[He stays silent at that, letting his gaze drop to the road as he begins to lead her toward her home. She would be fine as long as she could get home. Edward could only hope that would be the case.]
[She refuses to cry about this. It's not even the first time she's died, she reminds herself. She thinks back to when she arrived here the first time, how she'd nervously kept her hand around her throat as Vincent had walked with her to meet Elliot without realizing why.
That same free hand moves up to rest on her neck now, tracing a line across her throat. She doesn't feel a scar, even though for some reason she'd expected to this time.]
What did you say before? You saw me as a restless spirit?
Do you not believe me? What I saw was true...I was overwhelmed, perhaps, but I wasn't mad. I'm sure of what I saw...and if you had seen what I had, you would feel the same.
I've fought the undead before. Confronting a restless spirit however was a new experience altogether.
It was an accusation from your phantom...nevermind it. It isn't important any longer. What is important is that you are here and whole and alive. I cannot thank God enough for the relief I feel.
[She still has no recollection of it, but from the way he's speaking about it she's starting to believe that it could really be true. Her life really is cursed, no matter where she exists.
She slumps against him, grasps his arm tighter to indicate that he should stop so that she can catch her breath. But she's shaking harder now, feeling faint and ill. There's only so much that can be repressed, but suddenly she feels herself become sick with anxiety. No matter how much she wants to run from her family name, it's written on her soul; a family cursed and tainted from the beginning.]
[He stops immediately, worried as he watches her tremble. Immediately he's cursing himself. What sort of fool would be so inconsiderate to say such a thing?]
I never should have said a word. I'm a fool.
[With the way she's begun to slump he's afraid she might fall and he draws her close to him, supporting her. She can hate him for it later.]
[She nods and continues holding tight to him so that he can lead her home. She stays silent the rest of the way aside from the strained, nervous sound of her breathing.]
[Inwardly kicking himself all the way to her home, when the two arrive at her door. He reaches for the key to her house from his pocket, unlocking the door and leading her inside. She needs tea and a soft bed and warm blankets, amongst other things.]
[She's a little surprised when he unlocks the door for her, but then remembers that she'd given him the key a few months before, after Morgana had left. She trusted him with it when she couldn't trust many others.]
All right.
[She lets herself be led to wherever he chooses to take her inside the house.]
[He leads her into the kitchen, pulling out a chair for her and coaxing her to sit down at the table. If she cares to notice, she'll see that all her flower arrangements are in good health and there is a new one, right in the middle of the table itself - a new addition she herself had never made.
Once she's sitting he busies himself with setting up the kettle and getting a cup and saucer out from the cupboard to set it before her.]
[She's kept her eyes on the table, on her hands, on the ground since they entered, but it's the scent of lavender that brings her eyes back up to the middle of the table. She stares at the arrangement, picking apart the meanings that he's chosen. Statice - lasting beauty. One of the brother's favorite flowers, she recalls. Pink roses - admiration and sympathy. Zinnia - in memory of an absent friend. A sprig of lily of the valley - sweetness, humility. She hadn't lied entirely before; her mind is a mess at the moment. But these are all things that she can read as plain as words on paper. She hasn't noticed the hyacinth sitting in a separate vase at the other end of the table just yet, too busy focusing on each of the flowers he's chosen for this particular arrangement.
She doesn't know if she should scream or cry or smash this vase to a million pieces. He would know that she'd be able to see the true meaning behind the decoration, but had he expected her to come back? Was this meant to be left in memorial or for her to see?
She stands up, the chair scraping across the floor in her haste, and both hands brace herself on the table as she glares across the room at him.]
What is this?! Why - why did you put these here?! [She looks from the vase back to him.]
[He'd had his back turned as he'd been reaching for the sugar in the cupboard. The sound of the chair scraped against his ears as did the slap of hands against the wooden table. Immediately he spun around on his heels, staring wide-eyed at her, clearly startled, before he dropped his gaze to the table, visibly paling.
Oh. Right. He'd left those there, hadn't he?]
...It was the best I could do. [He starts off, voice even but quiet. His intention hadn't exactly been for her to see them. They were there mostly for memory's sake.] In lieu of a proper funeral.
