Title: Mad Girl's Love Song
Author: Me
Pairing/Characters: Felicity/Pippa
Summery: They would call her crazy, if she ever mentioned Pippa again.
Disclaimer: Do you honestly think I own anything?
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
Felicity knew that Pippa was real. No matter what anybody else said, no matter what Gemma, or Anne, or the world, no matter what the news papers said 'A virtuous rose of England, cut down by a disease', no matter what herself said, no matter what the gravestone read, she knew that Pippa, her precious Pippa with those dazzling violet orbs, and that wistful look in her eyes, was real.
She was living in America now, free at last, working in her own studio, still unmarried. Gemma had already moved on, she had caught herself a young gentleman, and Felicity wished them well. Gemma often chided her, telling her that it would be best to move on, but Felicity knew that Gemma was just trying to forget the past. "You let her die!" she remembered saying in one of their arguments, Gemma no longer visits her anymore.
But Felicity wishes her well, and wishes her happiness. Happiness and the ableness to forget everything. Felicity wishes that she could also forget, to move on and to allow a gentleman to come courting, but she knew that she couldn't. Pippa would tell her, Pippa who had eaten those berries and disappeared into the abyss, had told her to move on in her dreams, but Felicity still couldn't. Felicity didn't know why, wasn't it right, wasn't it polite to respect Pippa's wishes after all?
She still remembered Pippa. Pippa in that long violet gown, her ringlets piled high upon her hair, that still almost innocent look on her face, as she searches for Felicity. Asking Felicity to take her hand, however she could never grasp Pippa's warm hands again. Pippa would always be ahead of her, crying for her to follow, and asking her to play a game with Pippa. A game of knights and princesses, where Felicity would be the knight...
And Pippa the princess.
Pippa never made a good damsel in distress. She would try to sigh dramatically, but be half giggling at her melodrama. Felicity, the knight in a gown of silver, would huff and tell her that she wasn't playing it correctly. And Pippa would try to play the princess better, moaning dramatically as the fake dragon, in their imagination, came to take her away and then at the last minute, Felicity would rush in and carry her away to safety.
But life wasn't a fairytale, and Felicity would never win. The dragon indeed carried her away, and the knight could no longer rush to save her from the evil claws of the beast. She could sometimes see Pippa in a gown of purple velvet pouting, looking out the window, her violet eyes glum and her fingers twirling a strand of hair. And she could hear Pippa asking when Felicity was going to save her.
Felicity didn't know the answer either.
And Pippa would pout, and sigh once again, and beg her not to be angry at her. Felicity knew that she should have moved on already, but Pippa was Pippa and nobody could forget that girl of daydreams and the most amazing eyes, those dark strange eyes full of wonder. "Where are you right now?" she asked, looking out the window again. She now was older, and no longer able to be the happy girl who would run with bare legs, and could no longer listen to fairy tales.
They would call her crazy, if she ever mentioned Pippa again.
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
She was a few years older, now married.
She no longer believed in fairytales, she was a housewife...she still dreamt of living in a garret in Paris, with all the people paying compliments to her, but a kind American took her fancy, and took what was left of her virginity in a bed, in an apartment, after a marriage. She remember the clear, but almost bitter taste of regret and wine that night, but he was so kind to her. He told her that she was mysterious, and that he would like to know some of her secrets.
So she made stuff up. She said that she had three eyes, was a decendent of Atalanta, and grew up as a priestess in service of Athena. The American smiled, and patted her hand. He told her that she was wonderful, and that he believed all of her stories. She knew, of course, that he was joking, and they had another cup of wine. This time the wine was purple...purple and sweet. She didn't know why she only took one sip.
The American was disappointed, and she smiled and told him that the wine was wonderful, just that woman in England never drank wine. He took that fact for granted, and pressed his lips to hers. They were awfully warm, she thought, and her mind shifted to another kiss. The kisser was a girl, her lips were sweet, and chocolate-ly. Pippa. The wave of longing was so strong, she felt almost sick and broke off the kiss.
The American wondered what was wrong, and she tried to smile as best as she could, and said that she was indisposed, and that she loved him. But only after a hesitation, because she knew that no matter what he did, she would and never could love him. Her heart had already been stolen by a violet eyed girl with the face of an angel, and the laughter of fairies. There were tears coming to her eyes, and the American patted her on the back and told her to rest.
