Disclaimer: I do NOT own Pitch Perfect or any of its characters nor do I have the rights to the franchise. All rights go to Universal Studios. Any Copyright infringement was not intentional, if required then send me a message and the story will be deleted. Sorry for any inconveniences.
I do NOT own A Thousand Years by Christina Perri nor do I have the rights. This story was inspired by the song but does not use the lyrics. Any Copyright infringement was not intentional, if required then send me a message and the story will be deleted. Sorry for any inconveniences.
Author's note: So, I will be honest; I have no clue where to take "All who wonder are not lost" until then I was wanting to do a song based one-shot collection. Hopefully, I can find songs for each letter of the alphabet just to add variety in the stories. Any requests are good, or even ships you would like. Trigger Warnings will be placed at the start of all chapters when needed.
Trigger Warnings: Underage marriage, Abuse, Suicide, Murder and Religious themes. (Maybe others let me know and I'll add it).
A Thousand Years
I never believed in love. My parents were the prime example of its failure. They cared for each other enough to believe they loved one another, but each hurdle they faced withered that faith into oblivion. The final nail in the coffin was me.
I wasn't a disgrace like many bastard children are considered but I wasn't welcomed either. I was considered a sin. Born out of wedlock to a Christian family in the 1600's? I was lucky to even be allowed to exist. Only because my parents married soon after they discovered my mother was pregnant. They, and the midwife, were the only to know. Even then my parents never had much interest in me. I was simply taught to be a good servant. I had no use otherwise.
My 'luck' was short lived, however, when I reached the right old age of 10, I was sold. Sorry, married, off. Younger than the legal age of 12 but old enough to get the interest of a passing gentleman. His clothing and sophisticated vocabulary was powerful enough to bargain for my being. Even with the prominent 5 o'clock shadow making an appearance on his aged face.
I later learned his name was Lord John Stewart.
It wasn't uncommon for a girl to be given to an older man. We produce strong heirs apparently. It was hardly ever out of love or affection. But that doesn't stop parents being wooed by the riches that could contribute to a better lifestyle. 'Better' being subjective in these cases. Better clothing, better dwellings and better food. Doesn't always lead to better care, better work or even a better life.
I was groomed to be the perfect wife. Cooking and cleaning, sewing and mending. Standing straight, don't talk back, don't read, look pretty. I was an object to my husband. I knew he 'loved' me. He loved my ocean blue eyes, my rapidly developing breasts and my complacent attitude. I was his favourite thing. And despite everything, I grew to care for him. He was sweet in public, gave thoughtful gifts and had the darkest of humours that only a few understood. It wasn't much but I grew to cherish these moments.
It wasn't perfect. The expectations he had for me. I was a third of his age but knew how to function more than he. His manor contained many treasures that were for decorative uses only. In my years with him I don't remember one time that he ever picked up a book. I, however, had too much time not to. They weren't remarkably interesting, and it did take a while to teach myself to understand the written text, having only hovered briefly when my father had tried teaching a young boy, Jesse, I think his name was. He hadn't cared much leading to more lessons than necessary. I grew more invested in the more fantastical stories to distract myself.
During the sixth year of our marriage, John was invited to a ball. I had thought nothing of it at the time. We had been to many dances throughout the years. Each one was the same. We would go, my arm on his, he would mingle, and I would be trapped at the side while he ogles the newer brides and look at me as if I was a tarnished toy. Which to him, I was.
The only difference to this one was the family. Newly named, Lord and Lady Beale. We had never met them before, but their daughter had recently decided to search for a prince. She was older than the other brides to be, 15. Too old for a bride where I was from but apparently the King held more respect for her than other fathers.
I envied and feared her instantly.
I thought she would either be snobbish to the point of insufferable or she would never understand the true pain of marrying someone. But as I stepped out the carriage and held John's arm and witnessed the princess in her glory, I was screwed. Her pearly whites out shown the diamonds around her neck, the redness of her hair emphasised the blush on her pale skin, but it was the sapphires that she called eyes that stole my attention.
