A/N: My very first Sanctuary fic. I saw the episodes and I was completely hooked. Cried when Ashley died, so this is a possible outcome of there not being a body. I realize others have used the idea, but this is my turn on the whole time-leaping thing. There will be Helen/Ashley later, but for now, it is Ashley adjusting to her new conditions. I have done a little research but most of this is from my imagination so if it's wrong, historically or otherwise, please feel free to correct me.
As to why I changed Ashley's name slightly, I don't know. To avoid disrupting the timeline? Maybe she is too OOC and that's why. I imagine surviving the Cabal will make her another person completely with remnants of Ashley remaining. If it's too surrealistic, don't read it. But I'd appreciate reviews :D
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for the twins.
Frozen
Chapter 1: Dilapidated
Smoke from the sage incense fills the dimly lit room in a dream-like atmosphere that renders strangers completely spell-bound. The logs in the fireplace cackle and spark luminously aflame, perfectly synchronized to the sage. The spartan furnished room provides and fulfills the basic needs but leaves a lot of personality to be desired in the room itself. The humidity hangs in the air like a cloak of thick velvet, almost insufferable if it had not been to the circumstances. On the small coffee table that has been pushed in-between two Victorian era wing chairs are two glasses located next to a fresh pitcher of water and two candlelights. Their purpose ultimately different, they make a nice couple. The drowsy breeze from the agape French doors offers little comfort to the uneasy temperature but for now there are other issues to attend.
The spell breaks and the enchanted half-silence evaporates as the door to the isolated flat smacks open, damaging its hinges. Neither of the recent arrivers take notice as they rush in, the youngest obviously in pain. Unceremoniously, the strongest – for now – who is supporting the weight of her companion, kicks the door closed and does not look back as she makes her way to the nearest of two very spartan cots. As careful as the situation and her delirious companion allows, she lets go of the dead weight, a nearly unconscious but very delirious woman who is clutching her arms as if they were falling off.
"Aaaagh!" the youngest hisses, not sensing the apparent need for silence. Steady but hesitant hands try to pry her hands away from the tender area, but she is met by a fierce determination and noncooperation.
"Quiet," she orders and holds the waving arms down to the obvious additional pain of her companion. Clearly that her companion had not expected as it helps her quieten. With medical training, the hooded woman inspects her patient's body.
"How do you feel?" she asks incredulously, a tone far too mature for a woman of only twenty years. The hood slides down, revealing neatly combed brunette hair that reaches her waist. Her face is filled with seriousness and observation, all attention directed unto the blonde woman.
"L-like I've- swallowed gl-ass," is the response. True to her words, the excruciating pain is much like she has shards of glass in her body, possibly having attached to her molecules during the transportation.
The brunette's frown deepens. It doesn't become her slender facial structure. Despite the brunette's ushering to keep quiet and focus on something else, as she needs her strength, the blonde begins to stutter.
"Who're you?"
"You may call me Mona," the brunette says, her focus on the invisible wounds. There is not much physically she can do, but she handles the pain with as much seriousness as if it was a fatal laceration. Her deep eyes watch the blonde with an almost animalistic attention. She is as graceful as a noblewoman and as reluctant as a young maid.
"M-Mona. My name is A–."
"I know your name. And your place in history." Mona sends her a maternal smile that renders the blonde almost calm despite the fact that she cannot be more than a few years older than her.
Mona loosens her hood and the jacket falls to the ground. From the drawer in the mahogany table she finds a dagger. Her companion sees it and winces, but Mona simply directs it toward her own wrist, her movements patient and calm, experienced. With as much ease and without hesitation, she slices open her wrist, a line of crimson decorating her otherwise pale skin.
"My blood holds proteins that will help you heal. Your own system is far too weak to repair the electromagnetic damage. You have not recovered yet," Mona tells her calmly as if she was explaining how to start a fire.
"Where are we?" the blonde asks, her eyes hostile as Mona transfers the blood to a primitive IV attached to her. Curiosity and defiance take the better of her. "And did you say electromagnetic? Like, EM shield?"
Mona nods. "You will remember in due time, Ashlynn."
The blonde's eyes widen. "My name is not–."
"–now it is." Mona's tone has turned deadly and chilly while her posture is still motherly and compassionate. Ashley has only heard that edge before from beings able to kill mercilessly, their consciences spotted forever with the loss of innocence. She has heard it from the lips of her own father. That dark flash in a pair of lucid eyes. The murderous edge.
