ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : flawless - the neighbourhood
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❝PREFACE ❞
✵✵✵
Small Heath, Birmingham
In the austere streets of Small Heath, Marianna James blossomed amidst the humble abode of her gypsy parents. Her mother, a scent-savvy gypsy woman, and her father, a rugged yet compassionate soul, forged a sanctuary amidst the biting chill of winter with their unwavering love and the enchantment of tales spun by firelight.
Despite the harsh realities that often besieged their meager existence, Marianna found solace in the warmth of familial bonds, woven with threads of devotion and whispered lullabies, albeit tinged with the shadows of her father's perilous ventures.
Her elder brother, Mal, a stalwart guardian five years her senior, adorned her with the tender affections befitting a cherished princess.
Sensing her penchant for artistry, Mal toiled tirelessly to procure the simplest of materials—crimson hues of paint, sheets of paper, and a solitary brush—to nurture Marianna's creative spirit.
He affectionately dubbed her Mar Belle, an endearing epithet whispered with reverence, its French origin imbuing her with an aura of ethereal beauty.
As Marianna ventured into the realms of academia, she encountered a jovial lad whose countenance bore the innocence of youth painted upon his freckled visage. John Shelby, with his winsome grin and amiable demeanor, swiftly ensconced himself as Marianna's steadfast companion, his words a comforting refuge amidst the tumult of adolescence.
And it was through John that she crossed paths with him.
A youth five winters her senior, his pallor mirroring John's, yet cloaked in an icy veneer that sent shivers down her spine. Beholding him within the confines of the Shelby estate, Marianna's tender heart whispered a single word, laden with apprehension and curiosity, Chilling.
✵
Amidst the innocence and exuberance that danced through the cobbled streets of Small Heath, Thomas Shelby first encountered her at the tender age of fifteen.
Introduced through the labyrinthine connections of his elder brother Mal's endeavors, he knew her only as the younger sister of a gypsy comrade—her name and age shrouded in the mysteries of their shared neighborhood. Yet, even in his fleeting glimpses, Thomas found himself ensnared by the ethereal beauty of her gaze, an iridescent beacon amidst the shadows of their humble surroundings.
In the throes of youthful camaraderie, Thomas found himself drawn to her presence, a whimsical specter that graced their modest abode with laughter and mirth. Whether she frolicked with John and Ada, or lingered to listen to Arthur's embellished tales, her presence cast a spell upon the Shelby household, her laughter mingling with the echoes of childhood innocence.
Yet, beneath her facade of joviality, Thomas sensed a tremor of apprehension that tethered her to the fringes of their youthful escapades—a bond he yearned to sever, to bridge the chasm between their worlds.
It was in the crisp dawn of 1907, amidst the squalor of Small Heath's labyrinthine alleys, that their paths intertwined once more. As Marianna traversed the cobblestone thoroughfares, her form illuminated by the dappled sunlight, Thomas bore witness to an act of cruelty that ignited a flame of righteous indignation within his breast—a fellow urchin, kid her age emboldened by malice, and shoved Marianna down to the wet mud, spit at her and called her obscenities.
In a heartbeat, Thomas found himself propelled towards her, a silent guardian amidst the chaos of their impoverished enclave. Yet, before his footsteps could bridge the divide between them, Marianna's spirit ignited with a ferocity that belied her tender years, in one flicker, the boy dropped the bag to the mud, hastily clutching his nose, which was now gushing from where the girl hit him.
As Thomas knelt beside her, his heart thrumming with a mixture of awe and reverence, he beheld her with new found clarity. In the depths of her eyes, he glimpsed a kaleidoscope of emotions—a tapestry woven with threads of resilience and vulnerability, each strand intertwining to form the essence of her—Marianna Doe James.
"Thank you, Mr. Thomas." her voice, a melody that resonated with the purity of youth, washed over him like a gentle breeze. And in that moment, as their eyes met in silent communion, Thomas felt a stirring within his soul—a longing, perhaps, to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden behind those captivating eyes.
"Are you hurt?" he whispered, his voice a tender as his gaze trailed the perceptible traces of her wounds.
With a single nod, Marianna met his gaze, her eyes a tempest of emotions that stirred something primal within him—a longing for connection, for understanding, for a glimpse of the world through her eyes.
In that moment, amidst the clamor of Small Heath, two souls collided, bound together by the fragile threads of fate and the promise of something deeper, something ineffable—a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, destined to defy the confines of time and circumstance.
"Come on, let's patch those." Thomas murmured, his words a gentle reassurance amidst the tumult of their world, as they embarked upon a journey that would irrevocably alter the course of their lives.
✵
As the days melted into weeks, Thomas and Marianna found themselves traversing the delicate terrain between acquaintanceship and friendship. Their initial encounter had shattered the barriers of impassivity, paving the way for a burgeoning camaraderie that defied societal expectations.
In the quiet corners of the whispers of cobblestone streets, Thomas sought out Marianna's hidden sanctuary, while she, in turn, accompanied him on his daily chores in the opulent stables of the affluent. Their bond, once shrouded in secrecy, blossomed into a palpable connection that left the denizens of Small Heath in awe.
