CHAPTER ONE

Her nights were full of dreams in crimson. The creaks and moans of the decrepit house that had been a source of real nightmares for Edith Cushing. The weeks right after the events had been restless, the young blonde was lucky if she was able to get more than an hour of sleep. But now, six months had passed, and although her sleep was plagued with nightmares, it was much better than being awake with her thoughts.

Many people whispered about what they assumed happened when Edith came back with a scarred face and a wounded Alan. Some say she out-ride murdered Thomas Sharpe, others tip-toe around her as if Edith was a wilting flower.

Nothing infuriated her more.

In these six months, Edith had stayed strong, she bared the scar on her cheek with pride. She was a survivor, not a victim.

"You never cease to amaze me." Alan had commented on one of his good mornings while he laid in a hospital bed. His thumb lightly running across the healing scar. His injuries had been critical but he had insisted he was fine when all the doctors said otherwise.

He too would have his own scar to remember what happened.

After about two months in a hospital bed, Alan had been cleared to leave, his frame slimmer than before but his features holding a sense of pleasure. He now walked with a cane, the cut had been deep and prevented the doctor from standing up straight without pain greeting him. There was no bitterness from Alan, he took the cane without protest, bearing the same ideals as Edith. There was no need to hide his injuries.

The two of them shared a house but not a bedroom.

Alan continued his practice from home, and it was slowly gaining ground. Edith spent her days (and sometimes nights) perfecting her manuscript. This would be her story and she would not alter it to appease others.

Her hands rapidly scrawled across the pages, her beautiful handwriting painting the paper. Her mind was at work, making sure to get every detail right and not fabricate or gloss over the events that transpired. As the story grew, her mind replaying the events at Crimson Peak, she felt her stomach turn, a knot forming in her stomach as the words appeared on the pale page.

These words were personal, as if she were writing in a private journal. This one would be made public.

Not only were the feelings she felt toward Thomas real, they were also still lingering in the back of her mind. A mix of emotions was packaged with it, but those were only faint compared to the love she'd held for Thomas. There had never been any doubt in her mind about her affection towards the man, even in the end, she dreaded losing him.

Knuckles rap against the door, drawing Edith from her thoughts. She removed her glasses from her face and let them rest on the desk. Slowly, she turned, already knowing who was standing in her doorway.

"You missed lunch again." There is a crooked smile across the doctor's features, a twinkle in his eyes that still amazed Edith to this day. Always well dressed, with hair combed back too perfection. He was a handsome man; someone many of the women in town sought after. Yet here he was; not off courting women as he should be, but making sure Edith didn't waste away as she wrote.

"Did I?" Her voice is smooth, as if this wasn't a common thing. "I didn't notice the time."

But she was now noticing her stomach that felt empty. As soon as breakfast had finished, Edith strolled into her study and hadn't moved since.

Alan stepped into the room, his third leg appearing from behind the wall.

"I see you've made progress." His eyes glanced over her fresh pile; (also noting the few scattered across the floor). "Would you like me to look them over tonight?"

Edith's stomach tightened even more.

Alan always read her pages, offering slight suggestions and just proof-reading for her. Something she greatly appreciated. Yet, as the story grew more personal, as her feelings fell onto the pages, she felt it wrong to allow Alan to into those thoughts.

It was no secret his feelings for her. He'd expressed them in minimal words once his health had improved at the hospital. He never expected her to return his feelings, he hadn't even brought them up since. And, although Edith's view on love and romance was more cynical than ever, and her career was the only thing on her mind for the most part, she would not strike out the possibility altogether.

Alan reading these pages, her words expressing feelings she'd never felt before in great detail, left a tightness in her stomach. Not because she was ashamed of the feelings, but because she did not want to witness Alan's face once he read them.

"Maybe." She says, offering him a faint smile.

There was a pause as Edith stood up, brushing off her dress and turning to him. "Have you eaten? Or were you kind enough to wait for me?"

"What do you think?" He remarks with a dashing smile.

"I think I am famished." She laughs as he links their arms and begins for the door.

"Me too."

XXX

The two of them sit at the small dining table Edith had bought after getting rid of the giant one her father had placed in their old home. She didn't see the point in owning such a large table when there would be no more than two people sitting around it most of the time. Edith had never been a fan of the large parties and gossiping people. She much preferred quiet dinners.

