She was so proper. So beautiful and wealthy. And healthy. Brona knew she had blown up at Ethan at the theatre- and she had apologized for it that morning- but could anyone really blame her? When he had women of this caliber in his life, wasn’t it natural for her to feel lesser, and therefore undeserving? Nevertheless, the Irish woman put on a smile.
“I don’ doubt it. The first half was brilliant. ‘m sorry I missed it.”
her departure from the Grand Guignol the previous night was not inexplicable. despite rousing conversation, Brona felt alienated in some form - alone within a crowded room - a state Miss Ives was not unfamiliar with. & if had not been for Mr. Gray at her side, Vanessa would have felt disenfranchised as well.
❝ murderous nannies and crazed surgeons with vengeful patients made for an interesting end to the night. ❞
what amusement poured from her was the indicator of her ghoulish tendencies beneath unwavering poise.
He follows her as closely as the most obedient of hounds, though there’s a certain ( and very unintentional ) wobble to his gait. Ethan seems to be having a small amount of trouble walking straight, which can no doubt be pinned on the large amount of alcohol he’s consumed over the past few days. But it makes him feel so much better.
"Maybe not as good a cook as you’re imagining.“ That is at least coupled with a small laugh, to make a man that now looks more ragged than rugged seem a little lighter for a few short moments.
She would have liked him to be smiling.
"I’m good with spices,” he tells her after a short silence, and another of the sort follows on after it. There’s little desire in him to speak, though he’s sure that will be remedied soon enough. Still, it would be quite rude to ignore Vanessa purely because he doesn’t quite feel like talking. It won’t be the most painful thing in the world to force a little bit of conversation, just for the walk.
"What about you, Miss Ives? Do you cook at all?”
though accursed, darkened with hidden depths, his presence would often surround her with warmth - strange but invited to provide silent comfort nonetheless. conjuring c onversation from the emptiness of air was a specialty of Vanessa’s ; a means to avoid certain subjects - to dodge intrusive questions which strove to pry open her multitude of mysteries.
though liquor provided most, Mr. Chandler included, with the solace of numbness ; Miss Ives found herself unable to consume it on such a scale for a loss of control - though momentary - could be d i s a s t r o u s .
( intemperance would be a journey Ethan would make alone. )
❝ —— so i’ve heard. ❞
naturally his mirth would spark a small smile, painted on thin lips, her pace slowing to ensure if she was required to steady his stance, her assistance would be within reach. & with his query, memories soon came rapping at the door that barred them.
❝ very little. there were others who cooked for us. ❞
a moment - a breath before she continued.
❝ i would often spend my days with Mina, at her home. we both sought to learn from those in Sir Malcolm’s kitchen. though my passions lied beyond the contents of a spice box. ❞
(& not becoming the adequate wife nor homemaker. she was meant for M O R E - she knew then she had to have been. )
They were all around her, they were chasing her, they were trying to attack her. They never stopped. Even when she tried to be invisible, even when she thought she was just out of reach, she could see the shadow behind her, chasing her through alleys and unknown streets where she tried to escape them.
R u n . R u n . R u n .
Did it matter? She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t be. She could only run and close her eyes and try to not see the wolves, to not see the faces of those she had lost T o o s o o n . T o o l a t e . T o o t h e r e . And how could she run? How could anyone run from their past? Outrun it? Overpower it?
Except there was nothing to outrun, there was nothing that others could see chasing her, purely the ghosts of her mind which refused to l e a v e . It was her father, her mother, her brother… All demanding to know why she had not saved them, why was she not with them, why had she not returned home… Certainly one of those, certainly. { how pathetic that she could not even know that }
All she knew was that regardless of what others did not see, regardless of what they thought the truth about her, regardless of everyone around her, she had to keep going at the brisk pace she had grown accustomed to so they would not catch up to her. They could never catch up to her, that would be her doom. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew.
Sometimes rumours were a curious thing and those surrounding this house were as such. Half-whispers caught among the streets of what happened to his far away daughter, of what she had become… No one truly knew, but there were the whispers about her becoming something different. People always failed to notice how much of a trail they left behind.
One knock. Two.
