may i stand unshaken [Arthur Morgan × OC]

Chapter 1

1889. Wyoming.

Her big eyes greeted me every morning. Slightly yellowed due to time and dilapidated paper photos, but still really beautiful. Large, the color of an emerald shimmering in the sun, with the corners turned down, perhaps a little sad. They always looked at me from behind the corner of the mirror on the wall, above a small wooden table. Every day. It was like a ritual. It seemed that her gaze was forever filled with grief and sympathy, regret that she had left me here alone. Then she looked at my back and mentally wished for patience. It sounded different in my head – "get it over with", "kill them at night", "kill yourself".

But my mom couldn't say such things. And not only because she died a year and a half ago, but also because she was a soft, pure woman. There was no place for such thoughts in her head, and my thoughts were different.

My eyes were a little different too. The same green, but dimmer, probably. But on the other hand, I also got thick dark red curls. They were hard to take care of. Sometimes I wanted to cut them off to the shoulders, but my hands did not rise to do it. I looked at myself in the mirror. There were bruises under my eyes. Thick black eyebrows, with a slight angle at the tips. My skin turned white, and a scattering of freckles discolored, as if I hadn't seen the sun for several years. The face is a little haggard, the cheeks are sunken, a small square chin. I have always been thin, but after my mother's death I managed to exhaust almost to the bone. I sighed heavily, touching my face with hands in disappointment. I was fifteen damn years old, and it seemed that I had managed to live my whole life and grow old in one moment.

– Damn, Joanna! How long can you sleep?!

The dilapidated walls were shaken by the impact of a fist on the kitchen table. I have already stopped flinching every time from these sounds in the house. I straightened the burgundy kerchief that kept my hair gathered, and straightened the fabric of my skirt, straightening the fabric. Took a deep breath, closing eyes. It was possible to pray, but faith in the Almighty faded like a flickering candle under a strong gust of wind.

It was cool outside my room, and I involuntarily shivered, wrapping my arms around my shoulders hidden by the fabric. The walls were really dilapidated, the frosty wind seeped into the cracks between the wooden beams, often creating an creepy hum in the house. The far door to Thomas' room was closed, probably behind it my brother was sleeping off with a new girl after a noisy night. Another door of the other brother was open, the room behind it was empty, so Jim was on the street and tried to hunt.

I went down the creaking stairs to the first floor. My father was sitting at the table with his back to me and nervously twitching his leg. When I got closer, he raised his head, as if he smelled me. Although with such creaky floors, even a blind person will navigate no worse than a sighted one.

– Really? – his voice was low and hoarse, he often choked on coughing, but even now a cigarette was smoking in his teeth. – How long do I have to wait for this breakfast?

– Sorry, father, – I said clearly, lowering my eyes to the floor, the man did not like it when someone mumbled or spoke unintelligibly.

Without waiting for an answer, began to prepare a ragout of beans and leftover rabbit meat, which Jim had brought the previous day. It was possible to keep warm in this part of the house and move frozen fingers.

– Go to town today, – my father said when I put a plate of hot food in front of him. – Jim will bring the deer, we need to sell part of it.