She was beautiful (and that was putting it mildly).
It was a brief meeting before she was escorted to a better suitor. In the limited time we had together I couldn't keep my eyes off her (neither could John) and every time her eyes catch mine my world brightened.
It was the first time someone had caught my interest. Despite my parents' continuous attempts for Jesse to take my hand.
I had only uttered one word to her, and it already hurt when she was sent to dance with another. A man. I didn't understand my emotions at the time. Why I was drawn to her more than my husband. It wasn't proper, wasn't even rational, but it was happening. My heart pulled me towards her.
Over the next month I had run into her only a couple more times. The first time I was shopping. It was my seventh wedding anniversary after all. Had to make a special meal for the occasion. Lady Chloe was being courted by a wealthy man, not sure his title, called Thomas. She had been laughing at something he had said, her angelic voice carrying across the town, when she had caught sight of me. I was expecting her to simply look away. She was to be a wife one day; she would be complacent one day. Instead, she smiled and spoke back to Thomas. I later learned she had told him we were friends, largely more important in each other's lives than we were at the time. I saw his face grow tense, not liking something – I don't know what, but he agreed, and Chloe walked to me. Thomas stayed where he was.
It wasn't the longest conversation. It was just enough to start an acquaintanceship and get me invited to her manor the next day. She was interested in how married life was. Somehow, I seemed to be the most honest person she met that night. I didn't understand how that could be, I learned to hide my emotions. Nobody cared about the little girl taken to a 'better' life. No-one stayed long enough to hear the woes of a woman. And anyone who was, just wanted something else from them.
We managed five minutes before she was to return to Thomas. She gave me a quick hug before she left. I was frozen. The warmth of her arms clinging to my skin. I cherished the moments before I returned to normal. The basket I carried suddenly felt unliftable. I cooked dinner that night in a trance.
I hated the effect she had on me.
I manged to persuade John to allow me to the manor so long as he came with me. It was good contacts to have, after all. We wore our finest casual clothing. My dress a rich red, his suit faded grey. Looking back, we were very dull in comparison to the time we lived in.
I curtsied when we appeared on the Beale's doorstep. Their maid escorted us inside. And toward their lounge. While we were well off, the manor put ours to shame. The walls were laced in impeccably attained wallpaper, marble pillars holding valuable objects I could never dream to understand, even the ceiling hardly constricting my husband's large frame.
After countless turns we finally make it to the Beales. Each in a less lavish gown than we were. Their simplistic design made me feel overdressed, which I was. It didn't matter much when Chloe turned towards me. Her smile expanded tenfold. She waited politely before excusing us from the room, leaving John with her parents. Not that he minded, his mind racing at the possibility of decent company.
Chloe took my hand and wandered towards the garden. The hedges trimmed into neat pathways, deciding our route. Each turn sent a new set of flowers. Red, blue, and white – It was less patriotic than it sounds. It wasn't until we reached the centre of the maze that she decided to speak. She didn't let go off my hand.
"Hello, I hope it isn't too presumptuous for me to have brought you here." Her melodic voice was calm but there was an air of insecurity behind her eyes.
"Of course not. I have never seen a garden quite like this one. It is marvellous." She looked down, unsure how to take my comment. She wasn't used to praise on a skill she contained.
"Thank you, I helped create it." I stayed silent, taking in her features. "You are probably wondering why I brought you here. Honestly, I could use a friend." That stunned me. She was a ray of sunshine, people gravitated towards her, but she needed friends.
"Friends? I would have thought you to have plenty of those."
"I have plenty of contacts but not someone I can speak to. Someone to share my life with outside of these walls." She vaguely gestured to the maze. But she hid behind her words.
"Then I would be honoured to give you my friendship." John would like to have an alliance with the Beales. I would get out the house for more than just chores. "Although I do not know what I could grant you that others could not."