And then the wolves were at the corner of her eye, coming closer, thinking they could approach. And she knocked harder, more insistent, sprinkled with the fear growing inside her heart. She just wanted it to s t o p . She pay any price for the quiet.
onyx would grace her frame for a time, the subconscious drawn to the darker colour palette -
- to mourn the death of her companion ? - the state of her soul ? the mark upon it ? - innocence long since forsaken ?
no matter the reason, her attire accompanied the blackened night just beyond the transparency of her window, the moon full - a ray of luminescence emitted in a feeble attempt to provide the warmth & comfort the sun only could.
curtains would once again shield her from the prying gaze of onlookers, perhaps if they were ever curious enough to lift their eyes, to know what exist s beyond their minuscule fantasy of normalcy. though disenfranchised from the populous ; Vanessa could not relinquish power to become mundane. freedom from this thing, this demon, would only come with the ceasing of her reality.
for now, she was cursed to the demimonde, caught between worlds - one of tangible existence ; the other of the occult - of restless spirits, monstrosity & lost souls. it became her cross to bear, knees not yet & to never buckle beneath the weight.
one entity would remain at the forefront of her thoughts, the woman freed from the grasp of the beast. Mina’s letters remained contained in the box for which Miss Ives left them, contemplation rich on her visage, azure irises rising to the flickering flames of the fireplace.
but as the thought crossed her addled mind, the atmosphere was altered. a tinge of panic & arresting fear infiltrated the air, invisible to most, they were tangible to her rarity. feet carried her to the window once more, the scene of young woman with hair of auburn, reminiscent of the flames she had considered moments ago.
& as the girl’s feet moved with a fury to Malcolm’s doorstep, Vanessa began her own pensive journey to intercept her, knocks echoing throughout the space when her frame was just inches away. unlatching the door, it revealed the beauty of presumed innocence- a picturesque representation of the maiden poets would allude to but beauty could not conceal a soul in p e r i l.
as coffee colored eyes gazed at the woman approaching him with gracious steps, Frederick allowed himself to minimize the distance in between them with a few strides of his own. many would say he did it out of some sort of chivalry, yet the answer was simple from his previous place he couldn’t see a single thing and it was bothering him beyond compare.
❝ Inspector Frederick Abberline. Charmed to make your acquaintance. ❞
line which was drilled into his mind and used every time he found himself in a company of a strange woman did not betray him even now, carrying undertones of both - politeness and charm at the same time. years of living in solitude had not erased the knowledge of manners he held within his messy mind, that was the only good thing which remained with him after his wife and son’s decease.
❝ Not to worry, mademoiselle, I’m here only to ask only a few questions about the most recent crime in Whitechapel’s district, if you have heard of it yet. ❞
at least of her, that was. a woman with such skills, yet alone killing off her own kin,so to speak, was not something possible around here. no matter of her rank, whether bangtail or a duchess she was they were too delicate and fragile to commit a crime of such mass.
❝ ——– a pleasure, Inspector. ❞
charm radiated from the Inspector leaving Miss Ives to thwart its influence just as she had at she &Mr. Chandler’s first encounters. enigmatic solemnity was all her features would allow to be betrayed. there was little need to fret in the presence of a lawman, knowing there was nothing to conceal in this estate.
( granted, poor Fenton whom was chained in the bowels of Sir Malcolm’s home had long since perished - the death of their most easily discovered mystery. )
an idle thought then slithered within her psyche, attempting to recollect if crimson had been cleansed from the window sill where he met his fate. Fenton was not the cause for this man’s visit - no, not when rumors poisoned the masses of The Ripper’s return, bodies shredded & torn to bits.
not trademarks to their creature’s hunting patterns nor the marks of the infamous demon that haunted Abberline. gruesome homicide piqued her own demon’s interest, intrigued as claws pierced a newly reinforced barrier between them.
❝ i have ; as has most of London —- —- come, let us continue in my study. ❞
a pause commenced as her stance opened in the hopes to lead him from the foyer to her domain, steps carrying her to its door. creaking open, it revealed a table nearly empty but for two decks of eminence-tinted cards amidst walls of literature.
once within, her voice sounded once more, modulated with level intonation while slipping into her seat at the table.
❝ is this in regards to Sir Malcolm’s curiosity in such matters ? ❞
A distraction; a godsend. There was nothing quite so diverting as following his own marked trails on the map hung above him, fingers tracing, sticking pins to mark where things had been or events had occurred. Lines formed crossroads, places Malcolm would have sold his soul for a shred of clue to where that river began. He had more than one reason to do so now, and it was apparent to him that no matter which he found first— his daughter, the source of the Nile, his last scrap of humanity— he would still be looking for at least the rest of his life to find the other two. His listlessness was a constant, despite the fact that it was as inappropriate a time for wanderlust as ever there had been. Though he supposed it didn’t matter superbly now, while he was alone.
Malcolm caught the sound of footsteps, a pattern so light he originally assumed they were Sembene. The man’s lightness of foot was impressive, no doubt from years of stalking silently across the cluttered ground in jungles and across the plains. There was a pointed difference however, each footfall was faster, and the air in the room seemed to change once he had received the company. He chanced a look over his shoulder, laying eyes on Vanessa.
