A/N: I got this idea while re-reading Rebel Angels. I'm not sure if something in TSFT contradicts this, but I haven't read it yet, so spare me. Please review. P
Disclaimer: I do not own A Great and Terrible Beauty or any of it's sequels.
"'N that's 'ow, m'dearies, your old granny Cynthia snatched up the most 'andsome man in London at the toime, and made 'im hers."
Cynthia felt a great aching sensation in her heart, and it had nothing to do with the stories of her long-deceased husband Henry. Every beat, nowadays, seemed to send a spear of pain through her breast. She knew her time would be up soon, and the only thing she wanted was more time with her little chickies, her darling grandchildren Giselle and Lucy.
Giselle nodded at her grandmothers' story, an expression of youthful adoration adorning her delicate features. Only thirteen, that one. Too young to lose a granny, thats for sure.
"Thats 'im, on the tin print. 'Ave I shown you chickies the tin print?"
"Yes, Grandmama," Lucy said, smiling a beatific smile. Not as pretty as her sister, was Lucy, but certainly sharp as a knife. Giselle would listen and obey, and make a fine wife someday, but Lucy had the world wide open for her, she did.
"When is Eliza picking
you up, then?" Cynthia asked, glancing at the clock on the wall.
Not a sumptuous home, was hers, nor a large one, but fine enough. A
little flat over a ribbon and button shop, which she helped with the
days she felt able to. A good neighborhood, too. No slums for
Cynthia, no sir.
"At seven, Grandmama," Giselle replied, and
a look of embarrassment crossed her features. "And . . . didn't you
say you had an embroidery set for me? For Chrismas?"
"Oh, Lordy, tha's right, dearie. I'm gettin' more 'bsent as the seconds tick by, I'd swear. Ah, but these old bones are aching, lovely. Would you mind terribly gettin' the box out? From 'neath the 'abinet, there. Aah, yes, that's a good lass."
With a look of mollification, Giselle extricated the small sandalwood box from underneath the cabinet. Cynthia had received it as a wedding gift, straight from China. Giselle took out the newspaper-wrapped embroidery set, and gently slid the empty box back under the cabinet.
"Thank you, Grandmama," she said, smiling her sweet little girls' smile. Something in Cynthia's neck cracked as she glanced over at the clock again. Six fifty-five, and Eliza was nothing if not early.
"Your mum should be comin' by to collect you soon, chickies," she said. She knew that her days were short. She couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her little grandchildren again. Causing them pain by dying.
Like clockwork, a fist rapped on the door, and a weary voice called out 'Giselle? Lucy? Time to go, sweethearts.'
"Goodbye, Grandmama," Lucy said, leaning down and kissing the old womans' wrinkly cheeks. Giselle had already opened the door and let her mother in, showing her her belated present excitedly, chattering away about needlework and cross-stitches.
"Goodbye, chicky," Cynthia whispered, staining Lucy's youth-ripe lips with saltwater.
-x-
When she slept, she dreamed.
She was at a riverside, the water a clear, teal blue. The grass underneath her feet was vibrant and green, and a tree leaned over her head, laden down with fruits that gleamed in the half-light, an artist's palate spilled over the sky.
"Hm, don't mind if I do," she muttered to herself, picking an ripe specimen. And she started. Her voice pronouncing correctly and clearly in the aristocratic speech she had always so admired. "Ah, stars!"
She glanced down at her person. A clean, blue dress. Osh, was that the dress she was wearing the day she met Henry! A right waste had it been, too. She had taken that pretty blue dress that had cost her dear mum a fortune, and worn it right down to market. Got mud splashed across it too, and Henry had shouted at the mud-slinger.
Ah, such happier times.
And, stars! Her bones didn't ache, and when she looked at the hand cupping the apple, all that was there was clean, youthful skin. Miracle of all miracles.
She raised the apple to her lips. Looked right luscious, too. What a fanciful dream. Or maybe she had died and gone to heaven. That would've been fine with her, though she could do with some company.
"No!"
Ah, speak of the devil. She raised her eyes.
A young girl, just about her newfound age, to her delight. Bright, red curls bouncing around her face. Penetrating green eyes. Made a shiver run down her spine. Pretty white pinafore, though.
"Don't eat that!" she said, snatching the apple away. "Who are you? Are you a member of the Order?"
"The who?" Cynthia asked, starting to step away from her. "Who're you?"
"Doesn't matter! Who are you?"
"What's it to you?"
"Sara!" the girl shouted, glancing around. A dark-haired girl ghosted from behind a wide tree, her face split in a wide smile that faltered when she saw Cynthia.
"Who's she?" she demanded. "Mary, who's she?"
"I don't know!" Mary said, her eyebrows drawn. "She's not a creature of the realms, is she? Have we seen her before? We should tell Eugenia about this immediately."
Sara shook her head, her laughter a tinkling sound.
"You don't need to report everything to Eugenia, Mary, you silly girl. She might just be a spirit."
"A spirit?" Mary asked, her grip on the apple relaxing. "But I didn't know they could stay for so long."
"Most of them are ferried across by the Order," Sara said, coming closer to Cynthia, who recoiled. The look in her eyes was dark, calculating. "But some of them slip through the cracks. She just needs to eat something, and she'll be free to go on."
"Oh," Mary said, her expression softening. "Here, dear, poor thing. Eat your apple."
Cynthia took the apple. She wasn't sure what to think. Dead? Was she? Too much to absorb. Maybe she should just eat the apple. It wouldn't do her any harm, would it?
"Dear one, you must eat the apple," Mary said, pushing it towards her mouth. "You can be corrupted if you stay."
Obediently, she opened her mouth and bit into the apple. When she swallowed, Mary, Sara, and the beautiful world flew up in bubbles, and she was gone.