Beyond Death

Chapter I: Violet

AN: The picture to the side is just a representation of what a Victorian home looks like and gives you a more detailed idea about what the Manor in this chapter would look like. Thanks x

Chapter I: Violet

London, November 1887: 

I must admit, I had never imagined it to be raining so heavily when I finally met London.

I never even questioned that it would rain at all—which was a silly mistake of mine, considering England is famous for its dismal and stormy weather. In my mind, there had been sunshine just like back home in America. And because of my idealistic views, I had come without an umbrella, which left me standing soaked-through and alone in the rain. What a welcome.

My mood had hardly soured though, even when I remembered the way my bright orange locks frizzed when I was caught in the wet. My dream was laid out in front of me: London! Yes, it might have been a tad dirtier than described in books, but the pallid colours and smell didn't bother me. I was in the most magnificent city in the world!

Trying to compose myself amongst the refined citizens who lived in this grand city, I kept my glee contained—I could be hysterical in my room later. My eyes were examining the area, which was hard being so dark (and let's just say the rain wasn't helping either). But I was a tad anxious about missing my ride, and endeavoured to keep my eyes locked on the road no matter how dreary and oppressive the weather became.

People were still flooding out of the dock, and people-watching made the time fly faster. It was more like eaves-dropping in a sense, as it was still hard for me to tear my eyes away from the road. I listened. I never realized how funny a mob of sardined people were when they were drenched to the bone and trying to find shelter. I must admit, it was hard to refrain from laughing.

I hadn't been looking when I finally caught sight of Henry Edavane—my benefactor. He'd met me playing a show in America, and offered to pay for me to come to London and look after his son Adrian. I had no idea his age, but I'd learnt how to deal with children living at the Conservatoire, which also doubled as an Orphanage. No matter the age, I told him I would make a brilliant addition to his staff.

Later that month I was brisked away onto an awaiting steamship on my 18th birthday, which after a tediously long trip, leading me to here. Everything had been so quick; I honestly couldn't believe that any of it had happened. But there I was, running through a packed crowd of moody immigrants and Londoners trying to reach Henry like a lunatic. I hadn't a spare hand to wave carrying both bags of luggage, but my shout was enough to steal his attention.

"Henry! I'm over here!"

He finally saw me, smiling joyfully with rosy red cheeks against his pale skin; everyone seemed to be almost deathly pale in England, my light tan stood out like a sore thumb. I was trailed by a shadow of insults as I made the last squeeze through the remaining people between me and the other side. Once free, I couldn't stop myself from running to him and scooping him up into a warm hug.

He seemed a bit taken back, but quickly returned my warmth.

"I can never give you enough thanks." I admitted to him, barely a breath between my words and my cheeks flushed scarlet. "But I'll try my best to make it up to you anyway. I am forever in debt to your kindness, Sir."

He chuckled, gripping my shoulders with genuine care; like the way you would hold a son proudly, not a nanny. He moved me back to level me with his humoured eyes, suddenly losing their darkness and becoming warm and inviting. I was transfixed by his gaze, though slightly confused by the sudden change in his pupils.