For Thomas Shelby, Marianna James embodied a mesmerizing enigma, a beacon of orison and resilience amidst the tumult of adolescence.
As he navigated the labyrinthine corridors of his own emotions, he found himself increasingly drawn to her, her hazel eyes holding the promise of a world yet unexplored.
But theirs was not a tale of unblemished romance; it was a delicate dance of push and pull, a symphony of longing and hesitation. Despite
his growing affection, Thomas hesitated to fully express his feelings, while Marianna, steadfast in her self-worth, refused to surrender to the whims of love without assurance.
Their journey of courtship unfolded over three tumultuous years, marked by fleeting glances and hesitant gestures, until fate intervened on a somber day in 1913. Against the backdrop of a dreary Small Heath, Marianna, having completed a sketch of Thomas's beloved mare, issued a challenge—a vow of fidelity and authenticity, a testament to their shared bond amidst the grit and grime of Birmingham's streets.
"I believe Pinky Promises are no longer appropriate for our age, Mar." Thomas remarked, his gaze fixed upon her with a mixture of admiration and uncertainty.
Unfazed by his skepticism, Marianna met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "What I believe is a pinky promise designed to last forever, and we must honor it."
With a wry smile, Thomas extended his hand, a silent acknowledgment of their shared covenant. And in that fleeting moment, amidst the laughter and chumminess, their lips met in a tender embrace—a silent confession of longing and desire that transcended the confines of words.
Their romance, though unconventional, flourished in the quiet moments shared amidst the chaos of their world.
Thomas, though not as eloquent as Marianna, found solace in the simplicity of their connection, expressing his devotion through silent gestures and steadfast loyalty.
But as whispers of marriage echoed through the streets of Small Heath, the shadows of uncertainty loomed on the horizon. For all good things, no matter how pure, must eventually come to an end.
✵
In the bleak December of 1913, tragedy descended upon Marianna James like a shroud of despair. The cruel hand of fate snatched away her parents in a hail of gunfire, their lives claimed by the shadows of her father's lineage. With their passing, Marianna's world crumbled, her very existence engulfed in the flames of grief and madness.
As her brother, Mal, drowned his sorrows in a sea of intoxication, Marianna found herself adrift in a tempest of anguish and uncertainty. The specters of her mother's whispered lullabies haunted her, driving her to the brink of madness. Sickened by the weight of her torment, Marianna James trudged through the murky alleys of Small Heath, her soul burdened by the relentless whispers of spirits that haunted her every step.
Intent on seeking solace in the counsel of Polly Gray, Thomas Shelby's formidable aunt, Marianna's resolve faltered as she caught sight of him—the man who had been her lover, her steadfast anchor, her unwavering pedestal. In that fleeting moment, her heart yearned to rush into his embrace, to seek refuge from the cacophony of uncertainty that besieged her.
Yet, as their gazes locked, she glimpsed a shadow flicker within his eyes, a harbinger of the turmoil that lay beneath the surface. Frozen in place, Marianna felt the tendrils of despair tighten their grip around her, compelling her to retreat, to sever the ties that bound her to him.
And so, on a bitter January morning, Marianna James bid farewell to Thomas Shelby, leaving him to grapple with the shattered remnants of his heart, scattered like shards of glass upon the unforgiving ground. But amidst the wreckage of their romance, one image remained etched in his memory—the anguish etched upon her exquisite features, mirroring the innocence of their youth, when she had first whispered the word that now echoed in his mind, chilling.
For Marianna, the aftermath was a tempest of emotions, her once radiant spirit dimmed by the cold cruelty of betrayal. She bore witness to the unraveling of Thomas Shelby's facade, his descent into darkness marked by reckless abandon and fleeting passion.
Determined to shield herself from further anguish, Marianna resolved to retreat from his orbit, seeking solace in the quietude of her grief. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
With the outbreak of war, her brother Mal, fueled by a desire to carve out a legacy for their family, enlisted alongside the Shelby boys, a decision that would irrevocably alter the course of their lives.
As she watched her loved ones march towards the abyss of conflict, Marianna could not shake the chilling premonition that gripped her heart—a harbinger of the trials yet to come, and a stark reminder of the fragile nature of fate.
And she remembered the word she said fourteen years ago , chilling.
✵✵✵
Twenty-two years old Thomas Shelby, couldn't help but smile. He offered his right hand in front of Marianna, rolling his eyes. "I promise you, Mar."
1853 words.
EDITED
author's note:
So, I've taken a bit of a scalpel to this old manuscript, and here's the shiny new preface.
I've noticed a fair few comments about the five-year age gap between our protagonist's ages, and honestly, I'm not looking to start a debate. Let's remember, this tale is set in the early 1900s – back then, age differences were about as significant as picking the right hat for tea. The real uproar? Women daring to have minds of their own!
Let's not get too bogged down in the minutiae. It's hardly the crux of the story, let's be real. Besides, who among us isn't a fair bit younger than Cillian and still swooning over him?