So she keeps silent, afraid of a treatment rivaling that of Cabal.
She spends nearly a month slipping in and out of consciousness. Her memories grows blurry and fuzzy and she has trouble keeping up with the days. Whenever she surfaces lucidity, she senses people watching her but is disrupted by violent seizures that renders her powerless. Most of the time she is in a nightmarish, dream-like state that is eternally foggy. She allows herself to be taken in, sleepless and drugged. She recalls memories of what cannot be true. And worse, she starts to remember the things she has done to her own kind.
When she first awakens, it is from a terrifying memory of herself looking down upon her mother, who admits to being afraid of her. She has never seen her mother cry, so she has a hard time blaming it unto her imagination conjuring up images and scenarios.
Mona acts as a nurse, simply being there and changing sheets, IVs and watching over her as if she is family.
She quickly accepts this new name – at her last place of capture, she didn't get to have one – as it resembles her own. Ashley. Ashlynn. It sounds too feminine, yet also marks the changing of herself. She is no longer the sassy and badly contained child of a respectable member of the Sanctuary but far too familiar with her own cause of destruction – a path hopefully behind her. She is afraid to think of it, afraid to act upon impulse and instincts because she fears they aren't her own anymore. In staying still and obedient she remains lucid and in control on her own mind. Trustful she has never been, so she watches everything her hostess does.
The small flat – yes, they are in England – is equipped with three bedrooms, private quarters as Mona calls them, and a small bathroom with a lion-legged tub along with dining quarters and a lounge combined with a small, exquisite library.
The curtains are kept constantly closed except in the night where it is often agape. Ashlynn often wonders why Mona brought her to the cots on her first night here after her agonizing teleportation, but has enjoyed the bed at her service.
Mona has forbidden her to go outside and heavily advised against teleporting. The mere fact that she knows about the unusual way of transportation is mesmerizing. Even though Ashlynn is as straight as they come, she has noted Mona's beauty. It is not overwhelming, but it is there, reluctantly hidden behind … well, reluctance. Her skin tone is golden and almost flawless, no scars or imperfections present. She is not tall nor petite, standing five-foot-seven with an almost aristocratic gracefulness. At all times her hair is straight, falling in a weightless curtain of deep ash-brown strands. She moves in and out of the shadows with skill, ease and comfortability like no-one else Ashlynn has ever encountered. She seems timeless and yet older than her mother who has lived for more than two lifetimes. Her eyes are the impossible color of frozen blueberries, an eternal darkness, calm and beautiful behind them.
"Mona, where are we?" Ashlynn asks one day out of the blue. Mona's body does not stiffen as she had expected. The stale air tells a different story.
"Ten miles from London," Mona says and pauses. "1894, to be precise."
Ashlynn chokes undignified on the cup of tea she is sipping. The calm surface reminds her of her own mother. The last memory she has of her is the horror-filled expression of realization. It violates the happier memories of Sanctuary times.
"Eighteen hundred ninety-four?" she repeats, horrified. "Impossible," she mutters under her breath.
"No, not at all, I fear. Your extraordinary – in comparison to humans, that is – ability to morph through space has made you capable of leaping through time as well. Not unheard of in the society of the sanguine vampiris."
"Vampire?" Ashlynn repeats dumbfounded. She remembers vaguely the intimate details of Nikola Tesla and his dramatic reaction to the source blood. The vampires – the true ones – are extinct in her timeline. But this is, as Mona kindly informed her, 1894. She wonders where her mother is now. This version, of course.
"Yes, I am a vampire," Mona confirms quietly, her hands handling the medical equipment as if what she just said is perfectly reasonable. "So is my brother."
"Darian's a vampire?" Ashlynn exclaims in the way only a teenager raised in the twenty-first century can. Or the twentieth for that matter.
The adequately handsome twin brother of Mona has been wary of approaching her, but she has noticed him and the way he sticks to the dark corners of the flat when he is here. Shyness is a family trait, apparently. The fact that he has not directly contacted her or introduced himself tells Ashlynn of his apparent disapproval of Mona taking in pensioners.
Mona nods. "We are the last of our family. Our father was killed less than a decade ago by ignorant humans." Although she says this with the sheerest politeness, it is clear the way she flinches at the word 'humans'. Ashlynn understands why vampires would be compelled to feel detestation towards human; in a century, there won't be any left of their race. They will be extinct.
This is unbeta-ed, but whatever. If you can stand to read it, continue. English is not my first language. Can anyone guess why its title is "Frozen"?
- Leara.