Grey Lady, prompt 10
Author: meamcat
Title: Solar Eclipse
Rating: G
Character(s): The Grey Lady, bunch of original characters
Prompt: 10: Sunny Outside
Word Count: 1,318
Notes: On a very sunny day, Jane looks at her best friend for the last time before turning herself into a future ghost. Was going to be longer but it became too lengthy. Exposition blah, fleeting mentions of general ideas etc, abrupt ending meh. But I'll elaborate later. :D
Jane could not bear to step outside, for the sun burned her. She hated how everything was the reverse of what it would have been if she had been alive. Every time Jane felt scalded when the sun warmed her back, she was painfully reminded that she was indeed deceased.
She refused to give in to such feelings. Instead of shrinking into the shadows, she forced herself to stand near a window, so she could stare outside. It was as if she looked directly at a solar eclipse. As Jane's head throbbed, her heart beat faster and faster. The window she stood at, the sun itself- its position, its intensity- was a very unpleasant sort of deja vu.
She remembered standing there with Edmund centuries ago, watching packs of chaperoned third-years wander around the courtyard. Then, the sun felt warm against her cheeks, and pleasant. Edmund's body was warm, too- so warm, even feet apart, Jane could feel heat radiating from him. They used to giggle about it, because Edmund, for all anyone knew, could burst into flame at any moment.
Jane adored him more than anything else. She loved Edmund more than Aunt Lydia, who kept a very somber manor in the country where Jane lived during the summer; she thought more of him than her sisters, who were all terribly dull, and so married rich, handsome, and unpleasant men; and she treasured time spent with him more than with her roommates, who were intelligent but uninteresting. Edmund was a brilliant boy, ridiculously creative and kind. He would never stop talking, which Jane liked, because she wrote better than she talked. And she cherished the way his eyes smiled when he saw her, because that meant he loved her as fiercely as she loved him.
Jane loved Edmund all the better that year because he never spoke of marriage. Jane hated when Aunt Lydia and her sisters would casually throw around conjectures about wedding dates and potential husbands for her, because it only reminded her that she had yet to meet a decent man. When her dorm mates asked her what her definition of such a man was, she would say, “He would smile at me and my stomach would disappear. I would write poetry for him, because I would want to. When I meet such a man, I will marry him, and nobody else.”
“Yes,” Lady Opal would say, “That is a man you will love. But what shall he be like?”
“Whatever he shall be,” Jane would mutter in return.
Her bunkmates believed she should marry Edmund, and they told her this many times. Their peers whispered about them, for they knew they escaped from their chaperons periodically to be alone together. Edmund, too, broke many rules of conversational etiquette when he was around Jane. He would touch her hand, or play with her skirts or her hair, or poked her arm, and too many people would see them and wonder if their relationship was too close. But Jane knew their behavior was not licentious. They talked, or walked arm in arm, or did other childish and innocent things with each other. No, Jane would never marry Edmund, if she could help it, though she imagined a future where she would live next to him and his stately home (for Edmund was a lord) and they would grow old together with their respective spouses. She cherished him too much to imagine parting with him.
“Parting” was something many Hogwarts students worried about prematurely: it was Jane Grey's 6th year, and everyone discussed their future careers or future spouses. Friends often acted like every moment was precious, as their next year would be their last. But Jane didn't worry about Edmund and herself. She had that plan of adjacent homes, and they would never part, ever.
Strangely, in all aspects other than Edmund, Jane was terrified of inevitable change. Her father- the man that raised her to love all things cultured and informative, and spoiled her with plethoras of books- had died that summer in a carriage accident. She remembered him saying, when she was little, that if he should die, he would regret it only because of the things he would not know. Jane thought it was wise for him to say such a thing. But at that young age, her father seemed old and eternal, and she honestly believed that he would know everything by the time he died. This would not be so, and it disturbed her.
Jane's Aunt Lydia moved in after her father perished. She brought black draperies she fastened around every window and tomes of dark and dangerous magic to stock in the library. She sold half of her brother's furniture, and let her cats do anything they wished to the rest.
Aunt Lydia was eccentric, melancholic, and fiercely Protestant. She damned the Catholics and the Agnostics and the Deists and the Jews and the Atheists, forgetting that her brother and niece were secular themselves. Lydia would go on about how her brother was with Jesus now, because he was a good Protestant man.
“Don't worry, my love,” she would say to Jane when her niece worried about the wish he made before dying. “George is reading the Testaments with Him right now, I think.”
