𝗶𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 scarlett alastair returns
to her twisted home and
uncovers a forgotten flame
with laurie laurence.
━━ ❝ I want so desperately to be truly loved. ❞
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we were something, don't you think so?
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SCARLETT ALASTAIR WAS FALLING. Her vision blurred and she was too frightened to scream. She wanted to escape and sob, but she couldn't catch a glimpse of the ground that would catch her death.
The sudden lurch of the carriage jolted Scarlett awake from her doze. She fretted for a moment, before remembering where she was.
The ambience of Concord had always been unsettling to her. It had been at least over three years since she had left for Paris to attend school.
Only days ago, her mother had taken ill, demanding for Scarlett's presence home. Her father being long passed away, so she had no other option but to obey. Now, instead of promenading through fragrant flower gardens with her friends, she would have to tramp through itchy grass and overgrown weeds.
She hadn't wanted to return to Concord at all! There were plenty enough things that kept her away. One especially, her neighbor Laurie. Laurie had been a delightful friend and companion as the two grew up together, but as soon as she had left for Paris, she hadn't received a single word from him again. She certainly did try on her own to write to him, over a hundred letters, but all she received in return was silence.
"We're arriving now, Miss Alastair!" announced her driver.
The carriage rolled to a halt, and a minute later, her countless trunks and herself were inside the house. Before she could shut the door behind her, the carriage that had accompanied her for so many miles was pulling out of the long driveway.
Scarlett didn't seem to know what to do. She walked across the foyer and hesitantly began to climb up the stairs.
"Mother?" she called gently, letting herself into her mother's bedroom.
Mrs. Alastair was sound asleep beneath a thin blanket. She looked weary and fragile, as though adjusting her pillow might shatter her. Guilt bloomed in Scarlett's chest. She should have visited sooner.
Scarlett left a glass of water beside the bed and slipped out the door.
They owned no servants in the house, so with great struggle, Scarlett heaved each of her trunks up the staircase while stressing to make as less clamor as she could. Upon entering her bedroom, she noticed that all of her things had been shifted and rummaged through. Scarlett had been sensible enough of course, and taken all of her most personal things away with her. The thought of her mother discovering Scarlett's notes and diaries sent chills up her spine. With nothing left to do, she began to unpack.
The house was constructed in a common French fashion, with small but many windows and spacious rooms that hadn't been properly cared for since Scarlett had left. Having no time to dawdle about, she found the broom and dust pan and set to work. Pillows were rearranged and fluffed. Curtains were washed thoroughly and ironed neatly.
As the sun was dropping away to make place for the moon, the house was set back in order, just in time to start dinner. It was no large hassle, but Scarlett couldn't help but feel lonesome and tired as she set to cut vegetables and boil the water needed for soup. What this how it would be for a long time?
The rest of the evening dragged on with nothing to keep Scarlett amused. It had taken her a great struggle to wake up her mother, only to be told that she wasn't hungry and promptly dropping back into slumber. She ate alone in the silence of the house with only the sound of the crackling fireplace keeping her company.
In a large house neighboring the Alastair residence, Laurie had just returned from the March's, about to enter his house. His grin slipped away as his gaze lingered on Scarlett's home. On most occasions, the lights inside were diminished to almost nothing ― curtains drawn tightly shut and closed ― as if any glimpse of warmth had been swept away, all since she had left. But the Laurence boy was taken by surprise. A new feeling of confusion and doubt began to beat in his heart. A steady pattern of smoke came puffing from the chimney, and warm light shone from all of the first story, and one room above.
Laurie shook his head and tore his attention away. It was no time to linger in the past. He had tried so hard to forget her ― replaced her even! Scarlett didn't have a hold over him anymore. He looked back at the March's abode, pushed a smile on his face, and stepped inside his house.
But his smiled wavered. The reason for the brightly lit house was unsettling.
"She's not back, is she?"
His reply was swiftly given when he sat down to dinner with his grandfather. "I heard that Scarlett arrived several hours ago while you were away! How nice," said the old man.
"Did she come by?" asked Laurie with a tense demeanor.
"Not that I know of," was the latter's response. "You should visit her. Perhaps tomorrow, since it'll be Christmas Eve."
Laurie had never hold his grandfather about what he had done. "Alright," he said instead.