Chloe beamed. "You can grant me an honest opinion, other women our age hide behind their husbands. Never daring to speak up but you have something, I am not sure what it is though, perhaps a spark in your eyes that draw me in. I feel as if I could trust you with the world. I do not know why." I could see it then, the same feeling I was consumed by reflected in her eyes, those emotional eyes.
"I understand" and I did.
We grew closer over the years. Every chance we had Chloe and I would meet. Soon we became inseparable, much to the ire of John and Thomas. Our weeks would usually take us towards the greens. The wildlife was beautiful without being dangerous, the various amounts of hunters in the area scaring them away. Occasionally Thomas would join us, wanting to spend time with Chloe, and although she seemed happy, I couldn't help noticing her smile never reached her eyes.
John and I were invited to the Beale manor almost every fortnight for dinner. We would typically stay quiet during these nights, waiting for the chance to sneak away to the garden. Each night we would share a secret; she wished for a change in scenery, I would sneak out for foods we didn't need to leave the house. Eventually we made it to my secret about reading. I had never seen Chloe that excited before.
Eventually we made it a tradition for her to sneak a book with her to the garden while I sat and read to her. We never made an interesting book choice, but it never mattered, they were a secret we both shared. It was enough for a while.
On the second year after we had met it was announced that Thomas and Chloe were to be wedded.
It was the day after that she came to me with tear-stained cheeks and a bruised eye. Thomas. I was going to kill him. I couldn't think of ways to kill him before Chloe captured me in her arms, her head resting in the crook of my neck. Her tears dampened my dress but I didn't care, I gathered inside and sat her down. I never let go of her. An hour later she apologised and left. A week later she returned with a swollen cheek. It soon became routine.
We didn't realise how bad life could get until the fall of 1692. The Witch Trials.
Our town was invested with travellers. They didn't socialise. Or at least not to Chloe and I. Our husbands on the other hand were more their crowd. 'Honourable' men trapped in a nowhere community.
The travellers managed to raid buildings with permission from the surrounding areas as they spread tales of witchcraft. I didn't believe in magic at that point. Thought them crazy. But, as all religious people were at the time, they believed in the devil's work. The thought of it polluted peoples' thoughts to the point that they needed a conviction. Someone had to die to stop it. Confrontations started as people saw magic in the slightest actions. 3 people died from attacks; they weren't magic users.
Halfway through the second week, Chloe ran to my home. Tears caked her face while fear was dominantly displayed in her eyes. Her breathing was hysterical, garbling any words she was trying to speak to the point only a few made it past; Thomas, angry, hurt and devil.
The words didn't make sense until the door was barged open, Thomas at the front of the mob. His cheek covered in scratch marks. I understood two things then; a) Chloe had fought back against Thomas and b) we should have ran when she came here.
It wasn't until Thomas dragged Chloe out of my arms that I fought for her. Too wrapped up in my thoughts beforehand to even move. I tried to pry Thomas' hands off her, to place myself between them. I scratched at his arms, kicked his legs, and tried to use momentum to push him out the way. Nothing worked, his fury overpowering pain. I looked backed at Chloe, even when terrified she tried to reassure me that everything was going to be alright.
She was wrong.
They dragged her out the house, hands bound. The neighbourhood that once loved her, shouted insults, condemning her to hell. She held her face downwards, trying to avoid eye contact – trying to impersonalise the attacks. Even trailing behind her I could tell it didn't work. I found my husband through the crowd. He looked too angry to be able to get her out of this. Turning further there was the Beale's. Lady Beale was wrapped in her husbands' arms. They both looked truly distraught. They were my only chance.
I ran to them, too panicked not to make a scene. Fortunately, or unfortunately, people were too preoccupied by Chloe to remain focused on me. They looked at me uncertain to begin with. Was I a witch? Did I want to condemn them for raising one? I only gave them one sentence, but it was enough.
"I'm the witch, not Chloe."
