SEQUEL OF GYMNOPÉDIE
The war is inevitable. Wizards, witches, pick a side, pick your ruins. Because in the eye of war, brothers shared no blood though came from the same marrow, families strayed and abandoned, heart ostracized from mind, and you mi...
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In the darkest hour, a ray of moonshine delved into the woods, maneuvering seamlessly amidst the new-fallen snow. The light molded into feathers, curves of beak and claws and tail, blue-silver against midnight waters. It was a patronus. The spell dived with joy, threading itself between the thinly ice-coated twigs, awaking the pairs of feline-like eyes that clawed from the stifle of the trees. Swiftly, it climbed to the ripe moon, flexing its wings free in the cool air.
During all that, Gideon watched the last hue of his hummingbird fade in the moonlight. He found it ironic that he sent such horrifying news using a spell made of pure happiness. Dorcas' cry out had died in the cusp of cold, leaving only the sound of the wind stirring in the trees but her grievance had only just begun.
Dorcas' metal palm hovered over her sister's face. She brought the delicate eyelids to their forever rest, ever so gently, as if cupping snowflakes with a warm palm. She brushed the dark curls away from the cold, pallid face then whispered to the night. "You can rest now."
Even in death, Johanna was as lovely as she always had been. She looked as if she was sleeping like any other night, caressed by firelight, bare and blissful while the chills of winter prickled her skin. And Dorcas wished it was true, that her sister was just lulled asleep on their mother's rocking chair.
The Marrionettist's eyes burned, willing to break into tears again. The clock ticked again, moving steadily forward as if nothing mattered.
Too late, she thought. If only Johanna spotted Dorcas' silhouette in the hellebore garden instead of the grinning danger. If Johanna found out about her mechanic fist before the death eaters' knife. If Dorcas arrived earlier, she would gamble that the aftermath would be different. At least, she'd like to think so.
If only she was there sooner, perhaps, Johanna would still be here, breathing and boldly yelling at her like their mother did when their father arrived home past the agreed curfew. And the story was the same, like a pattern, Sir Meadowes came home to his dead wife and Dorcas came home to her sister, soaked in bad blood.
After all, Anna had always been their mother's child while she was her father's. And Dorcas never thought that through.
Dorcas bit her lips, swallowing the will to cry again. She leaned to Anna's cold face to murmur the final goodbye her father taught her once, "May the dawn find you, and I'll see you in the first light."