"My mother is at it again." Alan says after some comfortable silence. Edith gently sets her spoon on the side of her bowl and looks at him with raised eyebrows. "I have tried to prevent her from spreading this ludicrous rumors, but she insists they are true."

There is a bitterness in his voice that almost always joins Alan's words when he speaks of his mother. Since the two of them had returned, Mrs. McMicheal had tried to completely destroy Edith's reputation with nasty rumors of what she assumed happened at Allerdale Hall. When Alan had informed his mother he would be moving in with Edith, the women nearly had a heart attack, demanding he rethinking his relationship with that "half-faced spinster".

Edith ignored it all, she had never been bothered by what others thought of her, and after all she'd seen and been through, she cared even less than before.

"What is she saying about me now that she hasn't already said?"

There was a moment of silence as the blonde man before her looked away. "She is speaking ill of your father." He paused for only a moment as his eyes lifted once more, and the words passed his lips quietly. "I have dismissed them as fast as I could, most people do not believe her. You're father was a good man, Edith. No matter what my mother says, she cannot take that away."

"She can try." It was now Edith's turn to hold bitterness in her words. "Why must she do this? I have never done anything to her and my father certainly hasn't!"

"I know…" Alan adjusted himself in his seat, moving his legs so he was facing her. His hand found hers and gently held them. Compared to her fragile, slim fingers that were always cold, his larger hands always brought a warmth she craved from time-to-time. "Don't let her get to you. That is all she wants."

Edith did not withdraw her hand, but her eyes were as ice as her hands were cold when she spoke. "What is she saying?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Alan." Her voice is stern, "Just tell me what she is saying."

He sighed, his eyes not falling this time. "All she is saying is that he was a drunk."

She almost laughed dryly at how absurd it was. Her father only indulged in a drink when it was a social thing. It was rare for him to touch a drop when the two of them were alone. The man knew his limits and never allowed himself to be a drunken mess in front of potential clients and his fellow businessmen. Her father was a smart man.

She was no longer hungry, and now wanted to go into her room and continue writing. She removed her hand from Alan's and quickly stood up. She produces a faint smile across her features, tells Alan she does not want to be bothered because she has a lot of work to do, and parts without anything else.

But when she returns to her room, she heads for the bed instead of her desk.

Lucille Sharpe had committed the act that took her father from her far too soon, but Edith was not blinded to the fact Thomas had a part in the whole ordeal. The more she thought about it, the more her feelings for the deceased man she fell in love with muddled.

A sigh passed her lips as she closed her eyes, ignoring the dim sun that shined through her window, and the slight creeks of the house as Alan paced around his office. She turned her mind of, forgot about Mrs. McMicheal and her horrible rumors, forgot about Thomas Sharpe and Crimson Peak; all she wanted to do was sleep and have it not be filled with the color RED.

By some miracle, she was granted that wish. Edith fell into a blissful sleep of silence, the sun descending into the sky and turning to night.

It was late into the night, close to rounding half past one, when Edith is startled awake. Her body jolts forward, the sound of someone slowly knocking at her door had disrupted the silent air. For a moment, Edith did not move, she stays sprawled across her bed until the reality fully settles in.

"Alan?" She calls out, but even before his name leaves her lips she knows it is not him.

Slowly, she lifts herself up on the bed, staring at the door where the noise is coming from. She does not went to venture off the bed to investigate because she has an idea what is lurking behind the door.

Her head falls back on the pillow, her eyes close but there is nowhere for her to reach for sleep. The bounding for the door is the only thing she can focus on. It consumes the room, vibrates in her bones and echoes in her head. A slow motion of her hands moving to cover her ears does nothing to dull the sound.

The knocking only grows in volume, clearly not going to stop until she is facing whatever lies beyond it. Edith swings her legs off the bed and moves to approach the door. Her steps are slow, each step taken as if she is walking on needles. No breath escaped her as the walk to the door felt as if an eternity was passing. Her feet stop a few inches from the door, her eyes examining as the door slightly shakes in its frame from the pounding in the other side.

Her lips part to utter words but none pass them.

Slowly, with a slight tremble in her hand, she takes the doorknob in her palm and slowly opens the door, a screech from the hinges going unheard ber Edith as her eyes behold the figure standing outside her door.

"Lucille?"

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I adored this movie so much and really wanted to write in the world. (Plus I have a thing for EdithxAlan). Please review, feedback is always wanted!

Hope to see you next chapter

xoxo