[Wild Roses] Queen
Title: homecoming
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Brighid
Prompt:11D "memory", 'a soft kiss' (coastal_physics)
Word Count: 588
Notes: one of two.
The letter had arrived nearly too late, saying that my youngest sister was ill, and wished to see me one last time. The letter's writer had seemed apologetic in a way I did not comprehend until I was delivered to the door, and found my niece standing in the threshold, her hair shot through with silver and white, deep smile wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth, though they were hidden by the frown she was bestowing on me.
"May I help--?" she began, then gaped as I leaned in to kiss her cheek, dry brush of lip across crepey skin.
"Jean, you know me," I told her when I pulled back, and her jaw dropped further.
"Aunt Brighid?" she stammered, then yanked the door fully open to admit me. I dismissed my escort with a nod, and I saw her fade from view as Jean's back turned.
My sister's house smelled of old woman, but her smile was the bright girlish one I remembered from younger days. "Brighid! It is so good of you to come--I told them you'd receive the letter, but," her voice dropped conspiratorily "I think they thought me senile."
"I'm glad they sent it, my dear," I replied, leaned down to kiss her cheeks before I sat down at her bedside in the chair pulled close. "Jean didn't recognise me until I spoke--you'd think she saw a ghost when I did."
"Well, Brighid," my sister hesitated for a moment, then pointed at the neatly arranged vanity across the room. "Go and fetch the picture of us in those pretty dresses Mother let us have, and a hand-mirror?"
I obeyed, a faint suspicion forming in the small of my back as I sat back down and my sister reached out shaking hands to lay the picture down across the coverlet for me to see.
"Look at that," she said, and I did, noting the way the neckline of the matching dresses had suited her far more than I, the way she grinned fearlessly up at the photographer--our cousin Jacob, I think--and I looked like I was enjoying a private joke.
"Now look at me," she continued, and I did, looking for the girl in the photograph, and seeing only echoes.
"Now the mirror, at yourself."
I obeyed, and nearly dropped the mirror.
It is one thing to know you are aging, when you are surrounded by people who barely blink at the passage of a decade, let alone show it on their faces, and something completely different to look like the youngest daughter of your youngest sister, when you sister sits in her bed like a fragile china doll that would shatter if it were moved carelessly.
My hand lifted to my mouth, and I bit my knuckle--old, old bad habit, the motion as much betrayal of agitation as the gasp it smothered--before recovering myself, setting the mirror down next to the framed picture. It was so odd to see anything framed in silver, after so long among warm woods and brass, but I did not remark on that, merely said "Well, that explains Jean's reaction."
My sister's mouth quirked in impish fashion. "How is the food in Fairy-land?"
"Deirdre!" I scolded, then laughed, and she laughed with me, before having to stop and cough indelicately into a white cloth.
After she finished, she looked up at me, the laughter gone. "Did they tell you how long?"
"I hurried to get here," was my only reply, and she nodded.
"I am glad you did."
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Brighid
Prompt:11D "memory", 'a soft kiss' (coastal_physics)
Word Count: 588
Notes: one of two.
The letter had arrived nearly too late, saying that my youngest sister was ill, and wished to see me one last time. The letter's writer had seemed apologetic in a way I did not comprehend until I was delivered to the door, and found my niece standing in the threshold, her hair shot through with silver and white, deep smile wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth, though they were hidden by the frown she was bestowing on me.
"May I help--?" she began, then gaped as I leaned in to kiss her cheek, dry brush of lip across crepey skin.
"Jean, you know me," I told her when I pulled back, and her jaw dropped further.
"Aunt Brighid?" she stammered, then yanked the door fully open to admit me. I dismissed my escort with a nod, and I saw her fade from view as Jean's back turned.
My sister's house smelled of old woman, but her smile was the bright girlish one I remembered from younger days. "Brighid! It is so good of you to come--I told them you'd receive the letter, but," her voice dropped conspiratorily "I think they thought me senile."
"I'm glad they sent it, my dear," I replied, leaned down to kiss her cheeks before I sat down at her bedside in the chair pulled close. "Jean didn't recognise me until I spoke--you'd think she saw a ghost when I did."
"Well, Brighid," my sister hesitated for a moment, then pointed at the neatly arranged vanity across the room. "Go and fetch the picture of us in those pretty dresses Mother let us have, and a hand-mirror?"
I obeyed, a faint suspicion forming in the small of my back as I sat back down and my sister reached out shaking hands to lay the picture down across the coverlet for me to see.
"Look at that," she said, and I did, noting the way the neckline of the matching dresses had suited her far more than I, the way she grinned fearlessly up at the photographer--our cousin Jacob, I think--and I looked like I was enjoying a private joke.
"Now look at me," she continued, and I did, looking for the girl in the photograph, and seeing only echoes.
"Now the mirror, at yourself."
I obeyed, and nearly dropped the mirror.
It is one thing to know you are aging, when you are surrounded by people who barely blink at the passage of a decade, let alone show it on their faces, and something completely different to look like the youngest daughter of your youngest sister, when you sister sits in her bed like a fragile china doll that would shatter if it were moved carelessly.
My hand lifted to my mouth, and I bit my knuckle--old, old bad habit, the motion as much betrayal of agitation as the gasp it smothered--before recovering myself, setting the mirror down next to the framed picture. It was so odd to see anything framed in silver, after so long among warm woods and brass, but I did not remark on that, merely said "Well, that explains Jean's reaction."
My sister's mouth quirked in impish fashion. "How is the food in Fairy-land?"
"Deirdre!" I scolded, then laughed, and she laughed with me, before having to stop and cough indelicately into a white cloth.
After she finished, she looked up at me, the laughter gone. "Did they tell you how long?"
"I hurried to get here," was my only reply, and she nodded.
"I am glad you did."