𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 ▻ 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘣𝘺 [1]

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮. 𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘭 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘹

...

GREIF APPEARS DIFFERENT on everyone it sets itself upon. The only common thing it has amongst its victims are the stages it brings: denial, anger, guilt, depression, and acceptance - and in that order. But is it even possible to grieve something you never truly or officially had? Would it still be considered grieving? Or would it just simply be considered being sad?

     A few sunrises and sunsets past that Elizabeth remained cooped up inside her childhood home, not stepping out even once. The stages of grief flowing it's course through the Alder girl's body, still yet to find the last. The one that would bring peace.

     A pounding knock echoes through the home as it did multiple times the past days. Ignore it, the voice inside her head said for the hundredth time. With intent to do just that, through the upstairs window Elizabeth Alder slowly moved the curtain away just enough to see who stands below. Normally stood was Thomas Shelby who with each visit had a stiffer, more rigid stance and quicker back and forth pace of obvious angst, but this time was Polly standing below.

     With a subtle sigh of what could only be described as relief, she trudges down the wooden steps, each making their own unique creaking sound as they always did, to the main floor and to the front door to answer (for once).

     With a deep breath Elizabeth opens the front door, the bright morning light flooding into the otherwise dark interior; Her soft hazel eyes squinting at the brightness.

     "Today's the day", Polly says as her face is revealed on the other side of the door, "Tommy said— Jesus Liz!", she stops in shock at the sight of the golden haired girl in front of her.

     "What in the bloody hell happened to you?", Polly exclaims as her eyes widen as she pushes into the dark home ahead of her, "You look like a fucking mess, to put it lightly."

     The temperature difference inside the home hits the woman like a bullet, goosebumps instantly prickling up on her arms. "What in the—", Polly says as she whips her head to see the sight of an unlit fireplace with only old ashes and cold wood and coal, "Have you been hit in the head, what's going on with you?"

     Hit in the heart more like, Elizabeth thinks to herself.

     "What is that supposed to— don't tell me this has to do with Tommy", Polly says, clearly showing the golden haired girl in fact did not say that in her head; but out loud. "That boy has been moping around like a blind stray dog."