38. Air and thought and sunlight
I feel you.
Winter took her in, wrapping its arms around her.
She was the rush of clothes. The wind. The sun catching upon the rugged leather gloves.
Peter Lake looked back toward her. At the sky. The clouds. The new day.
These eyes that always saw her so clearly. Every piece within her, every cog and wheel that completed the intricate pattern of her soul.
She'd been warned about the contents of her body all her life. The fever in her chest, the muscles softened by sedentary years… Medicines had been given. Promises, too.
This is New York, after all. Ugly doors, all around. Beautiful sights too...
But Peter Lake, on the very first day, had told her to list out the stars, breath by breath.
For the first time she'd been entrusted with the mechanics of her own disease. And she'd felt the frost solidifying under her feet. A childlike chill of wonder tickling her bones.
Even before she was transformed to light and wind, Peter had convinced her that she could be powerful.
Even when alive, and feverish, and sedentary… she could be strong.
She could dance. She could save him.
I wanted to be the one to tell them, 'This is how things work.'
Her lover stood up from the water and Cecil grabbed at him, his coat, his hands. His dark face glew with amusement.
"Lucky you are, indeed," he chuckled. "You've died so many times I've lost count, and yet here you are, still awake."
"Here I am," Peter Lake gasped, a feeble gust of air, foggy breath veiling his face. "Thank god for it too. Who would you ramble to, otherwise?"
Cecil's mouth hung open in mock offense. "I don't ramble. I inspire. It's my job, as is yours, now."
"I should practice my rambling."
Cecil laughed. There came a pause.
"It just won't end for us, will it, Cecil?" Peter asked, sighing heavily. "The hiding? It's quite flattering, really."
"I mean… I did tell you to go to Florida."
"Don't be unfair. You knew I'd be delayed."
"Your choice. Not mine."
"I wouldn't be here if not for it…"
He took another pause. He lifted his face to the sky. He breathed in the winter that now swelled within her, the sunlight through which she so swiftly traveled. Invisible fingers, lain upon his clothes, his skin.
He murmured: "I regret nothing."
Neither do I, darling.
Cecil clutched his arm. Peter returned the grip. His hands, grey and pearled in water, those that had taken fire and held her own so many times.
"Let's go, saint Peter."
He was no saint nothing. As was his belief.
Beverly felt it in the skip in his breath, the heavy descent of his eyelids.
And yet all he did was smile.
You're not a saint, no. But you don't need to be.
They walked away, afoot, grey- and black-clad bodies wading mice-like through the maze of stone that carved out the city.
New Yorkers meandering, slowly fusing into the traffic of life, beating hearts blinded to this invisible garden of death.
These lights that broke past them, skipping, breathing. Eyes that may once glimmer under the gaze of a searching star.
I don't love a saint.
The whistle of their coats in the wind. The little drops of river water that broke away from Peter's dark hair. Beverly traced each of them, tiptoes of glimmering whites, crystal winks.
I love a man with thunderclouds in his eyes.
Peter Lake was grinning in the shade, the alleys through which they concealed their presence, his eyes squeezing shut at times, and there were still tears on his face, and Beverly glew upon the films of salt on his skin, a stinging bite of cold, a reminder, a caress.
Peter Lake knew she was there.
"I'm the luckiest person in the universe," he laughed, again. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
No one heard him but Cecil, and her, and one or two more whose disinterest was all but mostly feigned, hidden within the city, discreetly blending into the world in search of eyes that met their own, and friends to be made, and miracles to be gardened. Voyagers on missions of their own. Secret lights being distributed under the ever-watchful eyes of Pearly Soames.
Peter was very bold for this, yes, but he and Cecil had no more to give. Their gifted harnesses had been taken and Beverly was safe, concealed within the sunshine. Now they needed to find another.
There was a freeing indifference that came with having nothing to lose.
All that Peter was concerned with endangering now was her, the pianist, disguised in the cold winter light, and her current safety allowed him the freedom to be bolder. Calmer, too.
Beverly tried to laugh without lips and throat and lungs. And birds caught flight from the frost-drenched balconies of New York. The city rumbled softly. Smoky silk doused the white sky.
I love a voice that answers to my own, a gaze that steadies mine.
"Do you hear me, little Pearly?" A new breath. A new squeaking floorboard, a new note, a new light in the path, another star that smirked in amusement. "I'm the luckiest son-of-a-bitch that's ever walked this earth."
My equal, my miracle.
It was time to play her piano. To let this anger diffuse into song. For the light to drench the world and her pianist hands to fall upon New York, topple over towers and craft her own keys.
Little Willa quietly ate her breakfast while Isaac Penn read The Sun. Beverly glossed over the smooth surface of the table. The table lamp. The cold glass. The governess watched the snow that caked the street.
The fire moved. A mother sighed.
Peter Lake and Cecil snuck into walls and blended into frosty blue silks, deep cool shadows.
Bound to the same star.
"And I'm not afraid of you," Peter concluded.
Weaved by the same thread.
Author's note: To anyone who is here today, thank you for reading.
I'm currently in class (irresponsible, I know, but I needed to finish this chapter so badly) so... I may edit this chapter later, to add more details about Beverly's thoughts as she meanders through sunshine and parts with Peter and Cecil (at least physically).
If I don't end up doing that and just leave this as a bridge chapter, then I'll certainly go into a deep thought study about Beverly next time. Because I think that I'm gonna take a more episodic approach to some of the following chapters: to see Beverly's tale being divided into chapters of her watching over her family and finding ways to help them, and of Peter and Cecil's plot of just walking around New York, converting Pearly's gang to decent members of society (I'm so ready to give Peter this subplot istg), in search of new harnesses and a way to help others.
And of course: lots of emotional and psychological drama to go by. Cause I do so love to delve into characters' emotions :3
Spoilers, but expect Cecil to find his harness before Peter does. I want Peter to be in the company of others, but I also want him to have at least a piece of the solitude he gets in the film. Just... not as extreme, cause I do so love writing character dynamics.
In the movie, Peter spends a long time in solitude before he finally returns to his senses and finds the person he is meant to help. And in here I want to do both things: Peter and Cecil's dynamic is something I deeply want to explore further, I love me a good friendship that also involves soul-searching and miracle-giving, I suppose XD And Beverly will be physically present to Peter more times before Abby arrives, but... well, I'll definitely cut their time together short given the severity of Peter's situation and the fact that Pearly has him on his radars again.
My plan is for the hunt for Pearly's magpies to be Peter's drive for many of the future chapters of this tale, whereas Beverly's drive will be carving a better path for her family to reach a kinder future, as well as also looking after Peter. Hence why I may return to the episodic-esque format of the Coheeries chapters I wrote for "A Star in the Lake." Not so episodic that you may experience one without the other, but also sufficiently thorough and finite in micro-storytelling to serve as a little piece of a much larger story. Because there are 100 years ahead for Peter and Beverly, and Cecil as well for all that matters. I want to give them as much to do as I can :3
I also need to give Beverly interactions with some of her new peers, and also Gabriel, who I have not forgotten don't worry ;) I just need to think that through. Next time. Preferably, next time I won't be in a college class while writing XD My fault, I know.
A full rewatch of "Winter's Tale" will help me a lot too, cause it'll help me fish for more little details I can explore and lead to new ideas. Plus there's always a reason for me to revisit this film. You know me.
Anyways, here's your hug *hug* and I'll see you next time. Thank you for being here. Truly. You're the best.
