SUPERCUT; gilbert blythe ✔

022.

"Ah! Isn't this just the most beautiful day there ever was?!"

Marianne stiffens in her seat between Marilla and Matthew, not daring to turn her head back. She's afraid that some of Anne's excitement could pass on to her if she just glances at the redhead - yes, the day is rather lovely, but the knowledge of where they're going is weighting down on her.

A beach.

Marianne's hasn't been to a beach for years now, there are only some distant memories of playing in the sand with Edward as a child and crying when a few grains found their way into her eyes. Back then, her mother wrapped her into a towel, with the gentle smell of her perfume still lingering on the soft fabric, and talked to her calmly before the little girl agreed to have her eyes rinsed with clean water. And then she would cover her wet cheeks with light kisses while Edward presented her the prettiest shell he could find - just for her, a little present to gain her forgiveness for all the pain he had caused her.

The difference is, now the pain is just so, so much more than that.

She wasn't there to see witness it all, but it doesn't make it seem any less like a nightmare. Marianne may not possess Anne's vivid imagination, and yet she has some - now more an inconvenience than ever before. She wasn't there to witness it all, so it's not a memory what haunts her, it's the creation of her own mind.

Anne runs towards the sea, squealing with joy and disposing of her dress, and Marianne can only watch. Instead the red haired girl, however, she sees someone else. There's a woman, a gentle smile on her face as she pushes her dark hair out of her face. Her mother, Marianne can even see the familiar spark in her bright eyes. Martha Belware waves to her husband, beckoning him to come and enjoy the water, even if it's a little bit cold. The sound of her laugh fills the air as she watches him struggle with his tie; all these years, and he still needs her help to undo it (the man would never have admitted to creating problems on purpose, only to give her the satisfaction and feel her lips pressed against his cheek afterwards). She's a picture of the happiest woman in the world come to life. And all the while, her feet carry her farther and farther from the beach.

Martha Belware makes one step too many and disappears under the waves so quickly that her laugh doesn't have a chance to leave her lips.

Don't worry, they had said before kissing their children goodbye, it's just a few hours for the two of us to remind ourselves how it feels to be young and in love.

And quite young they would stay, for ever.

Marianne shakes her head, angry at herself for allowing her imagination to get the better of her. She blinks a few times, expecting the image of her father rushing into the water to disappear, along with the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks.

But it stays. It stays, and it takes her a too long moment go realise that it's not her father running through the waves. It's Matthew.

And the person under the water is Anne.

🌼

It doesn't matter that she's fine, not at all. And perhaps it is quite stupid, for Marianne certainly feels stupid, but she's angry at Anne, too. How can she take it all so lightly? If it wasn't for Matthew, she would have drowned.

She got so excited she forgot she can't swim? For God's sake.

And yet all the anger and irritation, and resentment doesn't stop her from holding the redhead's arm as though her life depended on it. They are both wrapped in blankets (one to find shelter from the cold, and other - from shock), standing side by side and looking into the distance, over the blue; Marianne keeps glancing down onto their feet, making sure to leave a safe amount of space between their bare toes and the waves.