The fear was instant. Lady Beale wailed louder. People looked at her, but my eyes were locked with Lord Beales'. I tried to convey what I was trying to say. He nodded before proclaiming to the mob, "She's the witch! Release my daughter!"
It took a second before I was bound and escorted to the front beside Chloe. I never understood the look she had, it was a combination of disbelief and confusion. I wasn't sure what was so confusing, but she mouthed a 'thank you'. I didn't say anything. Just continued walking as the mob decided our fates.
Half stayed back creating a pyre, the others marched us to the docks. Each step filled me with dread. I hadn't lived much until that moment, never truly cherishing the moments I had. The craftsmanship of the houses, the birds watching the world without a care, even the storm clouds overhead were beautiful under this new perspective.
We reached the docks far too soon. I wasn't ready for this. I didn't wish to die. To be able to live a happy life, outlive my husband and live a peaceful widowed life. Thomas hardly looked at me, to spiteful against Chloe but I could see cogs turning and I didn't like it. He whispered words to me when he rose from tying the stone to my leg.
"She's next." He emphasised it by raising a torch in his hand.
The rock was kicked of the pier. No words, no trial, just execution. I was condemned.
I lasted what felt like hours before I had to breathe. My struggling managed to tighten the swollen rope. I could see my blood polluting the water by my wrists and kept struggling. My head spasmed with effort to keep focused. Looking up every so often, seeing the glow of a fire. When my wrists slid from their confinements, they were raw. The saltwater stinging my body into remaining conscious.
The rope holding my body to the rock was easily untied. Water filled my lungs on the way up. I hardly had the strength to pull myself up to shore. My muscles ached, head pounded from the pressure and my lungs heaved for air.
After a couple of minutes, I looked around, wondering where my wardens were. I saw no-one. No Thomas. No John. Not even Lord and Lady Beale. I pulled myself up on unsteady legs. Looking in every direction when the flames stole my attention. Too large for torches, too small for a burning building.
Chloe.
I ran. Following the smell of smoke. Five minutes had never felt so long. When I reached the village, the crowd was gathered around the pyre. Too many people to see past. I pushed everyone to the side. Many created noise that forced others to turn towards us anyway. They back away from me. I didn't notice until later that they were fearful. I stopped at the front of the crowd. My gaze was stuck ahead of me. The pyre was burnt. Only small flames licked the bottom of the stand.
The burnt remains deformed into a scream. The necklace around their charred neck intact. Chloe. They burned her. I couldn't save her.
I stumbled forward, uncaring to the remaining fire. Too numb to notice my clothes were dry enough to catch alight. I held her face in my palms hoping against all odds that she would be alive. That she was a witch and survived. Even for someone to have sacrificed a life for hers.
There was nothing. Only the ashes that crumbled as I stroke non existent tears from her cheek.
I turned to the murderers. My face matching their previous rage and then some. My sleeves catching fire as I turned. I caught Thomas' face, urging him to keep eye contact as I walked towards him. Every step I took, he took one backwards. His face filled with fear as my clothing was covered in flames. I didn't question it, at least I would be at peace in death, I only had to kill him first. When I was able to consume his personal space, I forced myself to keep a calm voice.
"You killed her." I placed my hand on his chest. "You hurt her." Placed more pressure. "You condemned her." Watched the flames move to his shirt. "You manipulated her." Dug my nails into his burned skin. "You controlled her." Pushed enough to break a rib. "You stole her from the world." Burned further into his chest. "You stole her from me." I watched as he fell to the floor.
He wasn't going to walk away from that. I looked back to Chloe's body. Walked towards it and unclasped her necklace. Nobody challenged it. Everyone either fixated on Thomas' corpse or had fled the scene. I kissed the stone on the chain and placed it around my neck. I wandered away, back to my house.
I was alive. I should have been happy. I should have rejoiced and wandered the world. But I couldn't. I had lost a part of me, and I didn't even know how. How did I live? Why was she burned when she wasn't a witch?
