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rainbowfic2021-09-26 09:24 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2021-09-26 09:24 pm
Vienna Orange #2 [Heroes of the Revolution]
Name: Memorial
Story: Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Vienna Orange #2 (How much did we lose to live this way?)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-Numbers (fromshadowsong26: it was worth it, I think… I hope) + Novelty Beads (from shadowsong26: Of course, “I’m sorry” doesn’t always cut it.)
Word Count: 538
Rating: PG
Warnings: Grief/loss.
Notes: 1992; Julia Graves.
Summary: Julia makes a pilgrimage that’s been denied her till now.
***
Julia walked along uneven paved stones, following the path through the old cemetery. The grave she was looking for was somewhere to the left of the path in the middle section. She’d know it when she saw it. She couldn’t quite remember what kind of stone she’d chosen. In the midst of the world falling about her ears, it had seemed too ironic to care about.
Thirty years had passed since. It felt like a century, and she a ghost returning to haunt the place. Then the path slanted west and the sight of a gnarled, ivy-wound tree made her heart clench with its unexpected familiarity, and that was a lie: it had been no time at all.
Julia turned in across the grass at a cherub-topped monument that she recalled staring hard at while they’d all stood around the grave. Two more steps brought her to the spot.
She knelt down by the stone, joints stiff with damp and years, and tugged out the weeds and long grass from its base. “You know,” she said to its unheeding occupant, “I’m surprised Hallam didn’t try to do something with the cemeteries. Not very much use in them, really. I’m sure he could have found one if he’d tried.”
Edward would have given her a reproachful look at her poor taste. Julia sighed, and leant forward, putting a hand to the neat capitals carved into the marble as they wept green stains. His name, the dates. In loving memory. Her chest constricted and tears stung her eyes. She’d taken him to Scotland with her, and talked to him there, but she’d begun to feel as if she’d only imagined him all along. He had always been a little implausible. Julia smiled.
“Well, here we both are at last.” She drew back. They had made such a terrible mess of everything between them. They weren’t really responsible for Hallam, but despite their efforts to stop him, they might have even helped him. “Emily doesn’t want to see me again. Elizabeth, I mean. I can’t blame her, but I wish I knew what to do.”
That is up to her, he’d probably say. He was more patient than she was.
Julia screwed up her face. “I can’t just leave it there. I need to explain properly, at least.”
Edward was dead, and she had spent twenty years and more in exile, tending vegetables. Emily – Elizabeth – had made her own path in life. Julia closed her eyes against the regrets: she could have shot Hallam. Or maybe if only she and Edward had behaved like normal people in the beginning –
But if they had, Julia would never have run away with him. Maybe she’d have died in Paris. She could never unwish her time with Edward – and then there was Emily. She’d been in the Resistance, and done good, and more than that, she was a doctor. She’d worked all her life to help people, and she was still doggedly doing that.
Julia blinked, her vision misty. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, before rising stiffly. Even if she put aside her selfish happiness – and she never entirely could – there was Emily. Wasn’t that enough to justify everything?
***
Story: Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Vienna Orange #2 (How much did we lose to live this way?)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-Numbers (from
shadowsong26: it was worth it, I think… I hope) + Novelty Beads (from shadowsong26: Of course, “I’m sorry” doesn’t always cut it.)Word Count: 538
Rating: PG
Warnings: Grief/loss.
Notes: 1992; Julia Graves.
Summary: Julia makes a pilgrimage that’s been denied her till now.
***
Julia walked along uneven paved stones, following the path through the old cemetery. The grave she was looking for was somewhere to the left of the path in the middle section. She’d know it when she saw it. She couldn’t quite remember what kind of stone she’d chosen. In the midst of the world falling about her ears, it had seemed too ironic to care about.
Thirty years had passed since. It felt like a century, and she a ghost returning to haunt the place. Then the path slanted west and the sight of a gnarled, ivy-wound tree made her heart clench with its unexpected familiarity, and that was a lie: it had been no time at all.
Julia turned in across the grass at a cherub-topped monument that she recalled staring hard at while they’d all stood around the grave. Two more steps brought her to the spot.
She knelt down by the stone, joints stiff with damp and years, and tugged out the weeds and long grass from its base. “You know,” she said to its unheeding occupant, “I’m surprised Hallam didn’t try to do something with the cemeteries. Not very much use in them, really. I’m sure he could have found one if he’d tried.”
Edward would have given her a reproachful look at her poor taste. Julia sighed, and leant forward, putting a hand to the neat capitals carved into the marble as they wept green stains. His name, the dates. In loving memory. Her chest constricted and tears stung her eyes. She’d taken him to Scotland with her, and talked to him there, but she’d begun to feel as if she’d only imagined him all along. He had always been a little implausible. Julia smiled.
“Well, here we both are at last.” She drew back. They had made such a terrible mess of everything between them. They weren’t really responsible for Hallam, but despite their efforts to stop him, they might have even helped him. “Emily doesn’t want to see me again. Elizabeth, I mean. I can’t blame her, but I wish I knew what to do.”
That is up to her, he’d probably say. He was more patient than she was.
Julia screwed up her face. “I can’t just leave it there. I need to explain properly, at least.”
Edward was dead, and she had spent twenty years and more in exile, tending vegetables. Emily – Elizabeth – had made her own path in life. Julia closed her eyes against the regrets: she could have shot Hallam. Or maybe if only she and Edward had behaved like normal people in the beginning –
But if they had, Julia would never have run away with him. Maybe she’d have died in Paris. She could never unwish her time with Edward – and then there was Emily. She’d been in the Resistance, and done good, and more than that, she was a doctor. She’d worked all her life to help people, and she was still doggedly doing that.
Julia blinked, her vision misty. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, before rising stiffly. Even if she put aside her selfish happiness – and she never entirely could – there was Emily. Wasn’t that enough to justify everything?
***
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