𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞

Alice in Wonderland

The fireplace crackled sharply causing Florence to look up from her book. The hearth was decorated with lovely Christmastime antiques now. Porcelain snowmen sat on top, and mistletoe sprigs bound together hung on the wall behind. Along with Rose whom Aurora insisted stay perched up there. This book brought back a flood of memories from her youth, so distant she felt as if it'd almost never happened, although she had constant reminders that it really did. Her own promise to never forget being one of them. With a small sigh, Florence closed "Alice in Wonderland."

She remembered they day they'd left, how she'd raced to her own bedroom and sobbed for hours, already feeling the cold emptiness of the house settle in like a toxic gas. On her bed she'd found a letter from Clair. Her hands had trembled too much too open it, so it stayed sealed for some time. Her young youthful hands. Florence observed her hands now. They were dotted with age and slightly wrinkled over the years.

She recalled visiting Clair's empty room various times, swearing she could smell his inky aroma years after he'd gone. They'd written occasionally, but fell out of habit over time. It hurt her heart to think about these things, yet she continued. Ruby's room had stayed permanently dreary, and Florence wasn't sure the curtains had ever actually been open since the day he'd left. As for Cathryn's room, each time she exited her room, she saw the young beautiful girl exiting her own from across the way. Of course, it was all in her imagination.

Now, Florence was settled in the countryside of London. She lived with her sister Aurora and the two children they'd taken in, as neither of them felt ready to love another yet. Florence was 43 now, and Aurora 33. William and Elizabeth were always a joy to have around. The small patter of their footsteps rushing around the home. Elizabeth had big bright brown curls, and William had a head full of golden hair. So Florence continued to live a peaceful life, splendid memories of her past revisiting her every once in awhile, making her smile. The thought of some other family roaming the halls of the old estate had a strange toll on her heart. The stories that family would never fully understand, the relationships formed within those walls. Sometimes she wondered if the old bookstore still existed.

Florence almost never spoke with Ruby, Clair, or Cathryn. But they all felt strangely connected, as if they were always aware they were thinking of each other at the same times. She wondered if they were thinking about her now. Florence kept a small box of keepsakes, things like locks of Jacob's baby hair, or her mother's pendant necklace. Alongside those two were Cathryn's still pristine white gloves, and Clair's unopened letter. She missed Clair, almost every second. Ruby too. In her heart, Florence recalled how it felt to be young and in love. She cherished every second and longed to feel that electricity once more. Ruby said she would, Florence remembered that.