Jane doubted her father would enjoy studying the Testaments, and anyway never believed in heaven. She knew that her father's soul was obliterated, lost, and inanimate. He would miss many hours worth of books and new things and thought, and that frightened her. She obsessed over her own death, now- because if her father died young, why couldn't she?
One night, for no particular reason, she began to look through her aunt's collection of dark, hazardous magic. When she flipped to a page that glowed pale silver, she stared, and knew what she must do. So her research began. She took the book to school to read in private, and she planned, for a day in January, to do the deed. She had never been more exited, more sure of herself, more right in doing anything before.
On that sunny winter day, Jane and Edmund had greeted each other after escaping from their chaperons for the first time since December, before winter holiday. Edmund had just left Charms, the professor of which had just assigned an enormous task. As he complained, Jane sat on the windowsill, daydreaming about her destiny, her legs dangling dangerously from the building.
“Jane,” scolded Edmund, “That is too unladylike. And dangerous. I would die of despair if you slipped.”
“You lie!”
“Verily, Jane. I never lie. Now get up. Some lucky bloke could glance up your skirts.”
Jane had forgotten that fact. Embarrassed, she swung her hip to the inside of the building. She was too hasty and almost tumbled, but Edmund grasped her wrists and pulled her to her feet.
“I thank you,” said Jane.
“It was nothing. Now come on, I need help with Charms; that ass has got us-”
“I can't,” muttered Jane. She now blushed, for here was a secret she kept from Edmund, even. “I have some studying to do myself.”
Edmund frowned. “Then do it with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “This is for Arithmancy, my darling.” That wasn't a complete fib. “You'd find it too dull, and you'd dislike me all the more for it. Can't James help you?”
He made a face. “I suppose, but I honestly think that he, being a Hufflepuff, can't aid me more than a fellow Ravenclaw such as yourself, and anyway, he isn't as pretty as you-”
“Hush, Edmund. Good-bye!”
And Jane half ran-walked to her dormitory, where the sun still streamed in from the window and warmed her face pleasantly. Her equipment lay hidden there from everyone else. As soon as she pulled those tools out of their hiding place, she smiled.
2/20
Oh, and PS- Can I write about the Grey Lady from someone else's point of view? Can I ask questions about the rules in a story post? :P
Title: Solar Eclipse
Rating: G
Character(s): The Grey Lady, bunch of original characters
Prompt: 10: Sunny Outside
Word Count: 1,318
Notes: On a very sunny day, Jane looks at her best friend for the last time before turning herself into a future ghost. Was going to be longer but it became too lengthy. Exposition blah, fleeting mentions of general ideas etc, abrupt ending meh. But I'll elaborate later. :D
Jane could not bear to step outside, for the sun burned her. She hated how everything was the reverse of what it would have been if she had been alive. Every time Jane felt scalded when the sun warmed her back, she was painfully reminded that she was indeed deceased.
She refused to give in to such feelings. Instead of shrinking into the shadows, she forced herself to stand near a window, so she could stare outside. It was as if she looked directly at a solar eclipse. As Jane's head throbbed, her heart beat faster and faster. The window she stood at, the sun itself- its position, its intensity- was a very unpleasant sort of deja vu.
She remembered standing there with Edmund centuries ago, watching packs of chaperoned third-years wander around the courtyard. Then, the sun felt warm against her cheeks, and pleasant. Edmund's body was warm, too- so warm, even feet apart, Jane could feel heat radiating from him. They used to giggle about it, because Edmund, for all anyone knew, could burst into flame at any moment.
Jane adored him more than anything else. She loved Edmund more than Aunt Lydia, who kept a very somber manor in the country where Jane lived during the summer; she thought more of him than her sisters, who were all terribly dull, and so married rich, handsome, and unpleasant men; and she treasured time spent with him more than with her roommates, who were intelligent but uninteresting. Edmund was a brilliant boy, ridiculously creative and kind. He would never stop talking, which Jane liked, because she wrote better than she talked. And she cherished the way his eyes smiled when he saw her, because that meant he loved her as fiercely as she loved him.
Jane loved Edmund all the better that year because he never spoke of marriage. Jane hated when Aunt Lydia and her sisters would casually throw around conjectures about wedding dates and potential husbands for her, because it only reminded her that she had yet to meet a decent man. When her dorm mates asked her what her definition of such a man was, she would say, “He would smile at me and my stomach would disappear. I would write poetry for him, because I would want to. When I meet such a man, I will marry him, and nobody else.”
