& the perennial sadness

"𝖆𝖘 𝖎𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖕𝖑𝖚𝖘𝖍 𝖙𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖑, 𝖘𝖍𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖊𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖆𝖉𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖓."

"No! Stay the hell away from me! If you know what's good for you, you'll stay far, far away!" Tears were streaming down Mae's face. It pained her to say this but she knew it had to be said. "You have no idea, the terrible, terrible things I've done for what I thought was love. It was love for me, I doubt it was for him. You wouldn't do what he did to someone you loved, someone you loathed more like."

Victoria drew back as the other raised her voice, all the other's sadness mirrored in her concerned eyes. She couldn't help but think of another dear friend who loved someone who didn't deserve her, someone who only sought to exploit that love.

A chill ran through her spine thinking of how close she came and how many men like that there were still out there in the world. How many women had to pay the price for it, even if not with their lives. Emily could very well have found herself in that position had she been left alive (or herself).

Very slowly, Victoria inched closer towards Mae. She wanted so badly to rest a warm and gentle hand on her shoulder, but didn't want to upset her any more than she already had. "No matter, I'm sorry. Your love was taken advantage of and you deserved better."

"Oh. Um. Good for you." Mae said stiffly. "Sorry, I don't really know what to say in these situations, as you can probably tell." No one had ever really come out to her before. In an orgy, you'd just grab the nearest person regardless of gender and never speak about it afterwards. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me though. Have you told your parents? I'm not the best at keeping secrets." She thought of telling Jimmy that Jack was planning to frame him but quickly propelled it from her mind. Considering how close the Van Dort family were, Mae doubted Lily wouldn't tell them something so important and personal. "Have you ever been with a girl? I had a thing with Sally once."

Lily paused for a moment, trying to read her reaction and wondering if she should have covered up her stupid little slip of the tongue with a white lie instead of coming out to her family friend.

Once she'd thanked her and started to talk about her own experience, the nineteen-year-old inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The right people will understand, Mamma had told her, though not without a warning to be cautious with that in mind.

"Yes and yes. Thankfully, they don't mind as long as I keep it on the downlow." It wasn't that they were embarrassed so much as worried for her safety (or so she constantly assured herself).

"I have a girl and she's wonderful, loved her since we were just kids." She thought of Adelaide, her curls and her smile, their foreheads and lips pressed together before they'd said goodbye last. "Was it like that with your Sally or was it just...a 'thing'?"

"It's silly, really, but sometimes, I feel like our new neighbor is watching me. Even when he couldn't possibly be. I hope he knows I'm happily married." And she was very handy with a fireplace poker.

"Has he...dropped by your house, by any chance?" Victoria was aware of the hushed comings and goings of Mae and her partner's little abode (though not of its exact nature). "Not that I mind, really, about that -- business." As long as she kept it away from her and her family which her friend proved more than capable of.

For all her waxing poetic about the beauty of nature, Jerrie Rathaway was decidedly not a cabin-in-the woods person. The gloom and isolation did wonders at the seashore, but in this dingy little place, it made her want to bang her head against the wall and scream.

She supposed she was grateful the parents were in the (of course, more luxurious and less cramped) cabin across the little stone walkway from theirs. It was a comfort to have someone who hated being there as much as she did, much less her best friend. At least when they weren't going to perish from boredom.

Jerrie had already read every single book in the cabin, so she laid on the floor, one hand dramatically rested on her forehead like a sickly girl in a Victorian novel and the other running its fingers over the tiling. It wasn't the best stim, but it was something. Said hand slipped, one of the tiles starting to wriggle, and the eleven-year-old sat upright. Carefully, she moved it back and forth again until it came apart, and soon after she was doing the same to some of the others.

"Darling, how you flatter me!" Emily beamed, completely oblivious to the fact that the man was more horrified than enthralled by her.

"Hm?" Emily turned to the young girl. She'd been so lost in her own little world she'd hardly even noticed the new arrival. Thankfully, it wasn't often they were children, but at least poor little Margo and Michael had someone to play with now.

She smiled at her somewhat sadly. "Thank you, sweetheart. It was my mother's and so much more beautiful when--" She stopped herself, not wanting to remind the girl of the world she'd left behind and would never see again.

"Oh, nevermind when! I like yours, too. I wish ladies could go about in short dresses instead of tripping over our skirts." Emily leaned in to whisper with a wry little smile. "Not the most practical when you've got nothing but bones for a leg."

"Not likely she'll have to worry about that ever again," came a wormy little voice from her ear. "At least about skirts. I give those tiny little legs a year or two before they're in worse shape than yours."