She was grateful to him, and retired to the living room, and turned on the radio. Soon she was engrossed into one of the romance dramas that played out, her eyes were closed, and her hair loose. The stories were all of the same, the handsome man meets the beautiful woman...she wondered if they would ever play a drama where the woman fell in love with another woman, and tried to save her, but lost her in the end. "It wouldn't get any reviews nor viewers anyways" she told herself, but continued to entertain that notion.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The American had died. He had been her husband, but she had never remembered his name. So she just called him 'The American' and now he was dead. She was left with all of his money, a strange idea now. Perhaps she would move to Paris, and live in her garret. But she was much too old to be living by herself, as a free spirit free from everything. So she turned to painting, to a teaching career in the city, and charged pupils one dollar for every lesson.
She considered the price a bit too high, but she was one of the best artists of the time. When the room was filled with laughter, she watched a strange brunette draw, with her eyes squinted. She had not a bit of talent in art, and was always the first one to moan about the difficulty of drawing plants, and that she was wasting her life away at still life. Felicity knows that the girl didn't have an gram...or was it an ounce of talent in art.
But she continued to try to teach her, the strokes were tiny, yet the lady, they were drawing the Lady of Shallot today, (how very fitting, Felicity thought) and the girl's artwork looked like so many clumps of rocks, that Felicity didn't know what to do. So she grabbed a stick of charcoal, and with a few furious lines, the sketchy pose of the Lady's skirt was visible, the circle of her head. The girl watched surprised, surprised that a woman could be so good at art.
As soon as Felicity handed the charcoal back to the girl, she refused to take it, and met Felicity's eyes with a hostile look, mixed with envy and admiration. Felicity smirked. "That's why you should practice right? I had a friend once..." she drifted off, and she felt tears coming to her eyes, but quickly blinked them back, remember that hot steamy cave, where she and Pippa, were sprawled out on the ground, a sketchpad between them, that was left forgotten. Pippa was moaning her name.
And then she, with the lightest of smiles placed her fingers inside-she cleared her throat, she was a teacher, and she should not be prone to visions. She touched her throat, where an amber stone rested, and smiled. "Oh I remember a girl once..." She didn't finish her sentence, as another wave of longing swept over her, and was silent, until the girl picked up the stick of charcoal and started to try to add the features. The nose was too big. Felicity smiled.
"Who was your friend?" the girl asked, and Felicity shook her head.
"Oh the lady of Shallot" she quickly replied, knowing that she would be quitting her job tomorrow.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
Tis good to be back in England, Felicity thought, tis good to see the trees blooming, tis good to smell the fresh English air. It was springtime, and a few years later. She was an old lady now, she had been back in England-back in England for over ten years already. The years haven't been kind to her, and there were gray streaks in her pale, blond blond hair. She was old, she thought sadly, she was so old now.
She had forgotten Gemma's face, forgotten Anne, but there was only one thing remaining, the quick smile of a girl in her prime, a pretty seventeen year old named Pippa. She had died young, Felicity knows, the girl that she loved, the girl that was forbidden to her. And now it was finally time to let Pippa go, because there wasn't a reason to keep reliving in the old days again. She would not go senile, she would not go senile, she told herself, and brushed a lock of silvery-gray hair behind her face.
She had taken up refuge in a small house by the sea, it used to be her Father's, but now she didn't know who it belonged to. Perhaps her Father remarried and had a son? She briefly entertained that thought, and with a rueful smile, she wondered how things could be different. If she didn't move to America, and leave Pippa in dreary old England. And now she was back, and the graveyard in which Pippa was buried in was choked with weeds.
She had pulled the weeds and planted new flowers, an old lady tending to a grave, while wearing gloves. People muttered 'Poor Dear' whenever they saw her, but she tossed her hair back proudly, and they had walked on, calling her mad, calling her a nutcase, but she didn't care. And she continued to pull the weeds, until one day there was a pain in her chest, and she collapsed onto the ground, but picked herself back up again, refusing to be humbled, refusing to stop at her task.
She was back in the Garden again, the Garden of Eden in the realms, and Pippa was running towards her. She was young again, and could smell the scent of flowers in Pippa's crown, and could see her in her green lavender dress. Were Pippa's eyes really so beautiful, she wondered, and she could hear the infectious laughter once again, and she was running towards her friend, and there were salty tears running down her face, her porcelain face.
And Pippa was also crying, welcoming her to Paradise, and placed something in her hands. A berry? How odd, Felicity noted, but Pippa was waiting for her. And so without a backward glance towards the direction of home, she placed the berry into her mouth, swallowing the bittersweet, tangy-ness of the berry. It tasted like hot cross buns, salt water taffy, tasted like Pippa, like love, and as she swallowed the juices of the forbidden fruit, Pippa ran up to her again, and pressed her lips to Felicity's.
Felicity knew that it was madness, and that she was insane, but she was happy again.
Because she was finally home, and if this was the homecoming of a mad girl, then so be it.
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"