a/n: I really like this cover, and I think It really fits :))
//"When you're all alone, I will reach for you; when you're feeling low, I will be there too."\\
Stella checked her watch for the seventh time that hour- the flick of the tiny bronze hand swept around the clock face with out fail again and again in till the larger hand finally shifted, declaring the hour to be five o'clock. The inn wasn't inhospitable on the surface, but the glances and whispers were less than welcoming, and some things quickly became known to her:
First- this place was far from the bright, tea places she had previously visited in Charlottetown.
Second-The inmates were very much confused at seeing her: a young, white girl with a lace rimmed hat and polished leather shoes.
Most residents there were men, with dark skin and patched clothing. At first she attempted making conversation with the bar keeper, who studied her curiously. He wasn't unfriendly, but his hesitance, and careful conversation confused her. She scanned the room, hoping that somehow, she would be able to spot the recipient of her parcel. They would likely be able to identify her, but Stella had no idea about the person she was supposed to deliver the books to.
She waited in silence, trying to ignore the stares, for a while longer- but when in turned half past five, she turned to the bar keeper once more.
"Excuse me, I don't mean to bother you.. But would it be possible for you to pass this on to someone?"
Stella lifted the books onto the counter with an embarrassed blush.
"I suppose so.. Who to?" He questioned, sweeping the parcel behind the bar swiftly.
"Oh, well I'm not exactly sure.." How had she not seen this problem coming? She thought hard for the solution, all the while shifting uncomfortably.
"Perhaps, if someone asks for a package from Professor. Parker, could you deliver these to them?" She suggested.
The keeper wrinkled his noes. "I can't promise anything Misses, but I'll try."
"That's very kind of you Sir. " She thanked him, and began to back up away from the bar, and towards the door.
"You're lost, girl." A voice to the right of her stated, a man sipping from a large glass. His friend laughed at his, huge chest shaking.
"Wouldn't tell your Mr about this, if I were you." He continued, and another man chimed in from her other side.
"Don't come bringing trouble. Beat it, you hear?"
Stella ducked out of the Inn, the rusted bell chiming as the door collided with its rotting, wooden frame, gone before the next shout could come. She shivered, not entirely sure why, and with some relief began her walk back to Patty's Place.
I can skip the library tonight, she thought.
——
-a/n: play song-
Anne felt as though she was moving through water. An immense heaviness, like the pressure of a hand wrapped around every inch of her body, each movement- even a tilt of her head- required her entire focus of being. She swore she could feel it in her ears- the wash of water too close to her throat, too loud in her head, lips trembling with the sensation.
Abhorrently, ironically, her mouth was utterly dry. It made Anne want to scream.
But she doesn't. She just sat, statue still- like the surface of a pool, undisturbed- as Diana spoke gently, cooing as if she might to a child, from the very bottom of that pool. They were close- existing in the same state, same body of water- but each of her words were carried away, by a current unfelt to Anne, muffled reassurances melted into the surrounding unknown.
Because everything was unknown.
Funny, how a single thread of new knowledge could unravel the entire cloth of clarity until everything was detached, lost. And the intricate pattern, the net you've made yourself is suddenly dismantled. The fall at the end of the world.
"He just didn't mention a word of the letter and- well if you saw his face after I told him you weren't there you'd understand-" Diana broke off, realising the implications of her words.
If you saw his face.
If you had just been there.
You weren't there.
You didn't tell me about the study group.
You don't tell me things.
You didn't tell me.
You didn't.
"Anne. If there's another conclusion tell me, but I can only assume he can't have read your letter, and.."
"Doesn't know how I loved him."
A beat.
Anne's voice was scratching, like it can become after crying. Her eyes a flickering slightly, her chin trembled. Like pane of glass, with scar running along its edge. On the edge of breaking.
"Do.. do you know what that means?" Diana asked, her voice lifting with the possibility.
"It could mean anything Diana. It could mean nothing." She inhaled hastily, pressing her lips into a line.
Diana looked her straight in the eye, holding her there. "Anne," She said breathily, and a smile caresses her lips.
"It could mean everything."
The Rose Room seemed to spin like a coin around Anne, turning over under the force of her friend's words. Heads and tales. Win or loose. Luck.
Hope.
It ran shivers down her spine, easily finding its way back to her like a old habit. Sweet, terrifying, familiar uncertainty. She thought, she'd let it overwhelm her. The possibilities.
