With a small snap she closed shut her jewellery box, and placed it carefully in its designated corner of her dressing table. Everything was neatly organised, no misplaced titbits or unused paraphernalia lying around. Everything arranged just so, the way she liked it.

She picked up her silver engraved hairbrush. It had been a wedding gift from her sweet dear aunt.

It was part of a three piece set: hairbrush, mirror and clothes brush. It was a simple set, with only slight decoration, some would think them boring, but she thought the simple elegance beautiful. It had belonged to her Mother, and had been passed on to her when she had gotten married. Her mother had died when she had been very young and all she remembered of her was a faint smiling face, not unlike her own, gazing down at her with soft loving eyes so every physical reminder of her was something she treasured dearly.

The brush set was in fact amongst the few of her Mother's belongings still in her possession, most else had been lost during the war, and thus the more precious to her.

She remembered how dear Pittypat on her wedding day had pulled her aside and with a trembling smile and misty eyes had handed her this extra present. She felt it was a way to show her the unbreakable bond that would always tie her to the family she had been raised in, even as she shed the name that officially tied her to it.

She carefully turned over the brush in her hand, enjoying the cool metallic feel of the silver against her skin. Pensively she traced the engraved letters with her pale white index finger.

Melanie Wilkes.

Seeing her name in writing like this always brought a smile to her face.

Even now so many years later she still remembered the day clearly. It had been a sunny happy day, with her and her handsome husband as the centre of attention. She had felt pretty… So pretty, young and carefree. So full of hopes for the life that was laid out in front of her, yet a little scared by the prospect of war and what it would mean for the way their lives were to turn out. It was one amongst a few days that really stood out in her memory. A crispy clear image amongst a mass of faded blurry ones. It was she supposed, a trademark of her life, the days glided by at a languorous pace, no matter the turmoil around her. It was as if she knew her and her life was only a small unimportant ripple in the world in general. It wasn't that the various goings-on in her circle and the world at large did not affect her, she felt compassion and empathy for those who suffered around her. But except for a few cases, such as her brothers dead, it only scratched her surface, leaving her unscarred.

It suited her well, though she loved reading about great heroines and valiant deeds, she never had felt the allure of being in the midst of it all. Sometimes she fantasised about being the vibrant centre of attention, but most days she was satisfied with her life and her place in it.

A sweet child, a devoted husband, what more could one really wish for?

In the early days of marriage and even before then she had had silent dreams of other things. In those days dreams of passion and of feeling life pulsating through her veins, as she had read about in her novels, had been her companions. But she had never actively sought it out or pursued those feelings, thus they had passed her by and she had in all honesty never really missed them. Perhaps if the war hadn't come there would have been time, and the longing for them would have been stronger… but overall she felt satisfied with the way her life had turned out.

And why shouldn't she be?

Hadn't she gotten everything she had been taught to want, didn't she live an honourable respectable life, with good friends and plenty of time to pursue the things in life that she held dear?

She felt so privileged and happy that she had been able to marry the man of her dreams. Ashley. Her gallant hero, her romantic soldier, and most importantly her soul mate. He was the colour in the tapestry of her life. He and Beau together.

Ashley… she sighed to herself. So handsome, so gentle, with his slow smile, quick mind and eyes that could be both dreamy and intense. Though the intensity was rarer now than it had been, at least when he looked at her… Not that she minded, she knew and was happily certain in the belief that no matter what, Ashley was hers.

She knew why that light did not shine for her as often. It was her own fault, her own treacherous body's fault. It was the only dark cloud in her otherwise clear sky; that her body couldn't provide her with what she wanted the most. It was a thing she had tried to come to peace with, and for most part she was successful as she managed to push the saddening knowledge away. As a result she was happy, happy and thankful for what she had been given. Life had in spite of all been generous to her, allowing her, her little cocoon of happiness.

The knowledge of this happiness stayed with her always, serving as a protective skin against the harsh realities that her life had sometimes been. It always gave her a smug self satisfaction that she would never admit to anyone but herself. Nevertheless it was there. She wished for everyone to find the same kind of happiness in their marriage as she had in hers. It was rare she sadly acknowledge. Therefore she knew that she was lucky, and thus she cherished it the more.

She eyed herself in the mirror, she knew she wasn't beautiful, never had been. At least not beautiful in the breathtaking way that made men loose their head, homes, fortune and sometimes their life for you. Not that it bothered her. She almost giggled at the thought of the awkwardness she would have felt should any ardent beau ever have treated her to a serenade or a duel for her heart.

