Walls that I Have Grown

Isis lead the girl towards the house, stepping inside and inviting the girl in with her. There was a part of Isis that felt like an utter fool, letting an unknown girl inside for tea. But she looked so small, frightened, cold. But she’d always loved to take in stray animals as a child, warm them up and give them a place to rest before sending them on their way. Maybe this was a stray girl who needed a place to rest for a while?

As Misty stepped into the house, she felt a bit taken aback at the absolute homey feel to it. Really, it reminded her of her little shack in the swamps, only this was a proper house, not some run down box that had her precious Fleetwood Mac echoing off of the walls. “Your house is lovely,” she found herself whispering, following Isis further into the house, looking around the kitchen in mild confusion. It wasn’t like the one at the Academy, that was for sure. And the swamp witch knew she had to stop comparing this home to the two places she could no longer return to.

Upon the mention of a mother, Misty wondered what exactly had happened that this girl would not want her mother to wake up. Misty sat down at the first chair she could find, tugging the girl’s jacket closer around her form when asked about who she was. “I’m Misty. Misty Day. And I’m from New Orleans. And I still don’t know how I ended up in the sea…”

"You're from . . ." Isis nearly laughed before realising how serious this was. "You're rather far from home, aren't you? Do you need help getting back? If you want, you can stay a while, I'm sure Mama would love to have you. She's very kind, really, the thing is . . . my other mum passed away recently . . . she's still grieving. She got very upset last night, so she might not be completely herself today, but I assure you that you'll love the real her."

Isis was silent for a bit, but then the kettle whistled. Isis grabbed it off the stove, and poured both of them cups of tea. "Do you take milk and sugar?" Isis asked, putting a little of each in her own cup. "After tea, you can have a shower if you want, and I'll get you some dry clothes." Isis wanted to care for this girl, at least for a little while.

Widget hoped he’d be a good father … he was young, he wasn’t sure.

Well. So was she, but that didn't really matter.

They were silent for a little while when Isis looked up at him, him cupping the woman’s face in his hand to run his thumb along her cheekbone. At her words, a smile broke across Widget’s face to match his wife’s. A baby. “Oh god, I’m so proud of you,” Widget said, beaming. “A baby … blimey. I’m going to be a dad,” he said. God, it terrified him, but he couldn’t wait. The two of them could do it, together.

Widget let out a shaky breath. Finally, a baby, a child for the two of them, the thing they’d been desperately wanting for so long now. He hoped to god she hadn’t had to handle the very beginning alone, though. “Did you go to a doctor, or did your mama do a scan in the TARDIS? And … and how far along are you?” He brushed his fingers over her stomach, smiling.

A family of her own, her own child with her husband. It was almost too much of a dream to be true, but it was real.

It was only then that she realized, in her thin clothes and shawl (she did check and yes, it was still the one given to her by Stevie), that she was shivering, from both the air and the bit of water that had managed to reach her before her awakening. Misty scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over herself, not yet balanced on her legs.

She wanted to find someone, a witch or another coven, ask them if they knew how she was alive. Then she remembered being buried alive by Madison, witch hunters burning her, a witch hunter attacking her at her own home, even the fear of Fiona killing her if she was the next Supreme. No. She couldn’t let any other witches know she was still alive, however it might have happened.

Misty walked up the path leading away from the beach, tugging her shawl tighter around her, freezing almost from the chill. The farther up the path she walked, the closer the sight of a house became, along with the sight of a girl around her age. Blonde and carrying an armful of flowers. The sight honestly made her heart ache, because she remembered Cordelia in her greenhouse, teaching her how to brew potions. Then she was being spoken to and Misty couldn’t even speak right away, her voice sounded raw when she finally did.

It was a minute, though, before she realised that the blonde girl in front of her reminded Isis of her Mama. As Isis got older, River would sometimes come through to the kitchen in the morning, squeeze Isis’s shoulder and kiss her head, tell her that last night was a bad night and to be gentle with her Mama. As if she ever wasn’t. It wasn’t long, though, before Isis learned to recognise the signs that a night had been full of nightmares or bad thoughts. A certain curl of her shoulders, the set of her face, timbre of her voice, how she would hug herself when she walked into the room as though afraid somebody would hurt her. These were signs that she was seeing in the girl in front of her.

Who had hurt her?

And she still didn’t know how she was back now.

