the butterfly's dream. [wip]

[Frederica 0]

Frederica Grey 
She/Her   ||   10 > 12 (16)  {}  DoB: Dec. 17   ||   4'11"

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things in the cellar beneath edith grey's rose bushes on the 6th of november 2022, 05:30 cest:

﹝a portable heater. not enough for an abandoned wine storage nor to share. it's impossible to come here during the winter. but on cold spring and autumn nights where frederica drops straight down the hatch and bangs her knees on the hard soil, a violently shivering bundle of dusty winter coats on the ground after braving the couple yards' trek, it can last her a few if she hugs her knees and sits right by its side. the appliances store two blocks from their compound sells better stuff, and frederica knows this because she has her own heater in her room and their family buys all of their things from the same places, but what she knows she doesn't know are the right words to match the face edith made when she approached her with all of her prepared words, logos-ethos-and-pathos, other than 'edith loves me like she loves everyone else, so she wouldn't look at me like that,' and 'i don't want to see anything like it again.'﹞

﹝three aisles of wine racks. they're arranged like this: edith's miscellany, then empty glass bottles and other things from before the land was bought up by their families some generations ago and knowledge of the cellar's existence slipped through the cracks of the transfer, then frederica's single row of books. sharing the same secret does not bring them close, even though frederica loves edith like she loves all of her neighbors. edith keeps to her miscellany and maintains everything, and frederica sits in the corner farthest from the hatch and the book warming her lap is a coin toss between corpus hermeticum and a novel from a seven-long children's series about wizards and wizarding schools, its pages lovingly worn. she's known this place ever since she was just barely able to reach the highest shelves; now the top of her head is level with them and her collection has only grown by one.﹞

﹝stool. lamp. dry snacks in a woven basket. none of the essentials have been displaced.﹞

﹝something hard and metallic that she bumps her foot into as she's making her way to edith's things. white box, red handle, a mockery of a cross. she jostles it with her heel and hears the small bottles rolling about within. edith collects medications from a place far, far away from their home, and she takes them. they don't work. frederica doesn't know why she still tries, for it is not a lack of choice -- not when frederica's own parents offer more effective remedies to all of their neighbors including edith and her family at such low prices they're practically free. once, frederica acted on her concern and cracked open the lid and poured out all of the bottles' contents on the rose bushes and edith

    if only edith kept medicine for flowers instead. edith left for a recital yesterday and never came back. now all of edith's flowers in the garden would wither. all of the pretty flowers would wither.﹞

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Spoiler

//yes hello, this is arabelle. i have a draft ready but it's too late at night to do anything other than formatting- there's another part to the history section and i'm not even done with part one yet. 

 

Edited November 11, 2021 by Frederica