In the soft yellow glowing light from her night lamp, though, she felt she looked pretty. Clear skin, a chin that was a bit on the pointy side, large eyes and soft brown flowing curls, nothing spectacular, but she liked her face. She knew that He liked the way she looked as well; probably not because of any great passion that stirred him, but because she was what he had always wanted in a wife and in a life companion. Passion in their relationship had for the most part been replaced by fulfilling togetherness and a keen interest for the same things and values in life.

As she slowly started the familiar task of brushing her hair her thoughts went to the events of the day.

When she closed her eyes she could see the images clearly, the images of her dear friends. Especially one face always stood out to her.

Scarlett. Her sister, her friend, her ally? So alive, so vibrantly alive, she always thought of Scarlett's life as a painting of rich deep colours, a stark contrast to her own more pastel palette. She was so beautiful. Always the natural centre of any attention, whether she wanted to or not and it might be for either something good or bad. She knew that many people were scared of her sister in law's vivacity, and thus treated her in a condescending way, badmouthed her in order to make her difference out as something wrong, something to be despised. They in general just spent an ungodly amount of time finding faults in her every action, instead of trying to understand her reason for doing as she did. Despite all she had never felt that way, she had always admired Scarlett, admired her spirit, her courage, her beauty. Admired the parts of her that was so distinctly different from her, Melanie's, own ways. She might not always agree with the things that her dear sister in law did, but she always saw some of the motives behind them, and knew that they came of a sense of obligation to those he held dear.

She accepted that the power of Scarlett's spell was such that she brought out the strongest feelings in all those who surrounded her; everything was exaggerated when it came to her, which of course made it even more difficult for the tame matrons and eager gossips to tolerate her. But that power of Scarlett's was exactly why she could tolerate the intense gleam she sometimes saw in her beloved's eyes when she of life and light was around. How could she despise anything in her sister in law that she couldn't help? She might as well despise the sun for shining and the rose for being a more sought after flower than a daisy.

Scarlett, she who had a gentler heart and a more tender soul than anyone would guess. But Melly knew, and she would always love her for those qualities along with her more tangible qualities.

Scarlett Butler… No Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton. No matter how many times her sister in law married to remove herself further and further away from that name, she would always think of her as the bearer of her brother's name.

Lost in thought as she gently brushed her hair with long sweeping strokes she dived deeper into the memories of the night. She wanted to investigate them in all the crispy sharp freshness, before they as well faded into the hazy shadowy images in her mind.

The dinner party tonight had been a silent gallant affair, at least for most of the evening; as such gatherings had a tendency to be. Always playing out along the same lines. Yellowed ivory white tapestry hung with somewhat faded paintings and a newly polished gilded chandelier had created the scene for the get together. Polite speech from polite tongues had filled the void in the room; along with the clinking of silverware against porcelain plates they had mingled together and formed the soundtrack to the evening. Gallant polite topics had been covered, safe topics… topics of children, topics of literature, topics of music, topics of fashion, topics of Europe, topics of whom was to marry who, topics of the war, which was of course unavoidable, while talk of the horrors of reconstruction was kept to a minimum. It was something the proud Southerners tried to forget even as it stared them in the face. Unless, of course it was brought up in order to slack the Yankees and tell of small victories over the regime of the despised blue coats. They were pretty much the same topics that were put on the stage at every assembly between well brought up Southern folks. She liked it – the predictable lines the conversation would take, she loved to listen to the slow melodious voices of her people all the while watching the faces of her dear friends. She loved it as well when once in a while the talk fell on a book that she had had a chance to read and she could give her opinion. But mostly she just loved to listen, smile, observe and listen, only saying what was necessary.

She gave her hair another slow stroke, letting the bristles of the brush glide over the curls, for a second straightening them out before letting go of the strand, and having them spring back to life.

Yes all had been just right until the ladies were supposed to retire and the gentlemen left to their own devices – generally meaning louder talk, cigars and brandy - an event marked by the rustling of wide skirts and chairs being gallantly swept aside by the rapidly standing gentlemen; only two people didn't get up, or perhaps they had just done so more slowly. For a reason unknown to her a hush had fallen over the company, perhaps it had been the slight disturbance of the prescribed rituals, perhaps it had been something else. However no matter the reason, the outcome was the same; focus was directed at the two voices that were suddenly to be heard over the normal speech that had reigned at the table. She had not caught on to the topic of the bubbling fight but the seriousness had been evident. They normally kept the sparring matches to their own home, but something of some consequence must obviously have been said, as they were heading directly for a public rowing match. Public display of feelings, especially disagreeable ones such as this, were frowned upon; though truth be told the ladies with a love of gossip would frown now but just as quickly when at home in their own parlours throw away the pretence and indulge themselves in a delicious piece of gossip such as this. Dissecting the snippets they had heard, creating what would in all likelihood be a more scandalous picture than the reality of the event.

