Falling Like Snow

Six | The Fallout

Laying in her excessively grand bed, staring at the wall that seemed too far away, Lizzie wished she was home. She regretted agreeing to stay with Jane and Charles for the entirety of December; Christmas was still five days away, and she was staying beyond that, for the New Year... If she could bail out on Jane without feeling guilty, she would. Granted, she would regret that choice almost immediately upon arriving back home, but for now she missed her own bed, and her own room.

She missed the lack of Pemberly, of William. The lack of heartbreak, which was so stupid to feel anyway, as they hadn't even been dating...

But any chance of that was irrevocably gone, snatched away from her. Any delusion that she had nurtured had gone up in flames the moment he hadn't thought her worth defending to his aunt. And Mr. Collins... She refused to let her mind wander there.

For two days she had hid in this room, claiming a sickness bug whenever Jane or Mary knocked on her door to check on her. It wasn't so far from the truth; when she stood her head spun, but that was likely from the sick feeling she felt whenever she tried to eat. All she could see was the food left on her plate at that fateful lunch at Pemberly. Every time she breathed, she felt an acute pain in her heart. So many tears had stained her pillow that her throat felt coated in shattered glass.

And yet she was helpless before the world, abandoned feeling more vulnerable than ever. Before, she had held an unconquerable faith in her own strength, in her own character and personable nature. With that unwavering confidence in her own attributes, her own skills, she had remained largely unaffected by the harshness of the world. She was far from sheltered, far from oblivious, but her own inner self remained serene. Confident in its capability. Until a man intruded and decided that he knew what was best for her better than she knew herself. A soft, acerbic laugh escaped her. Oh, the world was doomed, and she would strike the match that would burn it, given the chance.

She was dimly aware that she was not herself; but perhaps she was simply not her old self anymore. Perhaps the girl from two days ago was dead, and dancing on her grave was this haunted, hollow creature. Not the sort of dry, brittle hollow, but a kind of close, claggy cave. She rolled over, feeling as if she had woken up with a hangover.

There was mascara on her pillow that she didn't remember applying.

A knock sounded on her door, followed by Jane's voice calling out. "Lizzie?"

"Come in," she croaked.

The door opened, and Jane, the picture of cozy and wholesome in her oversized jumper, entered with a large grin. Lizzie immediately felt bad for not telling her sister the truth of what had happened, but she also couldn't bear the shame of doing so. "Are you feeling any better?" She asked softly, her worry evident. She set a steaming cup of something on the bedside table.

They were polar opposites in every way; Jane was warmth and comfort, she was cold and pain. Jane was soft and forgiving, she was hard and bitter...

Lizzie gave a non committal shrug. "I'm getting there."

"Good. Perhaps tomorrow-" Jane's hopeful look made it even harder to breath.

"Not tomorrow, I don't think. Maybe the day after?" It was more of a question than Lizzie meant it to be, but Jane laughed.

"Don't strain yourself. I just hope that you're better for Christmas..." Jane glanced down at her fondly. "Well, I'll leave you to your tea. Give me a call if you need anything."

"I will." Jane stood from her perch on the edge of the bed. "And Jane?" She paused, halfway to the door. "Thank you," Lizzie whispered.

"I love you," Jane replied.