Prologue
1832
The carriage pulled up on the weathered hillside. Looking up out of the window for the first time, a woman murmured a single request to her companion. The man stepped down from the carriage, opening the door before turning to aid the woman down from her seat.
Her outward appearance revealed little of her traumatic past; the blonde hair meticulously pinned up beneath her hat, the scars on her delicate fingers always encased within gloves, the beautiful coat wrapped around the pretty dress underneath. The woman's manner, too, belied the turmoil within; she was very much an amiable person, and only occasionally would someone notice the tear rolling down her withered cheek, or the depths of sadness hidden away in her blue eyes. Nevertheless, if anyone ever expressed concern, she would force a laugh, and reply that she was perfectly alright.
The couple proceeded along the derelict road, only coming to a standstill when they had reached the decayed iron fencing that had once encircled the property. The woman's lips were visibly trembling as she looked in through the gateway. The ruins in the distance could be made out; thought the details were difficult to distinguish. Reaching out a covered hand from the swathes of her coat, she rested it atop the metal for a moment or two, before gently pushing the towering gate aside. It gave way easily enough, although the hinges screeched their decent.
As they moved over the unkempt gravel path toward the remainder of the house that loomed above them, the cause of the damage to it, hidden from a distance, became apparent. The only enduring wall was licked and smudged with treacherous scorch marks, with vast holes where windows had previously existed. The outlines of charred stone amassed around the walls made it clear that it was once a stately, grandiose house. The remains of a marble staircase could also be seen, although only the lower half was intact.
Another wish was requested quietly by the woman. The man seemed unsurprised, and let her alone amidst the broken remains of the house, her mind left to ghostly recollections of what had passed.
She found the silence deafening as she looked around. Everything was so resolutely motionless, not even a breath of wind to upset the scene. The place was dead; devoid of any warmth, now only a haunting memory of what was.
She could still picture it as it had been: lively and vibrant, with servants hastening to attend to tasks around the house. If she closed her eyes she could imagine the sound of the polished marble floors beneath her feet, imagine looking out of the grand window over the immaculate gardens. She could feel the silky wood panels beneath her fingertips as she brushed past a wall, hear the sound of the bell calling her for supper and smell the aroma of food sweeping through the house. She had not been so young then, although her innocence to the ways of the world was undeniable. It was the simplest time of her life.
A flash of ice in her fingertips brought her back. She wearily opened her eyes to see that one of her hands was outstretched, and had momentarily traced the incinerated stone. She withdrew it uneasily, seeing that the tips of her gloves were now blackened with traces of soot. Removing her gloves, the marks on her hands were revealed.
From her bag she drew out three exquisite roses, each as beautiful as the other. She let the white blooms fall from her fingertips, and as the woman started to weep, she saw through blurred eyes the untarnished petals in a world of black and darkness. She could hear slow footsteps approaching, and a pair of strong arms caught her before she crumpled to the ground.
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1821
She ran past the old gateway into the meadow, the skirt of her dress billowing into the air behind her. The girl dared to whip her head around then, and stared with an excited horror as the gap between them lessened. He was not even flushed, and returned her gaze with a teasing smile. They both knew he was the faster runner. She darted towards the right, immediately copied by her pursuer. The fatigue had set in, and the girl found it increasingly harder to catch her breath.
On an impulse, she slowed, digging her heels into soft earth and spinning around to face him, the wind playing flyaway with her blonde hair. A look of surprise flitted across his face as he realised she had stilled, turning into something else when he understood the inevitable. He stumbled towards her in his attempt to stop, but, still, they tumbled to the earth together.
He immediately looked over to her, concern a mask over his face, but relaxed when he found her to be laughing. Both sat up and made an impossible effort to remove the grass from their hair and clothes. Within seconds she gave up and lay back onto the grass, looking towards the sky.
She could see clouds sailing leisurely across her view, driven by the light breeze. The wildflowers around her, too, were bursting with animation and vitality; blossoms of every colour were perched on their stems, busily attended to by the honey bees and sweet butterflies floating above her head. It was as if she were in a dream. From the meadow you couldn't even see the manor, blocked by the ring of trees that guarded over the serenity of the world here. It was uncontrived and unspoiled; it had always been her favourite place.
A face blocking her vision pulled her out of her reverie. He was leant over her, quietly scrutinising the face that a moment ago had been in a trance. She looked at him then, and absently reached out a petite hand to brush the remaining grass from his hair. He caught her hand where it rested on his cheek and held it against his skin, closing his jaded eyes. When he opened them again they were mesmerising; a tumult of fervent emotion, mirrored in her own feelings. She had been wrong, she grasped finally. This was her perfection.
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1832
She sighed imperceptibly as she looked out over what was once the meadow. They had been so young, so naïve. They had known nothing of the world and its tribulations. And so fate had stepped in. She turned to the man at her side. He smiled as he looked down at their intertwined hands, reminding her that some things were worth fighting for.
"Caroline? Do you-" She cut him off before he could go on.
"Yes, thank you, I'm ready to leave now," she stated decidedly before turning back the way they had come. She had accomplished all that she came for.
A/N: Okay, so here it is! My first Fanfic! Hopefully that wasn't too boring and has left you with a few burning questions (no pun intended)! The next chapter will definitely have a few more characters and a lot more dialogue.
Just wondering what you guys thought and whether I should carry on?
Thanks to anyone who takes the time to leave a review, as I would love any input/theories/criticisms on things I can make better next time! Also sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes that slipped through!