I glanced at the clock. It had been four hours. I was underwater for too long. How? Why?
I put on new clothes, stole a horse from the garden and left. Not looking back to the town, I knew my whole life.
I drifted the continent. Settling in small areas. Starting a new life far from home. I never gained answers only more questions. After a while people looked at me weird. I didn't know why until a woman asked me how I looked so young. I didn't know how to react. I hadn't realised that I was looking the same. I hadn't aged. Hadn't grown taller, gotten any wrinkles or skin impurities, nothing.
I left that night.
I moved from small town to small town, staying only long enough to rest and never long enough to raise questions. I drifted for sixty years. Never changing. Physically at least, my mental state barricaded itself. I grew isolated. Unable to make lifelong friends without explaining something I didn't know myself.
My seventy-eighth year brought me to a small bar off the side of New Orleans. I was in the middle of my first bottle of whisky, hating I couldn't get drunk, when the new waitress started her shift. Curly red hair and sky-blue eyes so familiar. Chloe Beale. She looked the same as the day of the trial, minus the bruises. I couldn't think when she came to ask me a question. I forced myself to walk away. She didn't recognise me. She didn't remember. Even had a different name, Abigail Duncan.
I walked in the next day and apologised, blamed the alcohol. She smiled and waved it off. I offered her a drink, coffee, and we spoke. She was different from the Chloe I remembered but held the same ideals and innocence. We were fast friends.
A year later she married. Another year and she was mugged and left for dead. I moved the day after.
Twenty years and She appeared again. 16 and a runaway. Died of an overdose in my arms.
Fifty years and she helped to talk me off a bridge. Holding me as I wept. She didn't comment on my ramblings of past lives, just hugged me tighter. Murdered three years later.
I stayed in a cave the next few decades. Emerging in time for a great war. Found her making ammunition. She died of poisoning before our side won.
Each time she takes a piece of my heart with her. No matter how much I know it will hurt, she manages to pull me in. Each life gets taken before her time, mostly in unnatural and cruel ways. She never returns the same, always with key personality changes but with enough similarities to be the same person. And every time she never remembers until her death. The recognition in her eyes hurts as much as losing her. Somehow, she always whispers something about reality; it changes each time.
Eventually I decided to go get an education. Life was, apparently, too long not to. I searched for local colleges, and places I could pay in cash, having saved a fair amount over the years with various jobs. Only one college matched the requirements. Barden University. It helped one of the professors owed me a favour from a few decades prior. I hadn't told him everything, just enough to get him convinced it was true.
He was going to pose as my father, Warren Mitchell. We didn't look similar, but no-one would argue, it helps that I knew enough from over the years to answer any generic question asked about him. Warren handled all the paperwork and I dressed for the occasion. I decided to play the antisocial kid. Hopefully, nobody bothered me that way. Plus looked awesome in plaid, reminded me of the safety in the woods. Nobody asked questions then.
I was settling in the room when Warren showed up. We deliberately made a show in front of my roommate, but I could see the care in his eyes. It was strange but it was nice to know he cared. It still unnerved me enough to escape when Kimmy-Jin left for the activity's fayre.
I wandered aimlessly through the fayre, never intending to join a club when a flash of red caught my attention. Chloe was here, again. She did a double take when she saw me. My legs had dragged me closer to her when she handed a flyer to me. Stopping me in my pursuit.
She was talking but I couldn't say anything serious. Everything came out as sarcastic. But Chloe stood there and smiled more. Even when she pleaded to "help make their dreams a reality" I could only force myself to walk away. Thankful the blonde was snappy enough to grant me an out.
I only made it to the end of the path before I heard her call my name. I stopped to turn towards her when she grabbed me in a hug. Whispering 'Rebecca' on repeat. I realised after a moment that I had not given my name. I pulled her backwards, holding onto her arms.
"Chloe?"
She smiles and nods. I crush her in an embrace.