After a short pause, he turned back to his work. “It’s a bit humid tonight.” He commented idly, no real stock in it. The statement itself was rather more of an attempt to break the silence and inspire her to talk with him. If all went well, Vanessa and Malcolm could have a nice, although somewhat guarded, conversation. Perhaps they could reminisce about days long past, if they were lucky. There was a sort of delicate dance he felt they both participated in, stepping over the pitfalls of certain subjects, opposing opinions waiting to snare. The main subject of their disagreement being his daughter, her best friend.
There were times, however, that one or both of them, would spring the subject with intent. In all truth, the culprit behind doing so was of little consequence, because both Malcolm and Vanessa would lash out with no mercy; each cruel, each unyielding, with no real care as to who started what, so long as it ended with the both of them being wounded.
He gave some thought as to why she had approached him tonight, news of Mina always the hope waiting in the his mind.
attempting to foster interaction with Mina, pouring over her tarot cards - shuffling, splaying, selecting - then waiting to note any sign. but all that was derived was static, matters of irrelevance at the moment, visions & glimpses. an hour then two passed before she found the prodding to be futile, leaving to find new means of entertainment.
she could leave, dress for an evening out, seek out that whom speaks to her so sweetly, drawing her in to drown in sin. he was temptation incarnate - even in thought he nearly succeeded in bringing her out from the estate. instead she remained, brewing herself a pot of tea, not bothering Sembene to do it. no, he had to be off completing a task for Sir Malcolm.
& as she exited to make her way to her chambers, to transcribe another letter to her dearest Mina, the rustling in the den caught her attention. her approach was quiet, stealthy as rounded the corner, oddly reminiscent of the night which had altered her existence forever. there she spotted Malcolm pouring over maps, feverish to unravel the mystery of the Nile.
with the weight of their current endeavor, most would be astonished at his ability to even fathom traveling, exploring another continent with his daughter still no more than an occasion spectre to them - but Vanessa was not. had that not been his status to her ? — one moment he’s there assuming the role of a father & the next he is gone, vanity driving him to become relevant amongst those other pompous men.
❝ something you are familiar with i presume. ❞
an empty retort to his hollow suggestion for conversation, spoken as her tea was rested upon the table.
❝ was it often humid there ? ❞
it was, she knew the answer but this would open a door she needed ajar, especially Victor’s similarities to dearly departed Peter - to ensure the Doctor was not influenced into the same fate.
gray mars the sky that would otherwise brighten a spirit quite desperately in n e e d of something so light. alas, unable to find beauty out of doors, the young mister gray must look within.
no, no not there. ( never there )
within the walls of such an exhibition, perhaps he may find something to chase away the creeping desolation coloring his every day. after all, it has only ever been beauty, in its purest and most honest forms, that has been able to shake the young man to his very soul.
if beauty were to reach so deep again, what would she find?
as ever, the portraits draw the young man’s gaze. faces, expressions, souls held to the canvas for all eternity. oh has any man ever felt so kindred to such a thing before?
parted lips press, then part again. it is not a portrait that draws the eye now, yet she is as beautiful as any work of art in the gallery. dorian nearly turns;; nearly leaves;; the woman has made him feel such things he must never be the same man he was before.
but o h to feel such things
”macabre,” he says, hands clasped behind his back as he steps beside his mystery. eyes are locked forward, on the work of art that now seems to hold little beauty at all. not next to such a creature.
“if we all looked s o beautiful in death,” he murmurs, gazing upon the painted maiden, “perhaps we would not be so afraid to die.“
gaze burning into the canvas, transfixed, limbs aching to reach out, to touch & feel each stroke the artist’s brush took, to know the conviction in each movement to produce creation. desires were dulled by a psyche so lost, toiling away at interpretation , realizing the horrifying depths in which the piece echoed with her.
what could break such a trance but the presence of another sharing her rarity as he so eloquently spoke. sparks upon her fingertips, the air that had been so dull awakened with life, each breeze whispering to her.
(turn, look upon something beautiful. revel in its mystery)
but Vanessa remained, stare steeled ahead until lashes would flutter at the break of silence. & the darkness within her stirred, knowing the key that had unlocked its chains to allow for complete infestation. fear crept in, fear of loss of self-control, not when he was so difficult to resist unless she remained cold, suffocatingly austere.
❝ beautiful, yes, but far from serene. ❞
with his own interpretation, her’s spilled from her lips with ease, hands resting flush against the raven fabric her attire …
❝ the maiden is reluctant, not wanting, fearing, terrified, even. as if to say, ‘ wait, not me. don’t you see the life i have yet to live ? the future before me ?’ … but Death wants her, needs her - is it her or her soul he desires ? ❞
( a pause to inhale then exhale as she continues. )
❝ within the chaos of their encounter, her sorrow and grief, she feels a strange sense of comfort. as you can see … ❞
Miss Ives stepped closer, a hand raising to illuminate the features she has honed in on.
