Chapter 6: The Inexorablity of the Inevitable
A/N: This was the other scene I originally wrote as a stand alone and then later included into the larger arc. I put them about 12/13 at this point (research indicates that malnutrition slows the development of the pituitary gland so though they're old enough, I'm assuming girls in the Grey House don't pass through developmental stages at the same age as the rest of us).
~X~
Chapter 6: The Inexorablity of the Inevitable
There are moments in life when everything changes. Times when all the pieces fall into place, when looking around the world brightens into perfect clarity with bold sharp edges as in aching slow motion an ice-cold realisation is finally comprehended.
Looking up she knew.
He may have been good at "seeming" but it was not hard for her to see through him. Not now. Even across the room his excitement was obvious, the stench rising off him in waves.
The decision was already made, had been made since that quiet morning when the small dark headed squint beside her had placed a tiny hand on her arm and made her whole again without words. There was no thinking needed, no long pondering as Tilda was prone to do.
Things were, and because of that things had to be done. There was no shame in the doing of them.
It was time.
Rule One had said that Things Were, Things Happen, You Have No Say. But Tilda had taught her Rule Two. Rule Two that had reached down into her darkness and showed her a different way to live. Rule Two was warmth and laughter, a hand in hers and gentle glance from thoughtful eyes catching her by surprise in a busy day. Rule Two was a slender string connecting two people that could not be cheapened or degraded by any place or happening no matter how insidiously filthy.
And Rule Two was all about breaking Rule One.
Rule Two said "You are worth loving."
It had taken her a while to understand the full breadth of Rule Two. But Tilda had persevered, reiterating the statements Magda had stumbled over in incomprehension until one day she realised they'd filtered through and taken up home somewhere deep inside. Tilda had done this, and for Tilda she could do anything.
This I do all of my own.
Smiling calmly she pivoted and oh so sweetly punched out the Sister. For a long hanging instant there was perfect silence. Across the crowded room Magda Halter looked full into the face of her friend, her companion, her soul, and in that bubble of peace everything was said that had ever or would ever have needed to be said between them.
For You.
Voices shouted in the confusion, arms grabbing at her, trying to stop her charge. But she was practiced. They'd given her that opportunity. Trained her to ignore pain, trained her to resist, all the years they thought they were taming her.
This was living. Fighting like a demon, everywhere and nowhere, impossible to put down.
She reached him in seconds.
Things were, and because of that some things had to be done. By them as could. For them as couldn't.
There would be consequences but in that moment she accepted them. Whatever her end would be, however long they took about it, it was magnificently, beautifully, gloriously worth it.
Of my own, this I do…
As the blow struck and the darkness rushed up in an explosion of red jagged-edged pain she reached down and found the peace deep inside, the strong anchor point of knowing, really knowing, that it was ok and held on.
… Beloved.