"Sometimes the greatest of tales are produced from the smallest of misunderstandings."

Misunderstanding

Light spills through the open window, lighting up the majestic room with its graceful beams. The bedroom is carefully set up so the light hits the occupant's face, waking her from her dreamful slumber. The bed is in the middle of the room, but the headrest relaxes against the beige wall and the colourful silk drifts down to envelope the sleeper. She awakes slowly at first, before her sapphire eyes looks around the posh room, no one there to greet her with a smile or a tray full with breakfast.

She rubs her head and sighed. "What have I done?"

The memories of last night flows freely in her currently-stressed mind, speaking of how she practically screamed in Daniel Brisby's face and pushed him away, the man falling over and dragging an expensive ornament with him. All eyes were on her then, harsh whispers uttered amongst the nobles, and she could clearly hear them as if they were shouted at her.

What do you think is wrong with her?

Poor Waverly and Lydia, having to deal with their sister's mess.

Do you think she has Brain Fevers?

Come on, the poor woman lost her mother brutally.

Still...

She couldn't bear to weather their questioning stares or their quiet insults, and ran passed all of them, not looking back as her legs pushed her up the stairs. Waverly watched as she went, before shaking her head disapprovingly and told one of her guards to escort the guests back to their awaiting transports. The crowds slowly seeped out of the door and the aftermath could clearly be seen, shattered glass from where the ornament collided with the cold marble sparkled in the whale-oil powered lights.

Waverly scrunched up her nose and ordered the maids to clean it up, retreating to her room to retire for the night. Lydia however bid good-night to the servants and followed her sister's foot-steps up the grand staircase; her gloved hand barely touched the smooth handrail. She turned down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythmic click click click, and then stopped in front of an oaken door.

Softly, the soft sound of a woman crying could be heard from within, so quiet that Lydia thought she was imagining it at first. But surely enough the cries existed. Her hand was brought up to the door and moved to knock on it, but she began to reconsider the gesture and allowed her limb to fall beside her side again, leaving for her room without giving her time to regret not knocking.

The rest of night Julia cried out for the soft words of Esma, but they never came, nor would they ever come again.

Pulling the sheets back to expose her night-gown, Julia rubbed her red eyes with the back of her hand and stands. The beautiful mirror that shines in the sunlight looked at her, her reflection telling the young Boyle of what she currently is, a young child in the body of a young woman.

Frowning at the mirror as if it had insulted her, Julia grabs her silken dressing-gown and tosses it onto the spotless glass, hiding the reflection from her eyes. She moves to get herself ready for the big day, when the door suddenly opens and her aunts briskly walk in. Lydia looks sympathetic but Waverly looks furious.

The younger of the two spat. "What was that little performance last night with the Bisby boy?"

"Excuse me?" Julia gasped, her eyes looking at Waverly and then Lydia. The elder nodded at her with a small -almost sad- smile. The memory wormed its way into her mind and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her eyes looking down-cast at the floor. "I-I saw him. I saw him."

That makes Lydia raise her eyebrows in confusion. "Who? Who have you saw?"

Julia feels her tears start to well as her vision blurred, her hand rises to wipe them away and an unsteady breath came through her parted lips. "The man. The man who-"

"Where?!" Waverly snapped, her petite hands gripping into her niece's shoulders. Julia looks terrified of her wild look in her eyes, wincing as sharp nails dug into her shoulders slightly. "Where did you see him Julia?!"

Julia's eyes looked up into Waverly's. "He was in front of me, when I was in the library." She explained. Waverly's wild look turns to confusion, her lips slightly parted as she tries to make sense of what her niece just told her. "He did nothing, just stared at me with that mask."

"Julia..." Lydia started, before trailing off as she tries to figure out how to tell the young Boyle. Waverly is obviously annoyed by her sister's unwillingness to just tell Julia and sighs out loud.

"The man wasn't there Julia," she explained, releasing Julia's shoulder and crossing her arms across her chest. "It was you and Daniel."

Her mind goes blank. Her expression showing nothing. She tries to look back at the incident but she couldn't for the life of her piece Daniel in the masked man shape hole in her memory. It couldn't have been. He was there. She saw him.

The fabrics of sanity are starting to unravel in Julia's mind, causing the woman to push her aunts out of her room and slam the door, locking it as quickly as she could. She leans her head against the wood and took in a sharp breath, her breathing becoming shallow and abnormal. Her knees could not keep her body up and collapses, her body smacking against the cold and unforgiving floor. She lays there, her hand splayed across the door and presses her palm down, staring at her manicured fingernails.

She felt something inside her snap and the crying resumes.

-f-

When Julia is finally able to pull her sanity back and cease her crying, she quickly gets herself dressed in a black outfit matching Esma's last party clothes. The jacket sat snugly on her body and complements her curves, showing off her chest and hips. Her white shirt looks like a dash of milk in her coffee that she has every morning. Her shoes with heels project her presence, with the rhythmic clicking practically hanging in the air.

She sits in front of the mirror, which is uncovered from the dressing gown that she thrown at it earlier, and stared at her reflection whilst bringing a jewelled hair-brush through her dark hair. If there is something that bothers her so much, it is the fact that she did not know where she got her hair from, as it is the opposite of her mother's and aunts' golden locks.

Setting the hairbrush down, Julia grabbed her hair and twisted it into an almost painfully tight bun, and kept it in place carefully. Satisfied, she smiles briefly and stands, opening the top left drawer and places the brush inside. Closing it again, she locks it with key and twirls it in her hand, placing it in her hollow statue that Daniel gave her. She does not see him in a romantic light but she did not protest when he lavishes gifts upon her, especially the more expensive ones. The statue was one of her favourites.

She does not eat this morning, instead just passing the food all together and made her way for the rail-cart, Waverly and Lydia hot on her heels. They said nothing to each other. A single word is not uttered on the journey to the Boyle family graves, with Julia just looking out the window and watches the transformation of the busy city to the peaceful countryside. She is pleased that this is where Esma has been put to rest.

Lydia shuffled around nervously the closer they got to the graves, her eyes watching down on Julia as if she would just have a fit and die. Too much stress she wants to say to the young woman, your heart can't take that. But she says nothing of course, who is she to keep a person away from their mother's grave?

But Waverly instead spoke. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh?" Julia replied, still watching the world pass by outside her window. "Why do you say that?"

"You are a sick child," Waverly frowned. "We don't know if your heart can take the stre-"

"My heart is fine." The conversation ended there. The journey ends there as well, as the rail-cart has reached the graves. The door opened and for the first time that day, Julia feels just how cold it is outside, her hands pulling her jacket closer around her slim form. All of the Boyle women stepped out of the rail-cart, and eyed the entrance wearily. When they do enter the land reserved for their dead, Julia leads them to the one that holds Esma.

It is beautiful.

The stone is clean, fresh and white. It looks pure and untouched. Kneeling before it, Julia smiles softly and lays down flowers into the dirt, staring at the name that is engraved into the almost marble-like stone.

Esma Boyle

It doesn't say her birth-date or when she died. It does not need to in Julia's eyes. No one needed to know when the woman was born or when she was murdered. Pale fingers graze against the stone and a sigh comes from her, nothing else following pursuit. She thought back to the incident and frowned deeply, her eyebrows lowering against her eyes.

She did not know that the murder was just a misunderstanding.