❝ … one hand grips one of Death’s limb whilst the other forces him away - a sign of her own inner struggle. —- to succumb and know the beauty of death or deny him and allow her beauty to know the suffering that awaits her in life ? ❞
& through the corner of her eye, she peeked at Mr. Gray, wondering if he would grow similarly enamoured while uttering her conclusion.
❝ is Death a saviour or a cruel spirit seeking to pluck those from life when at its peak ? ❞
That earns the most genuine smile he’s managed for quite a while now, though this one is twinged with a different sort of sadness. Memories of the Vanessa that had asked him so earnestly to end her life still linger in the very forefront of his troubled mind and oh, as if he could ever have done such a thing. To her.
“You talk like there was ever a chance that I was gonna leave.”
And truly, there never was.
“Sir Malcolm’s own?” He can only imagine the looks he’d earn from the old explorer if he were to ever discover he and Vanessa had plundered his personal stock. He would no doubt turn into quite the disapproving father, which honestly only tempts Ethan further.
"Alright, Miss Ives, you’ve won me over.” To his feet he rises, scooping up his hat and placing it atop his head.
It would seem to be Vanessa’s turn to work miracles.
there is a glimmer of remembrance, a phantom of memory, one diseased, weakened, corrupt only to leave lasting desolation. death, silence, the release of pain had been so comforting a thought - to abandon suffering for serenity. now, death surrounded her, surrounded them both.
( no more let life d i v i d e ; what DEATH can join together)
his response provided comfort, the same genuine warmth he had extended to her wretched self. she had been more than alien, a cruel little girl, an instrument to be used & the catalyst to destruction in his gaze.
for once she had felt … h u m a n.
the recollection of such treatment warranted another smile, the only response to his statement. he must know the same care would be reciprocated.
❝ his very own. ❞
a nod affirmed her parroted answer, triumph swelling beneath a collected mask, knowing she had conquered the affinity for solitude for a moment. footfalls would serve to lead him from his bar stool, ushering him to join her.
❝ Sembene has mentioned you are quite the cook. ❞
an eerie tranquility had fallen like a veil over Sir Malcolm’s estate following the death of Mina. sorrow’s weight was unmistakable in the surrounding air, ever present & teeming from the home’s owner. revere had taken the place of disdain, comforted by the notion that he knew her daughter’s inevitable fate when past the point of no return. even when absent from the corridors, the weight of his loss could be felt, leaving Vanessa to reside in her study, occupying time with the cards upon her table.
shortly after, Malcolm had left, Miss Ives had sent for Frankenstein with a rather innocent agenda, one of the utmost gratitude. she had the moment to express such to Mr. Chandler but not to the man who had kept her alive, just strong enough to fight with the best of her abilities. & before his feet could cross the threshold, Vanessa sensed his approach, rising from her seat to exit the room to greet him.
❝ —- welcome, Doctor. i hope to not occupy too much of your afternoon. ❞
gray was the sky, the colour round her, every object lost in some static neutrality. disenchantment would be the plague upon her rarity, a dreadful curse to never truly belong. & what once had caused her to be part of a whole, to offer reprieve from her cynicism was dismissed ; rejected to be left amongst the desolation & vivid memories.
freedom had been fleeting, her cage now the oppressive silence of resolution she yearned to escape - released from the shackles of guilt. what was she to do ? strive for normalcy ? to surrender power ? to bow to the weight of the burden this curse inflicted ? the only temporary escape was to cross the threshold to the latest showcase of art in London, crystalline irises admiring portrait after portrait, sparing an obligatory glance to the serene landscapes.
but the masterpiece to catch her attention was that of a young maiden - innocent, untainted, in the prime of her existence - entangled in the cold, decrepit bones of Death himself. this was where Vanessa paused, lost in admiration while colour began to bleed past the monochrome world.
Succumb to another coughing fit, Brona was huddled beside a building, out of the way of the people on the street. Balling up the filthy rag and stuffing it inside her coat, she turned around and attempted to shun the looks from passers-by. That was, until she noticed a familiar one. She would’ve just turned and walked away but the other woman had seen her; that would be rude. “Ms. Ives. I didn’ expect ta see you around here.”
laden with physical illness, bouts of coughing fits were a daily occurrence but those of status would view the situation in passing with revulsion. the clairvoyant simply watched on, ambiguous concern furrowing her brow. a lost cause - but one that won the heart of Mr. Chandler. valiantly the body would battle the organism until it would submit ;fatigued. a future easily read whilst Brona was greeted with a small smile sparked from manners she had learned in childhood teachings.
❝ nor I you, Miss Croft. you had missed a wonderfully gruesome second act last evening.❞
