The winter months were harsh and only brought her an internal warfare of addiction and agony. In the blizzard with nothing but the bottles of alcohol to turn to, she'd grown accustom to the familiar feeling of being guilt ridden and alone. She was not lonely as she had her beautiful daughter and her husband whom she'd married in a registered office. But, she was alone. In her woe, she hid a frown behind the neck of a bottle and drowned her demons in the liquor, swallowing the fire and accepted the pain and refused the company. 

They say a bad parent was a traumatised child, caught in the fires of their own suffering, their thoughts more hurricane than poetry or soul. Only, rather becoming her mother, she became one herself and allowed her title to resuscitate her and spew the venom from her liver. If Ben couldn't help her, surely, her living flesh and blood could. The wake up call led her to a new, cleanly cycle of love and health and as she realised she'd neglected Aurora for the daily fixes of wine, it obliterated her and she promised to better herself for the love of her daughter.

The addiction was fuelled upon the realisation that William wasn't coming back. When she was with him, the pain had stopped and without his muscular arms which held her tight, keeping her protected at all costs, she resorted to a less helpful medicine that only ruined her much more than William ever could.

If she stopped to dwell for a second, she'd soon find her face wet with tears and her crackled lips would taste the salt. The end of their relationship was that of a breakup of sorts, for she was grieving the loss of a person who was still very much alive, whether he felt that way or not. 

After spats with Ben, she would soon realise she couldn't pick up the phone and talk to her human shoulder to cry on. Instead, the booze was her best friend. With its contents, she would become intoxicated to the point where she couldn't see Ben, only his brother whom her heart so desperately yearned for. She made a mistake, all those many months ago, however, maybe it was for the best. Perhaps Will felt the same way, no longer fighting for her, thus, he didn't return her calls or attend special occasions. Perhaps, he moved on.