One voice, his deep baritone, was carefully controlled and filled with concealed anger; the other, her lighter one, was restrained but evidently hurt though anger was threatening to wipe out the hurt.

It was always fascinating to watch their encounters albeit also quite frightening, as such a display of feelings was so utterly unfamiliar to herself, and she therefore couldn't help but being attracted to it. If only to understand what drove such passionate outbreaks. Melanie new the cause of their fireworks only too well, as she had been the prime witness to many such sparring matches, both before but also sadly after they were married.

For some reason Rhett and Scarlett clashed like flint and steel. In all matter of fact it was none of Melly's affair, but there was something so magnificent about Scarlett and Rhett separately, Melanie couldn't help hoping they would combine. They seemed so alike in so many ways, and when to so strong and vividly alive people was together, she was not surprised that sparks erupted. She had hoped and perceived that it would be so from early on in their acquaintance, though she had hoped that when the union was formalised they would spark in a more controlled way.

Perhaps it was because their tempers was so different from her own that she found some morbid fascination in watching them destruct each other. She had always sensed that they both took quite a lot of pleasure from the sparring matches, though she couldn't fathom why. However lately… lately it seemed like more malice and actual hurt had snuck into the fireworks. And it saddened her immensely, as both were people she cherished greatly.

Especially because she knew that underneath all the harsh often hateful words were real feelings. The way Captain Butler followed every movement and gesture of his wife when she was unaware of the attention was heart warming. The way his eyes would light up with joy, though he tried to conceal it, whenever Scarlett smiled back at him. The way he seemingly, only saw her when they moved gracefully together when in each others arm. The way he had always been there for Scarlett in her direst hour of need. Perhaps not the way that she would have wanted a suitor to help, but help he had nevertheless done. There was no doubt in her mind that the love Rhett Butler felt for his wife was encompassing and strong, something she had formerly only read about in her books. He didn't put his feelings into words, or at least she didn't believe that he did, but to anyone who cared observing him, he clearly gave himself away. A multitude of small signs, that for some reason Scarlett was oblivious to. And Scarlett… she knew Scarlett in her own way felt strongly for her husband as well, though she seemed unaware of the fact. Mr Butler was the only man Scarlett had ever really let into her head, which Melanie knew was the greatest honour a woman could bestow on a man. And that more than anything told her how much Scarlett felt for her husband. She just had a very odd way of showing it.

In Melanie's opinion all they needed was a prod, hopefully just a gentle prod but they could both be so stubborn so a forceful one was possibly a more foolproof method, if only something or someone…

Suddenly her hand dropped, and she paused mid motion. Her mouth fell open and she starred into her own wide open eyes, looking back from the mirrors silvery surface…

Could she? No… no… no… she definitely couldn't and she imperceptibly shook her head at her own foolishness and continued towards her 100 strokes with renewed vigour.

Part of her brain seemed reluctant to let go of the idea that in a most sinister way had presented itself in her head.

Why not? An insistent voice brought up the subject she had just dismissed again.

Yes, why not? Somebody had to do something, why not her?

She couldn't come up with a definitive derisive answer to that question.

The idea that had just been a small seed, an insignificant flick of a thought which at an amazing speed was starting to put down roots, sprout branches, and to all effect present itself as something a little harder to get rid of than the initial fleck of dust in her mind.

Why at all not? But! But! But! You can't do it… a small voice of reason tried to insist.

A stubbornness she had only felt on very few occasions in her life, seemed to have been awoken from its forced slumber, and served the role as a caring gardener refusing to let reason and common sense take down the tree that now stood strongly in her mind where the seed had been moments before.

She could and she would. And even if she couldn't she would find a way. After all somebody had to do it.

No body should tell Melanie Wilkes that there was anything she couldn't do. Even if the prospect scared her to no end.

She smiled to herself, a smile she would - had she not known that she was not capable of smiling such a smile - have characterised as quite devious.

Deep in her own though she didn't her husband enter.

"What are you smiling at" She felt his hand on her should and the light touch of his lips on her newly brushed hair.

She met his eyes in the mirror.

"Nothing special, just that I am happy to be here"

"Come to bed" he smiled back at her with his grey eyes.

With a happy smile she crawled into bed and snuggled up next to the slim form of her husband.

Perhaps more people than two would derive some benefit from her little idea.

A/N I hope you don't find my story too much OOC... but well if you do after all this is the Sunny Funny Ficathon :)

My prompt was:

SOHHKB:

"Rhett and Scarlett clashed like flint and steel. It was none of Melly's affair, but there was something so magnificent about Scarlett and Rhett seperately, Melanie couldn't help hoping they would combine."

I suppose the quote can be altered to work from anyone's perspective, if need be, but it would give a writer the chance to get into Melly's head a little.

Hope you enjoyed

/Merovia