𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 ─── jack sparrow

𝟏𝟕. Lover, Leaver

Marion stood in a black dress, wondering if this would be the worst day of her life.

It had been two days since she'd arrived in Port Royal. It had also been two days since Marion was living without the hope of ever seeing Lady Taylor again. Upon returning home, Heather was standing on the dock, little Jane holding her hand, both dressed in black. And Marion knew.

In that moment, she just knew.

People always said that death burdens one's soul, but she felt weightless. Everything that had tied her to the earth had snapped and she was left to float aimlessly somewhere far, far away. She'd thought it had been James' arms she'd collapsed into, but perhaps it had been Will's. Marion couldn't remember their faces, only the feeling of the world giving way underneath her feet. How the gulls squawked and the sky gleamed and her mother was dead.

Somehow she had ended up on the manor's doorstep. It almost looked... normal. The servants had cleaned up the debris and replaced the shattered vases and chandeliers. But it was empty. God, it was so empty.

Marion couldn't stand it.

So she ran.

Who knew what people thought of the half-wild woman who hurtled down their roads. Marion didn't care for their judgment, didn't even think about her lack of propriety. The route to the infirmary was a ten minute carriage ride. She'd made it there in fifteen by foot.

Air cut through her lungs and her chest burned. Marion wished it would burn brighter. Hurt more. Just to feel anything other than grief. She hurried past the doctors, ignoring their confused glances and double-takes. Her shoes clicked against the stone as she spiraled up the stairs and down the hallway into the room where Lady Taylor was last seen resting.

The windows were open, drapes billowing in the sea breeze. Marion hesitated at the entrance, clinging to the door frame in case her legs buckled from under her. She searched the room, heartbeat ringing in her ears.

"Where is she?" Her words came out broken, quiet with despair.

Leisurely footsteps sounded from behind her and the physician who'd tended to her that dreadful night rounded the corner. He paused when he saw her, glancing down to consult with his clipboard. "Ah, it's you." Why did he sound like that? Like she was an inconvenience, like this was just another day in his busy week. It wasn't. It was... It was... Her fingers wouldn't stop trembling. "I've been expecting you. Your maid told me you were otherwise occupied—" He eyed her up and down and she tensed "—whatever that might've meant."

She worked on calming her breaths. "Where is she?"

He examined his clipboard again and Marion wanted to throw it out the damn window. "I'm afraid she's been taken to Eastlawn. We did try to wait for the relatives of the deceased to show up, but you know how these things are. Can't hold onto them for too long. Obviously the gravestone has not yet been ordered, but I can lend you an escort to the burial location..."

Marion had stopped listening. Deafening drums pulse through her entire being, drowning out all sound. She stared blankly at the bed where Lady Taylor had lay. The cotton sheets had been washed and folded neatly on the mattress. They wouldn't even smell like her anymore. Every trace of that vibrant, beautiful soul was gone. The woman who had raised her, taught her, laughed with her. Just like that, as if the last ember of her light had been stamped out.

Marion hadn't been able to save her.

All of it had been for nothing.

Emotion built up in her throat, crawling up her sinuses. The room, the physician's face, began to blur. And then she was crying. Slumped on the infirmary floor, the wind blowing her hair, lifting the tears from her cheeks.