A/N; Here is the first part of the necessary back-story for Alice; the second will be posted shortly. This story will parallel From The Ashes we Blossom, and will be an insightful look into Alice's Biloxi version and both her days among the Olympic Coven. Our favorite Good-Doctor O'Donnell will also reprise his role. They have a love story for the ages, one that will be documented in this piece of FF!
"Imagine being able to see in the future Mary-Alice? Wouldn't it be grand? Oh, I wonder if I would know who I would marry. I bet it is Michael, he has always been sweet on me, you know…."
Shelly turned to me then, her big blue eyes shining with some far-away glimmer, and her hand fluttering just over her assuredly soaring heart. I almost choked on my water, she had to be crazier than me to think that precognition was all matchmaking services and an inside portal to neighborhood gossip!
"I'm sure it would only be a burden Shelly, no good would come of it. I bet it would be bothersome, always knowing things before they happen, things you probably shouldn't even know about. The things you saw might even scare you; I'd even venture to say it would be a curse."
"Oh stop being such a stick in the mud, Mary! Geesh! Besides, you'll never find a mind with that attitude!" She arranged her features into a demure facade and winked when she said this, I knew her Mother would be furious if she ever saw her "tramping around in such a crass manner."
She wouldn't understand; no one actually got it or me for that matter. My earliest memory isn't listening to my Mother read me a story on her lap or being forced to into frilly dresses like most children. The first thing I can remember is sitting on a bench looking outside onto the garden, my reflection was barely visible in the finely cleaned glass. And then I simultaneously felt my gaze and saw the foggy transformation in the mirrored surface; the vision started then, absorbing and all-encompassing.
The moving men were steadily emptying Ms. Jeffery's palatial home, the well-tuned piano, the over-stuffed chairs, the waxed mahogany table. A woman who resembled her in features, a lady I somehow sensed was her beloved sister Georgette, was sobbing uncontrollably. Her husband patted her back, but to no avail. "My sister, my blood, my blood…!" Her mantra cut through the otherwise silent street, a quaint Mississippi suburb. I then saw my Father traverse his way across the lawn, gingerly avoiding the African Violets and Hydrangea bushes, to Mr. Wellington, Georgette's husband. They spoke in hushed tones, obviously trying not to disturb the distraught middle-aged woman. "Yes, yes, I know a true tragedy." "Oh, the giant tree in Magnolia Road….dead on impact? How, horrendous!" "And Georgiana…undoubtedly." "Her poor kittens, I wonder who will give them the pampered life they grew so accustomed to….She didn't have children, you know."
I inquired to my father about his conversation after dinner- I was rather fond of our neighbor, and admittedly, seeking a new pet. My Father was aghast; "Stop it right now young lady! We Brandon's don't lie, you hear me?" The next day Luanne St. Clair barreled into the house during my mother's evening tea. "Why Luanne, what ever is the matter?" "Its Ms. Jeffery, Amelia, Ms. Jeffery! Her car crashed into the Maple on Magnolia Road; she was dead when they found her there…..it seemed as if it was immediate."
My Mother's china fell to the floor, the fragile glass exploded, and Earl Gray stained the carpet; it seemed as though she had never seen it coming. My Father on the other hand strayed from the theatrics, and his normally pale skin lost all pigmentation until it took on a translucent appearance. He was not rocked by the disaster, but rather by his daughter's prior knowledge of the unforeseen event.
Our relationship became different after that day, he realized I needed a confidante, and I consequently realized I desperately needed my Daddy, and always would. After some time, he regarded my visions to the point of religion, although we learned through trial that they were not carved in stone, and were actually rather fickle. I was able, however, to pinpoint when my Mother became pregnant with my dear sister, Cynthia, and whispered the wonder new into my Father's ear to be met with joyous whoop-whoops! and the familiar nausea of being spun around in dizzying circles.
Cynthia was born as the first rays of lights struggled their way into the watercolor dawn sky; as she grew, her sunny disposition reflected her arrival as she imbued our lives with unbridled glee. She was six years older than me, and resembled my Father's features the same way my appearance was reminiscent of my Mother. Her skin was porcelain in pallor, and her hair fell in tight strawberry-blonde ringlets, cascading around her petite shoulders and highlighting her gray eyes.
I love her more than anything, and it's obvious she returns the sentiment. After returning home from French tutoring with Shelly, Cynthia was waiting for me at the door, and her pretty soprano flitted into the air around her, "Sissy is home, Mama, its Sissy!" I picked her up then, much to the chagrin of my peevish mother, and ran with her into the lush garden that paralleled our home. We laid there in companionable silence, the unspoken bond only sister's have.
I spent time then, reflecting on my Mother's….regression. Prior to the birth of Cynthia, Amelia Odette Brandon was the portrait of suburbia; she kept her garden and her family in pristine condition, and prided herself in the beauty of both herself, and her family. Her laugh was quiet, but joyful, and she was always known as wise and pleasant by all those who made her acquaintance. However, she had always had an air of fragility, a sense of frailty. After the emergence of her second born, her personality deteriorated.
The love she had harbored for my Father faded into indifference, and she regarded the world around her with a hearty dosage of cynicism. For her to leave her perpetually darkened room was cause for fanfare, and she only left our estate for one reason-church.
One day, I overhead my Father confiding to her long time friend, and speculated her involvement in our local parish had reached unhealthy proportions; she incessantly quoted the Scripture, and prayed for salvation. She believed Judgment Day was upon us, a theory that would prove to be correct in time, like a shy flower unfurling its precious petals for the first time.
P.S. – Feel free to comment, criticize, and inquire to your heart's content! As always, review, please! I appreciate it!
-Felicia XOXOXO