#Jaime probably thought he wanted a soft helpless woman but not anymore | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

piecebymiserablepiece · 6 years

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Burial

The rain, when it fell, was soft and light, nearly a mist as Winter had its first givings about turning to spring. The wind whistled softly in the quiet field where the Madame stood, so much so that she could hear even the beating of her own heart. She clutched her flowers and a wooden box to her chest, closing her eyes and listening to the wind for a few moments longer. A glance- almost a means of security- back at Nick, who remained in his spot: leaning against a tree with a cigarette held loosely in his hand. There was no danger, but still she wanted to run back to him, summoning up all of her nerve to stay where she was. The cemetery was empty. He’d made sure of that. She looked a few rows away from her, upon the grave she visited before this one. The Reverend Doctor Marcus McDonald Oglivy. The flower she left there was a half-hearted apology, slightly damaged when her composure slipped and her hand had clenched too tightly around it. She had the least amount of pity for him. Even so, the brutal scene that had marked his last moments-...she wouldn’t be able to burn the aftermath of what her motley had done out of her hand. Not after being the last person to see him before the fight. She shook her head, and looked at the graves in front of her, much closer together. One stone for Malcolm. The sibling. She could still hear his slow, smug drawl. She hadn’t expected him when she took on his sister’s, Jaime’s, face. She hadn’t expected his zeal over protecting her. She hadn’t expected the cruel, perverse monster, either. Violent, depraved, tortuous-...she had made a mistake posing as one of his loved ones. Of seeing the human side of him.

She wondered if he was buried under the dirt, her gloved hand picking nervously at one of her flowers and settling it down on the grave. She wondered if it was salvageable. She could still feel the heat and fury of overwhelming grief in her body. The realization that maybe, maybe he could have been fixed still plagued her conscience- monsters don’t just come out of nowhere. He was unconscious. Helpless. And she’d cried in that room alone with him for an hour before she’d ignored her motley’s wishes and stabbed him until he was more viscera than man.

Gone now. The only harmful part of him anymore were the memories. She wondered if he worried about his sister in his final conscious moments. The Madame looked over at the second grave, almost sad that her mantle afforded enough light to read it clearly. McKennas. Both of them. Jaime, the monster whose death started it all- the one that the Madame tried to become simply to get rid of a threat. Her husband. The other McKenna. They were given the same grave. Of course they did, Jaime had no body- why waste the space? Her husband’s death was the source of the Madame’s worst nightmares, though. An innocent man, a blind, sick fellow who simply thought a beautiful woman had fallen for him. The unknowing bank of the Ashwood Abbey. His note was with the box. “I left to be with Jaime.” Grief clouded her eyes, dripping down her face nigh-uncontrollably. She never should have tried to help him. Of course he’d know his wife more than anyone else- know she’d never genuinely be kind. The Madame had driven an innocent man to suicide.

And it hurt. It hurt the worst out of all of this. She adjusted her skirts, crouching down and grabbing the shovel sticking out of the ground beside her. A small frown crossed her face when she saw that the dirt was loose. She stole a glance back at her husband- the look on the monarch’s face said it all. That was his doing. Probably more concern for her. Some hidden part of her was grateful. The pain probably wouldn’t make her strong enough to do this on her own. Digging still took ages. Her breath was haggard by the end of it, though she made sure it was never visible to the man nearby. The occasional hand on her abdomen was the only indication she had any discomfort. She dug with as much strength her grief could give her. At all the pain at the death of the utter monsters that were oh so pitiable- and the victim of suicide who had heard too much. She hit the coffin lid with her shovel, then cleared the dirt around it, taking a moment to relax.

Her voice was nearly a whisper when she spoke.

“Sorry, sir- for intruding one more time.” her hands gripped the lid of the coffin “But there’s still something I feel I ought to do for you.” Glamour surged through her fingertips, and she removed the lid with ease.

The smell was enough to nearly kill her. The sight was likely to as well.

Her movements were fast, and laden with apology. She opened the lid of the box she had with her, and gingerly placed Jaime’s bones next to his. A final gift to a man the world had wronged.

Cleaning up was easier. Refilling the hole was easier. Leaving with Nick was easier.

The grief, however, was not.

#changeling the lost #ashwood abbey

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