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Anne hurried home, still clutching the letter in her white fist. Her lips trembled with an odd sensation- excitement with a twitch of fear. Or maybe it was the opposite, fear with a twitch of excitement.

Anne knew that the next part of her journey could go in so many different directions, yet the possibility of her last- sought out happy ending was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
She thought back to the last time she saw Gilbert.
Graduation, wasn't it?
The quick flash in his eyes she thought she imagined as she left clinging to Roy's elbow. The way his hair curled behind his ears, the crease in his forehead as he begged her- wordlessly- to look at him, to walk over to him, to take him.
That wretched night.
She would take all her chances now.

She was too occupied in her fantasies to stop herself before colliding into the stout blonde before her.
Josie Pye.

"My my there Anne, I haven't seen your face so overly-worked up in a long time. What is the rush? As far as I've heard, all your suitors are long gone."

Anne smiled nonetheless, "It is nice to see you too Josie. I do like your dress. That shade of pink is just glorious."

Josie narrowed her eyes, "Yes well, I suppose. Shame you could never wear this color, Anne. It simply would clash terribly with your hair. Well, are you going to tell me what your reason for huffing about is?"
"Oh, I just got a little letter that's all."
Josie looked at the folded paper in Anne's hand and back suspiciously into Anne's shining eyes.
"Good news I hope?"
"Depends on the eyes of the beholder. Perspective is everything Josie. I'm sure you know."

Josie picked up her skirt and looked at the queer redhead before her. She was a strange girl, that was for sure. And she would never understand why on earth, men ran after her every beck and call. What was Anne's elusive secret, she wondered. "Well, I am needed at home. Good afternoon, Anne."
"And to you the same."
Anne's eyes filled with mirth as she watched Josie hurry along the winding path,
"Some people never change. I guess there is a beauty in that after all."

...

Gilbert arrived at the hospital early the next morning. His head was pounding, and his knees felt strangely weak. It must have been nerves, he reassured himself. He was starting to live out his dream, it was coming true! And yet, it felt as if he was lacking something, something that completed his vision and the dream he sought out, something he couldn't quite place. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts and walked down the hallway.

"Mr. Blythe!" The Doctor called out, and Gilbert turned to shake his hand.
"Good morning sir. Where would you like me to begin?"
The doctor placed a worn hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "The children's sector. However, I must warn you, it is not an easy sight."
He led Gilbert down a long corridor and handed him a white medical robe. "Here. Never enter a room without proper attire. That is my first rule. Gloves and a mask included."
The Doctor sighed and shrugged on a robe of his own "I can't lose my doctors as well."
And with that, he opened the double doors before them.

At first Gilbert wasn't sure what he was looking at.
The room blurry and he could see shapes and hear vague cries of pain.
But he wasn't in the room.
No, he was across the street, down underwater.
It was a photograph, faces piling over, little hands grasping to meet his, eyes swimming- green and brown and red and yellow.
Cheeks white and pale, faces stained dark red, fevers and fears scribbled on little beings. Moving, moving and fading-
"Mr. Blythe?"
A voice called out.
But is was far away, too far and Gilbert could barely hear it.
All he saw was the image before him.
A haunting image, one he never saw before but yet- it was all too familiar.
A young girl, copper hair braided down her back, green eyes dancing up to his. Disease spilling across her pale forehead, the green of her irises bleeding down her cheeks. She too fading, crumbling to the dirt beside his feet, flying among the dust particles-

"Gilbert!" An arm clasped his own, and Gilbert blinked, steadying himself. "Sir-"
"Mr. Blythe are you all right?!"

Gilbert looked around, endless beds lined against the wall, children lying quietly, sleeping or whispering among themselves.
No yellow eyes, no spinning redheads.

He blinked and took a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry sir, I don't know what came over me."
The Doctor eyed him suspiciously
"I suggest a cold drink of water. It is probably the heat. I expect a young medical student like yourself to take better care of yourself."
Gilbert nodded. "Yes sir, it won't happen again."
The Doctor's eyes creased warmly "Don't worry Gilbert. You will be alright. You're one of the strong ones, I can tell."

...

Anne moved with such energy through the woods, a bounce in her step, grace down her toes. She skipped between the long oaks, her fingertips grazing the wise barks, her laughter floating in the air, its notes dancing around her like a halo. The birds awoke and the squirrels scurried behind her. She trailed along, weaving between the shadows, discovering ghosts of herself behind each breath, happy little ghosts- each with a lighter shade of red, each with younger faces, smoother skin, each with a dozen more freckles than the one before.
Here she pledged her love to Diana, here she ran home soaked from nearly drowning in her dear Lake of Shining Waters, here she sat in Matthew's buggy discovering the world she loved, gripping the sides of the carriage, her braids whipping around her in the wind.

Life.
Life was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

When she arrived at Green Gables, she was surprised to find it empty. The sun was setting outdoors, and evening fell in secretive whispers around the Island. Dora's concert, she remembered. Marilla must have gone with her.
The silence of the home comforted her.
It gave her the peace of mind to think, to evaluate, to understand her feelings that she had once locked away.

She knew she loved Gilbert.
She knew he once loved her.
But she didn't know where he stood now. Diana believed his feelings remained, even Mrs. Blythe believed it.
But Anne, Anne who believed in magic, in fairies, in happy endings knew, if she could change the way she felt- then he could too.

She pulled out a leather notepad from the wooden nightstand and sat down on her bed.
Truth pours out at times, times that can be unexpected. There is a human desire, to be good, to be honest, to share secrets and be loved and accepted in spite of them.
Or, even more so, to be loved and accepted because of them.
And although results are always, always, unpredictable- what is life with predictability?
She hesitated, fear gripping her very essence.
What if this makes it all worse?
Oh Anne, nothing could make it worse than it already is.
Opening to a blank page, she started to write:

Dear Gil,
It's been three months and two weeks since I last saw you, and yet it feels like a lifetime. Change does that; separates the then and now until they hardly feel like they were lived by the same person.
Perhaps they weren't. I was a different Anne then, an immature Anne who valued her fantastical little imaginations over her reality, who let herself be blinded by mere companionship over the truest most pure form of love. I treated you horribly Gil. I let you go because I wanted to pretend that nothing happened between us as if that could help me ignore the truth and the feelings bubbling in my chest- my feelings for you. My feelings of love. I love you Gilbert Blythe. Always have, always will. I have spent too many days wallowing away in my pains and my regrets, but I am coming. And I don't know how you feel, I know you might very well hate me, but I need to see you. I need to face you, I need to look into those hazel eyes, eyes that can see me in a way I wish I could see myself, and tell you how much you mean to me, tell you that I LOVE you. If you will let me. If you can look at me once more like you used to. If you have any more room in your heart to let me love you the way I always should have, then I will be there.
With all my love,
Anne

Anne paused. Her hands were shaking as she folded the letter, rising from her little bed. She crossed her room with timid steps and opened the heavy door. She crept down the stairs,
One step, two step, three and four.
The fireplace was lit despite the summer heat and she stared into the flickering, beckoning flames. It called to her-
One step, two step, three and four.
And she threw the letter inside, like all the hundreds of letters before.