Prompts: Modern AU where they meet when they're young and have a connection but then are separated for like 10+ years but then their paths cross again. (+Roses)
….
They gathered around Mrs Lucas, knowing what was in store.
"We have a new addition. Let us give Diaval here a warm welcome shall we?" she gushed with excitement, a stark contrast to the expressionless faces of the crowd of children.
Mallory stood right at the back, her long black hair neatly tucked behind her ears. Her back is straight, her eyes sharp and there was a maturity in them not uncommon among people like her.
Like them.
She studied the new boy, Diaval.
He had a long scar that ran down the right side of his face. There was a certain darkness to him, as do everyone who entered this particular orphanage. He was painfully thin, his hair messy and long, falling in strands over his face.
There was something different about him.
Emptiness. His eyes were empty, drained of all emotions. There was no life left inside of him, leaving an empty shell in its wake.
There was usually fear, anger, anguish, desperation, hatred but no one; no one had such a look of… nothingness.
It scared her.
It scared her to know that someone could be this broken. It meant that there was more of her that could be further broken, further crushed.
His eyes found hers, black meeting green.
And for a moment, she was trapped, stuck in the fathomless abyss.
…
Mealtime was a pain.
There was never enough food to fill the massive appetites of the children. It wasn't Mrs Lucas' fault, who had always tried her very best to provide for them, the unwanted.
There just wasn't enough money.
"Aren't you hungry?" Mallory asked. Diaval barely touched his bowl of rice topped with vegetables and a meagre strand of chicken.
He shook his head.
She was angry, positively fuming with rage.
How could he be so empty, so lifeless, so… broken? She hated it. She hated him. She hated how scared she was.
She snatched his bowl from his hands and shovel mouthful after mouthful into her mouth, staring at Diaval, waiting for a reaction.
There was none.
He watched her eat with the same expressionless face,
Tears sprung in her eyes and she slammed the bowl down onto the table.
"I hate you," she spat and left the table, ignoring the calls from Mrs Lucas.
He was thoroughly broken.
And it meant that she could be too.
…..
She heard the cruel laughter of the older children. She glanced up from her worn out copy of Charlotte's Web and peered out of the window into the yard.
They were at it again.
Gaston, Hans and Yao were picking on some innocent child once more.
No one dared, or bothered, to stand up to these three. It would only make their life much more miserable than they already were.
"Come on! Cry! Beg!" the shouts of the bullies could be heard.
The victim's silence prompted the three bullies to hit him harder than before.
Diaval. It was Diaval.
Mallory pried her eyes away from the scene and continued reading.
But the sound of fists meeting flesh haunted her. She could not stand it any longer. Snapping her book shut, she stalked out into the yard.
"Enough," she said, her voice loud and sharp.
The bullies stopped, turning to look at the nine-year-old girl.
"M-Mallory," they stammered, afraid of the tiny young girl a few years younger than themselves.
Everyone in the orphanage knew that crossing Mallory's path was a bad idea.
"Go. Touch him again and you will know the consequences," she commanded, her words made of steel.
The three lions became lambs at once, scurrying off with fear.
Mallory might only be nine but she had since instilled fear and respect in the other children's heart. It was more of the rumours that surrounded her when she entered the orphanage. The rumours were a hassle but at least she was safe from any troubles among the other children.
She walked to the boy on the ground, blood trickling out from his bruised nose. She offered her hand and he took it silently, finding his way up on his feet.
They were silent as she led him to the sick bay.
She gently washed his wounds, surprised by the lack of response to the sting. She then applied some antibiotic cream on them and bandaged them up nicely.
"I can only find this. I hope you don't mind it," she brandished a sleeping beauty plaster.
He didn't respond.
She sighed and pasted the plaster on his bruised nose.
She sat silently next to him.
She didn't know how long they sat there without a word.
"You saved my life," his voice was so soft, it was barely audible. Mallory thought that she had imagined it.
"Yes. Yes I did," she pushed the shock away and replied.
"Thank you. I'm forever in your debt," he bowed.
Their eyes meet and for a second, Mallory thought she saw a flicker of life in his.
….
Diaval had settled in after a few months and had soon become one of the many faceless orphans in the orphanage.
The other children had since lost interest in the new boy and had settled for the newer additions, Mulan and Ariel.
Mallory found Diaval staring at her mutely, looking at the book in her hands. It was Black Beauty.
"Do you want to read it together?" she asked, offering it to him.
He nodded and sat next to her, their shoulders touching.
Their eyes scanned the page in sync, forming their own private momentum that no one dared to break.
Until a raven came spiraling down from the tree, landing with a loud thud right before them. Diaval sprung forward, carefully hovering above the bird, checking it out.
Diaval cupped the dead bird in his small hands, tears welling up in his eyes.
"Live. Please, please live," he whispered to the bird.
Mallory froze at the sight. Tears.
He was crying.
Diaval was not empty. No. He had a life inside the shell. He was a vase; a broken vase that held a wilting rose. Wilting but not dead. Rose, rose that held thorns, thorns that tried to protect the fragile petals.
Mallory placed her arms around him, letting his tears soak through her shirt, feeling him tremble and feeling the pain.
He wasn't crying for the dead bird, no. It was more than that.
She knew what he was crying for. Like all of them, he cried for his past, he cried for his present and he cried for his future.
He cried because he was in pain.
He cried because he realised that he was still alive.
…
He gave her a stalk of rose that she found a vase to keep in.
The orphanage had a small garden where wild roses grew. Diaval would carefully cut a rose off and give it to Mallory. He didn't bother with the thorns for he knew that Mallory liked roses with the thorns intact.
She protected him and he provided her with company.
Roses, he knew, were a symbolism of love.
He supposed that he loved her, if he were capable of such emotions. He also supposed that she loved him, if she, too, were capable of love.
Love was a difficult emotion to fathom.
She was lying on the grass, her long hair fanned out behind her head.
He found his spot next to her.
"Diaval," she called his name.
"Yes?"
"Nothing." She peered at the sun.
"Mal?"
"Yes?"
"Nothing." He peered at the sun.
She snorted, rolling her eyes at his immature action.
And they lied on their backs, staring at the sky until black spots begun to formed before them.
They made no promises to each other, even though they wanted to.
They knew that promises once made would be broken.
…..
He was taken away from the orphanage by a couple.
She waited for him to come back, like most children do, but he never did.
She returned to her shell, never to emerge.
Everyone left.
Nobody stayed.
It was a universal truth.
….
19 years later
Mallory Lucas had walked through heaven, only to realise that it was hell. She had had her heart broken, her back stabbed and everything torn away from her.
It was true. Everyone left. Everything must come to an end.
She gripped her cane and made her way to the cemetery, ignoring the searing pain from her knees.
She stopped in front of a tombstone and placed a bouquet of white roses.
Her fingers traced the etched words.
Lydia Lucas
1952-2014
And there was another one.
Christine Lucas-Royal
2013-2013
In the wind, her hair billowed, dancing with the light summer breeze.
She didn't cry. Her tears had long dried up.
She turned to leave and saw a young girl with golden hair. The girl was holding a man's right hand and they faced a tombstone. The man, he looked familiar, with the scar on the right side of his face.
She shrugged it off.
Leaning against her cane, she walked away.
"Miss!" she heard someone calling for her.
She swung around.
"You left this," the man held out her phone and she took it.
"Thanks."
The man smiled.
"Have a nice day."
"Have a nice day."
And they went on their separate ways once more.
Two pair of eyes, equally dull.
Two hearts that no longer beat.
Two people, whose fate should intertwine.
And it clicked in her mind.
"Diaval?" she called out.
He turned.