Not sure if this is going to be continued or not, for it stems from the emotional state of my mind at this moment.

#ooc, canon divergence

#This story is written in one go, so is not proofread…

#Keep in mind, these characters do not reflect the lives of the real people.

#TW and CW: This story contains materials that for some people can be uncomfortable to read.

— This story is dedicated to my uncle who died of an overdose. He'll always be in my memories, even if it's not going to change the matter of losing him.

He is dead, her uncle who everyone thought is the picture of a sensible man, the epitome of practicality and hardworking died from an overdose of opioid. She is so young for bearing the pain of his departure. She is so young for bearing the cruelty and the truth of this world, yet old enough to understand when he is dead means he does not exist anymore. She is not like her other sisters who believe in nonsense things that no-one can see and feel solace in knowing there is another world that waits for him. She was not prepared for this. She always thought one day, shall be a good girl and he shall treat her with the same respect he treated Jane and Lizzy.

Why it hurts so badly when she was the least favourite of his and in reverse, he the least favourite of her! Why does she feel his loss deeply when she was not close to him? Why does she even care when he was all smiles for Lizzy and Jane and all reproachful for her? Maybe because she had lost not only her uncle – only brother of her mother – but also the torch of hope that she always carries with herself.

She had thought, having all the time in the world to care about others; to be that good girl that everyone wanted her to be; to grow up and be a niece that her uncle can be proud of. Yet, he does not wait for her to grow up and be a sensible girl so he can be closer to her, so she can know the secret of his suffering. She now wants to know why he, a man who can have the world, let himself drown in the world of opium and alcohol.

She does not make sense. Yes, Lydia's emotions do not make sense even to her own mind. She never was one to think so deeply and analyse the events, these are Lizzy's field. Lydia's philosophy is being happy and having fun, not giving a jot for anything and anyone except herself and let every irritating thing and constant nagging of her sisters and father roll off her back. But here she's, sitting on the floor of her uncle's guest room, looking at nothing and thinking her uncle is never going to live in his house again, never going to see the growth of his children and never going to see his youngest niece's progress.

Her cousins are in the next room, in their nursery, so young to understand of not having the unwavering presence of their father. Their mother… aunt Mali is another matter. All of a sudden, she is estranged with them, even with Lizzy and Jane, as if she can not stand being part of this family anymore. She has said is going to go back to her own parents' hometown. Strangely there is a tension between her and the Bennet families that Lydia is not privy to, but she can feel it, in the air of her uncle's Gracechurch Street house.

Her uncle was the solid presence in their family, one person who knew everything, who would solve their every problem and one who would reassure his sister of going to take care of her and her children when her husband does, but they never thought he is going to be the first.

They are on an uncertain ground now, nothing is certain for them now. In particular, Lydia does not know what to make of their situation, her family's life, her own life, but she is sure of one thing, she is going to be his closest confidant after his death.

A/N: I think I'm not okay, no, I'm fucking sure I'm not okay and forgive me for posting such a personal footnote. I received the news of my uncle's death by a very very short message from – hehe (bitter laugh) – my very insensitive and insensible mother (selfish and narcissistic to the core) this very day! Never was I close to him and ye know, my families and relatives all have this estranged relationship that I almost forget his second son's name (now feeling shame). I always know he had addiction problems, even before I was born. FFS! One of my memories of him is he smoked drugs before me when I was child and I'd been fascinated by his technics of smoking! But I always thought, naively, one day, when I'm independent, I'm going to help him (sth my relatives mostly didn't care), but nobody and life gives a shite to wait for somebody like me to grow up and be helpful. I'm not even sure, wanting to go to his funeral. I hate funerals. The last funeral that I was in was my own father's and it wasn't a perfect funeral, it wasn't grande sth deserving of my dad. It was a nightmare. It was disrespectful to such a great man and I'm not sure I can stand another suffocating gathering. I didn't go to see him when he was alive and in need and now.. now when he is not in this world anymore.

I'm not usually expressive about my feelings, forgive me for upsetting u.

Death is surety, certainty, but let's just love the uncertainty of life and cherish every moment of its surprising continuity.

Le Lys