[So then it really was meant to be a remembrance. Back home, no one would be left to make her a bouquet to place on her grave, let alone one as thoughtful as this one. Was this really how he'd seen her? He'd said it before in fewer words, but flowers spoke the words that people were unable to say, and only feel in their hearts. It's a lesson that her mother taught her once, one that she used mostly for herself and rarely towards others.
There's nothing more touching that he could possibly do, and she has no idea how to handle it.
She doesn't smash the vase and scream. She only sits back down, slumped over in the chair, and rests her forehead in one hand. This day really is getting to be too much to handle.]
[Worry clearly etches itself onto Edward's brow as he stares at her, chest aching. The strain on Vanessa is clear - she couldn't hide it if she tried. Grabbing the sugar he sets it down, bringing the teacup and saucer over, along with a bit of milk. The tea too, is poured without a word, the teapot set down after he'd done so.
He's not sure what to do or say. All he wants to do is ease her suffering, more than anything.]
If they have offended you, I'll take them away immediately.
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As you wish.
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That same free hand moves up to rest on her neck now, tracing a line across her throat. She doesn't feel a scar, even though for some reason she'd expected to this time.]
What did you say before? You saw me as a restless spirit?
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Yes. Haunting the place where you had been struck down.
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Edward...were you really that mad with grief?
[She sounds concerned, but still a little stern.]
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I've fought the undead before. Confronting a restless spirit however was a new experience altogether.
[One he never wishes to repeat.]
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[She shudders at the idea that her body could have become something so twisted without her permission or her knowledge.]
No, it's impossible. That sort of thing doesn't happen here! You have to be mistaken!
[Now she's the one who sounds hysterical.]
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[The accusation of lying still rings in his ears from when he'd found her in the alleyway. It hurts.]
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[Her voice is much smaller now.]
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She slumps against him, grasps his arm tighter to indicate that he should stop so that she can catch her breath. But she's shaking harder now, feeling faint and ill. There's only so much that can be repressed, but suddenly she feels herself become sick with anxiety. No matter how much she wants to run from her family name, it's written on her soul; a family cursed and tainted from the beginning.]
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I never should have said a word. I'm a fool.
[With the way she's begun to slump he's afraid she might fall and he draws her close to him, supporting her. She can hate him for it later.]
I'm sorry.
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No...I was the fool for thinking that -
[That I could escape the curse of my existence.]
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[And then she says, without thinking:]
It was my fault. I'd started it -
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[He pauses, still holding her to him.]
You mean to say you instigated the attack against you...?
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N-no...never mind, I can't remember. My mind is a mess.
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Come, I'll make you some tea.
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All right.
[She lets herself be led to wherever he chooses to take her inside the house.]
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Once she's sitting he busies himself with setting up the kettle and getting a cup and saucer out from the cupboard to set it before her.]
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She doesn't know if she should scream or cry or smash this vase to a million pieces. He would know that she'd be able to see the true meaning behind the decoration, but had he expected her to come back? Was this meant to be left in memorial or for her to see?
She stands up, the chair scraping across the floor in her haste, and both hands brace herself on the table as she glares across the room at him.]
What is this?! Why - why did you put these here?! [She looks from the vase back to him.]
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[He'd had his back turned as he'd been reaching for the sugar in the cupboard. The sound of the chair scraped against his ears as did the slap of hands against the wooden table. Immediately he spun around on his heels, staring wide-eyed at her, clearly startled, before he dropped his gaze to the table, visibly paling.
Oh. Right. He'd left those there, hadn't he?]
...It was the best I could do. [He starts off, voice even but quiet. His intention hadn't exactly been for her to see them. They were there mostly for memory's sake.] In lieu of a proper funeral.
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There's nothing more touching that he could possibly do, and she has no idea how to handle it.
She doesn't smash the vase and scream. She only sits back down, slumped over in the chair, and rests her forehead in one hand. This day really is getting to be too much to handle.]
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He's not sure what to do or say. All he wants to do is ease her suffering, more than anything.]
If they have offended you, I'll take them away immediately.
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