"I, I'm going to get some air. Thank you, truly Di." She moved suddenly, to escape the sunset room, leaving Diana sitting alone on the thin carpet behind her.
It's cold- winter had finally settled, the air smelled so teasingly like snow. Anne stumbled out of the entrance hall, steering towards to graveyard with an almost giddy step. But she was not smiling, no she will not allow that yet. Instead her brow was furrowed, lips clamped closed in a straight line as she determinedly opened the gate and surrendered, melting into the nest of bare branches, leaning stones and brittle, sky-bound trees. The momentum of her gate tossed her previously pinned curls to fall in ribbons of cherry-red against the grey horizon in her vision.
Gilbert Blythe.
His name on her tongue, his name on the wind. She reached the edge graveyard, further than she'd ventured before, bare arms grazing the rough wood when she fell against the fence. A familiar texture.
Dear Gilbert,
I'm sorry, I was confused before.
Her words- lost, who knows where. That haunted her. She didn't expect that the absence of her disclosure, once her only hope at reaching him, could fill her with such relief. His ignorance of the way she cared for him meant something so significant. It meant he hadn't ignored it. It meant...
She realised it wasn't the thread of new knowledge that unravelled her- not really- it was the absence of what once had been certain, once fact, and she was falling. The end of the world.
I'm not anymore.
I love you.
Anne.
Breath caught in her throat, cold trickling through her veins, bones stone cold.
She could taste the snow on the air.
"Anne!" The yell jolted her. She turned, and eyes widened.
"Anne, it's so cold- your lips are nearly blue!" He has reached for her arm. She let him take it.
Her eyes were blurred from the bite of wind, and his hair appeared messier. The light is unpredictable, grey sky uncommitted to shedding sun- and his eyes were almost hazel. Hazel. And his hand was on the risen skin of her arm, alert to the touch. And he was almost there, next to her. He was almost looking into her eyes. He was almost-
"Anne!" He was angry. Why was he angry? Was it the letter? Wait no, that's not right. That was not him.
"Roy?" Her voice was breaking, gaze searching his face for definition, for difference. Each detail, each small contrast rushed to her. All at once. Chin, nose, brow, cheeks, eyes, lips-
"Anne what is up with you!?"
Deceptive phrasing. It's not question, more a demand.
"Come on inside." He pressed the ball of his thumb to her elbow, directing her back through the graveyard.
"What are you doing?" Anne managed.
"Saving you from hyperthermia." He stated. Anne thought she didn't feel cold. She felt sweaty. There was a blush burning her cheeks. She didn't remember when she started blushing.
"Diana told me you'd headed out. Did you really forget?" His voice was gentler now. It almost raised a pitch.
"Forget what?" She felt more in control of her words, as the boarding house came back into view. Then she realised that was a stupid response. She had immediately confirmed whatever suspicions he had had.
"You said you'd let me take you out, after school today."
"I'm sorry Roy. I've had a lot on mind." She hated how fake the apology sounded, monotone. She was sorry, truly.
"Yeah I know, believe me. I know."
Anne blinked, suddenly concerned at what else Diana may have told him.
"Hey, we'll do it another time. I promise." He shrugged, letting go of her arm. They had arrived at the entrance hall.
"I am sorry-" She called after him, trying again, pushing the sincerity into it.
But he was already walking- returning to the street- his back turned. He never said goodbye.
What was with the disappearing? She thought, a little bitterly.
Then he stopped. "Hey, Shirley." He only turned his head slightly.
"When you want to tell me, you know. What's on your mind. I'm good listener." He said, gently.
"Thank you." She responded, and it's hollow. How she wished it wasn't hollow.
Then she was the one who turned away, opening the entrance hall door.
Roy Gardener didn't call after her. Anne Shirley barely noticed, her head was heavy and she longed to rest it. To fall to sleep, to give into the half-conscious thoughts that only arose at late hours. Thoughts, ever since this afternoon, that held so much more weight.
She past through the hallway, a ghost. Invisible, she tilted her head to define to lines beyond the crack in the door. Diana was there, she was sitting in the ripples of now dimmer colours, bathed in a muted gold. The Rose Room encircled her like a nest, light shifted as if filtered through leaves. And she was smiling. She held something in her arms- dark cloth with threads loose at the ends, a coat that was too large to be her own. She shook her head in almost an amused way, pulling the fabric closer to her chest and sank deeper into the nestle of cushions, cradled by the depth of that soft, rose glow mirrored in her cheeks.