𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 | "The Carriage held but just Ourselves - And Immortality."
In which Eden Mercer learns there is more to the Problem, and herself, than meets the eye.
𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 & 𝐂𝐨.
𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐡...
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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐏 alongside the curb just across the street from 35 Portland Row. Eden was quick to open the door and step out onto the asphalt, shivering in her dress as the cool night air nipped at her skin. She set her course toward the townhome, her arms tense with her fists clenched at her sides as another violent shiver wracked her body.
"Darling, I can't stand it anymore," Anthony called from behind her as he followed her path toward the house. "Say something. Anything. Please." She stayed quiet, as she had for the entire cab ride home. "We won. We beat Winkman. We got the mirror—it's safe with Barnes now. George will be back any moment. You can relax. It's over."
Whirling around fiercely, Eden leveled him with a sharp glare. He startled at her sudden turn, but still regarded her with earnest. She shook her head. "No, it's not, Lockwood," she told him, her voice trembling—she couldn't tell if it was out of fear, anger, or the cold. "We nearly died tonight, all because of your fucking bet, and now every relic hunter in London is out to kill us." She took a shuddering inhale. "They could be watching us right now. Or waiting for us inside the house." His eyes were soft, filling with regret. And he did look quite pitiful—disheveled hair and a bleeding cut right above his right brow. Eden figured she couldn't look any better, and her eyes filled with tears. "What are we doing this for? What does any of it mean if we end up stabbed or dead at the bottom of the Thames with nobody left to care?" He didn't respond and she let her voice fall to a whisper. "This doesn't feel like winning."
With that, she turned and made her way across the street. Getting inside the house and up to the attic was a blur to her. She only stopped and fully realized the gravity of what she had just experienced when she looked in the mirror in her bathroom. Her hair had stayed in the low ponytail, but the curls had fallen out, and the strands were stringy with the Thames. Her face was pale, makeup smeared underneath her eyes, and her neck was still bruised, but looked somehow angrier than it had the day before.
She stripped out of her ruined dress, stepped out of her wedges, and took off the necklace that Anthony had given her, setting it down on the edge of the sink. She turned on the water and took a quick but thorough shower, cleaning not only the physical remains of the night off her body, but the metaphorical night off as well.
Once she had finished, she scrunched as much water out of her hair as she could and changed into her standard attire—a pair of tights, a beige and maroon tartan skirt, and a maroon sweater. She moved back into the bathroom and checked her hair in the mirror, the glimmer of the necklace catching her eye. Picking the piece of jewelry up, she gazed at it, running her thumb over the grooves of the diamond. Eden couldn't quite decide what she wanted to do with it at the moment, so she laid it on her nightstand beside her diary and left the attic.
Anthony wasn't anywhere to be seen, though Eden could hear him moving about in his bedroom. She released a short sigh of relief as she walked into the kitchen. She threw on the kettle and reached for one of the skillets on hand. She was starving and the only foods she could genuinely make well were of the breakfast variety. As she waited for the stove to heat the pan, she fed the toaster a few slices of bread.
