Y O U R C R U C I B L E
"May you be in heaven a full half hour before the devil knows you're dead."
Lottie Thorne, sister of the notorious Freddie Thorne, is counted as part of the Shelby family. And her loyalty is...
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"Will you tell me what's wrong?"
If she had to describe him to save her life, there would be no doubt, she would die.
Lottie could confidently say she could not remember anything from the night before except a lot of drinking and then waking up in a stranger's bed. Lottie never had one-night-stands. Never. It was not something she did. Sure, she had many flings, but it was never just for one night. As soon as she woke, she slipped out of the room and onto the streets. She didn't stay long enough to even glimpse at the man who lay next to her on the bed.
The dark streets were poorly illuminated by the lamps which cast long, distorted shadows. But Lottie wasn't afraid of anything in Birmingham as no one dared mess with her as they'd have to face the wrath of the Blinders and then her own which would be far worse - partly because no one really knew what she was capable of; as the wise saying went: always be wary of the quiet ones. Especially when they had such a fucking awful hangover - or in this case still very drunk and wouldn't hold back.
Lottie walked across the cobbled streets, wrapping her trench coat tighter around her. She didn't want to go home as Maxim would see her drunk - if he was even there. Nevertheless, she did not want to risk it. Instead, she was heading to the Shelby's. Polly always allowed her to stay the night, sleeping on the sofa whenever she needed.
As she neared the house, a dark silhouette was sitting at the door. Furrowing her brows, confused, she slowed down her walk as she got closer. The sound of her footsteps made the person stand up. She could tell it was a boy - well, a young man - and he looked nervous. "Who are you?" Lottie demanded, in no mood to deal with a stranger, wanting only to collapse and sleep through her hangover.
"I... I was told to come here," the boy replied.
"By who?"
He looked down at his hat. "I was told my mother lived here."
Lottie's breath was snatched from her chest. Polly's son - Michael. He was home - he had come. "Oh," she murmured. "I guess you should come in, then." She stepped towards the door and unlocked it, pushing it open for him to go through.
Nodding his head, he entered and she followed. Lottie stepped past him and made her way through to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, desperately in need of rehydration. "I'm Lottie," she introduced, holding out her hand when she had re-emerged.
Shaking it, he replied, "Michael."
"Did you want a drink?" She asked, feeling awkward, unsure what to do.
"No, it's, uh, fine," he mumbled.
"Okay..." Lottie said to herself. "Did you want to sit in the living room?" She asked, already walking into the room. She looked around the room, trying to think of a conversation, but Michael snapped her out of her thoughts.