“Yes,” Lady Opal would say, “That is a man you will love. But what shall he be like?”
“Whatever he shall be,” Jane would mutter in return.
Her bunkmates believed she should marry Edmund, and they told her this many times. Their peers whispered about them, for they knew they escaped from their chaperons periodically to be alone together. Edmund, too, broke many rules of conversational etiquette when he was around Jane. He would touch her hand, or play with her skirts or her hair, or poked her arm, and too many people would see them and wonder if their relationship was too close. But Jane knew their behavior was not licentious. They talked, or walked arm in arm, or did other childish and innocent things with each other. No, Jane would never marry Edmund, if she could help it, though she imagined a future where she would live next to him and his stately home (for Edmund was a lord) and they would grow old together with their respective spouses. She cherished him too much to imagine parting with him.
“Parting” was something many Hogwarts students worried about prematurely: it was Jane Grey's 6th year, and everyone discussed their future careers or future spouses. Friends often acted like every moment was precious, as their next year would be their last. But Jane didn't worry about Edmund and herself. She had that plan of adjacent homes, and they would never part, ever.
Strangely, in all aspects other than Edmund, Jane was terrified of inevitable change. Her father- the man that raised her to love all things cultured and informative, and spoiled her with plethoras of books- had died that summer in a carriage accident. She remembered him saying, when she was little, that if he should die, he would regret it only because of the things he would not know. Jane thought it was wise for him to say such a thing. But at that young age, her father seemed old and eternal, and she honestly believed that he would know everything by the time he died. This would not be so, and it disturbed her.
Jane's Aunt Lydia moved in after her father perished. She brought black draperies she fastened around every window and tomes of dark and dangerous magic to stock in the library. She sold half of her brother's furniture, and let her cats do anything they wished to the rest.
Aunt Lydia was eccentric, melancholic, and fiercely Protestant. She damned the Catholics and the Agnostics and the Deists and the Jews and the Atheists, forgetting that her brother and niece were secular themselves. Lydia would go on about how her brother was with Jesus now, because he was a good Protestant man.
“Don't worry, my love,” she would say to Jane when her niece worried about the wish he made before dying. “George is reading the Testaments with Him right now, I think.”
Jane doubted her father would enjoy studying the Testaments, and anyway never believed in heaven. She knew that her father's soul was obliterated, lost, and inanimate. He would miss many hours worth of books and new things and thought, and that frightened her. She obsessed over her own death, now- because if her father died young, why couldn't she?
One night, for no particular reason, she began to look through her aunt's collection of dark, hazardous magic. When she flipped to a page that glowed pale silver, she stared, and knew what she must do. So her research began. She took the book to school to read in private, and she planned, for a day in January, to do the deed. She had never been more exited, more sure of herself, more right in doing anything before.
On that sunny winter day, Jane and Edmund had greeted each other after escaping from their chaperons for the first time since December, before winter holiday. Edmund had just left Charms, the professor of which had just assigned an enormous task. As he complained, Jane sat on the windowsill, daydreaming about her destiny, her legs dangling dangerously from the building.
“Jane,” scolded Edmund, “That is too unladylike. And dangerous. I would die of despair if you slipped.”
“You lie!”
“Verily, Jane. I never lie. Now get up. Some lucky bloke could glance up your skirts.”
Jane had forgotten that fact. Embarrassed, she swung her hip to the inside of the building. She was too hasty and almost tumbled, but Edmund grasped her wrists and pulled her to her feet.
“I thank you,” said Jane.
“It was nothing. Now come on, I need help with Charms; that ass has got us-”
“I can't,” muttered Jane. She now blushed, for here was a secret she kept from Edmund, even. “I have some studying to do myself.”
Edmund frowned. “Then do it with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “This is for Arithmancy, my darling.” That wasn't a complete fib. “You'd find it too dull, and you'd dislike me all the more for it. Can't James help you?”
He made a face. “I suppose, but I honestly think that he, being a Hufflepuff, can't aid me more than a fellow Ravenclaw such as yourself, and anyway, he isn't as pretty as you-”
“Hush, Edmund. Good-bye!”
And Jane half ran-walked to her dormitory, where the sun still streamed in from the window and warmed her face pleasantly. Her equipment lay hidden there from everyone else. As soon as she pulled those tools out of their hiding place, she smiled.
2/20
Oh, and PS- Can I write about the Grey Lady from someone else's point of view? Can I ask questions about the rules in a story post? :P