|𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟷𝚡|
There's a war in London. No one knows how it started, but those caught in the fray can either struggle or thrive due to the nation-wide influence of two formidable factions: the Crimson Syndicate and the Brotherhood of the...
Lennox stuffed the paper into his pocket, without looking at it. As much as he would have enjoyed telling her off and claiming to not need any answers, he craved them too much to disregard her mysterious message.
He heard his mother call his name. Lennox walked over to her, feeling a pang of pity. She looked up at him with tearful eyes and reached for his hand.
"Lennox, I have to tell you something," she said, in a shaky voice as she led him away from the crowd. "Something I should have told you a long time ago."
She paused. "You know, the funny thing is that Renato encouraged me to do this, but he isn't even here to hear it."
Emily tilted her head down towards her son, only taller than him due to her sleek heels. "The thing is, Lennox, I had ulterior motives for staying with Wade as long as I did. In short, it's my fault you had to endure him for this long. I'm sorry. He needed a socialite, a trophy wife. He'd constantly threaten to leave me if I wouldn't—"
"Then why didn't you let him? We would have all been better off without him!" Lennox burst out, interrupting her.
He didn't need—or want—any more of her excuses.
"We needed protection from the Verita Aser, and at the time, it seemed like the only option... I was young and naive. I was afraid, Lennox. Believe it or not, Wade used to be caring. He was kind, once. I thought that he would be able to keep me safe. He was going places... whereas I..."
Emily broke eye contact to look into the grey-blue sky. "I thought that my little chain of flower shops would keep me afloat, but as one location after another went under... I became vulnerable and alone. I had no choice, whether you agree with it or not, my son. All I ask for now is your understanding."
Lennox felt a surge of disbelief. How could she say that? How could she have done such a thing? To herself, and to Chase?
To him?
"Mum, please," he said, softly. His voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. It was as if he was a child again, afraid and in need of validation. In need of love and acknowledgement, like so many children were denied time and time again.
"Don't do this. Don't make excuses for him. Don't pretend he was a good man. He wasn't." He saw his mother shake her head and felt a stab of frustration. He knew she was in denial. He knew she was delusional.
When would she open her eyes? When would she finally look past herself, past Wade, and look at the world in front of her? She needed to move past this, whether she wanted to or not. But Lennox couldn't make her do that, he could only nudge her in the right direction.
"No, Lennox, you don't understand," she said, desperately. "He was a good man, once. He was kind, generous, and loving. He was a leader and a visionary. He had a dream, Lennox. But the world, and this war? They changed him." Her tone was accusatory.
She truly thought that it wasn't her husband's thirst for power and dominance that led him to his demise.
"Mother, you're not making any sense. A dream of what? Subjecting the world to his cruelty?"
He looked around, noticing the Verita soldiers milling about. The one closest to him had a stern face, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. Collectively, the group was asking questions, and guarding their Queen. They, too, were seeing if Wade's killer harboured the audacity to show their face at his funeral.
"Can't you see? No one can call themselves a visionary when they are aligned with a faction like this. It's all lies, Mum. Everyone, on every side, has done unspeakable horrors. Self-proclaimed visionary or not, no one here is a good person. Not one of us. And what someone once was means nothing. It is who they are now that makes all the difference."
Lennox turned away from his mother, fleeing her presence and the funeral for the solace of the basement. There, and only there, he unfolded the thin paper Mel had handed him. Its very existence threatened to crumble the information Lennox didn't know he desperately needed.
'Mr. Kendrick-Carson,
As their elected leader, I write to you with a single request: join our table, as an equal, at 7820 W Claim Ct., in the Warehouse District, in fourteen days' time at 6:45 pm. We humbly request that you listen to our offer with an open mind, in hopes that you will join us for more than just a meal.
—Sarlyn of The Fringe
PS: Tell no one. Come alone. We will know if you don't.'