Misty wanted to refuse the girl’s offer, wanted to tell her she was in a hurry… But she didn’t even know where she was, let alone where she could go. Not to another coven, no, never to another coven. She didn’t want to hear who had died during the Seven Wonders, who the new Supreme was. But were Myrtle, Cordelia, Queenie, Zoe, and Kyle alright? Are they still alive? Was Madison the new Supreme, even after trying to kill her? Did they let her take control? And what of Fiona? Shit, too many questions, some she was certain she had already asked herself.

Isis lead the girl towards the house, stepping inside and inviting the girl in with her. There was a part of Isis that felt like an utter fool, letting an unknown girl inside for tea. But she looked so small, frightened, cold. But she'd always loved to take in stray animals as a child, warm them up and give them a place to rest before sending them on their way. Maybe this was a stray girl who needed a place to rest for a while?

Part of her wished more than anything that her mama hadn’t uprooted half the garden. The once brilliant garden that her late mum so loved to paint was torn apart, a rosebush pruned down to nothing and spring flowers ripped out of the earth so that flowers and broken stems and crushed petals scattered the ground. It was a fit of grief and rage the night before that had caused this disaster, Isis looking on with her heart in her throat, not knowing whether or not to stop her mama as she moved around the garden, truly looking like the madwoman she so often claimed to be, ripping flowers out of the ground and cutting up rosebushes and sobbing her heart out. It wasn’t until the ginger woman had fallen to her knees in the dirt that Isis had finally felt safe to approach her, bring her into the house and do her best to calm and comfort her until she fell asleep.

Which is how, before the sun had entirely risen, Isis found herself in the garden with an armful of flowers, doing her best to rid the garden of evidence of the night before. She was about to toss some clippings from a rosebush into the little wheelbarrow she’d brought out when she saw a shape coming up the hill from the beach.

It was a blonde girl, about the same age as she, dressed a little like the Doctor used to before River passed away. The closer the girl walked, Isis could see that she was shivering with cold. Had she been in the water?

It was only then that she realized, in her thin clothes and shawl (she did check and yes, it was still the one given to her by Stevie), that she was shivering, from both the air and the bit of water that had managed to reach her before her awakening. Misty scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over herself, not yet balanced on her legs.

She wanted to find someone, a witch or another coven, ask them if they knew how she was alive. Then she remembered being buried alive by Madison, witch hunters burning her, a witch hunter attacking her at her own home, even the fear of Fiona killing her if she was the next Supreme. No. She couldn’t let any other witches know she was still alive, however it might have happened.

Misty walked up the path leading away from the beach, tugging her shawl tighter around her, freezing almost from the chill. The farther up the path she walked, the closer the sight of a house became, along with the sight of a girl around her age. Blonde and carrying an armful of flowers. The sight honestly made her heart ache, because she remembered Cordelia in her greenhouse, teaching her how to brew potions. Then she was being spoken to and Misty couldn’t even speak right away, her voice sounded raw when she finally did.

It was a minute, though, before she realised that the blonde girl in front of her reminded Isis of her Mama. As Isis got older, River would sometimes come through to the kitchen in the morning, squeeze Isis's shoulder and kiss her head, tell her that last night was a bad night and to be gentle with her Mama. As if she ever wasn't. It wasn't long, though, before Isis learned to recognise the signs that a night had been full of nightmares or bad thoughts. A certain curl of her shoulders, the set of her face, timbre of her voice, how she would hug herself when she walked into the room as though afraid somebody would hurt her. These were signs that she was seeing in the girl in front of her.

Who had hurt her?

"Exactly like when we were children, because I want us to be as happy as we were then." Widget deepened the kiss from Isis, gently weaving his fingers into her hair and tugging at her lip. "Isis …" he whispered as he drew back to breathe, leaning in back in and kissing her again before murmuring against her lips. "Have you heard anything … about …" Widget touched a gentle hand to her stomach, not saying anything more, one hand still in her hair and his forehead resting against hers.

She didn't say anything for a long while, looking at him before allowing a big smile to break out on her face. She didn't know how long they had been trying for, but she did know that the day she had found out she was finally pregnant was one of the best days she had. And she had kept it quiet long enough to tell Widget first.

"They think it'll be a girl, though it is too early to tell yet."

► Name ➔ Isis Aurora Song ► Are you single ➔ Yes. ► Are you happy ➔ I think I am, usually. ► Are you angry? ➔ N-no . . . I can't be angry. My mothers have enough rage inside sometimes for all three of us, thank you. ► Are your parents still married ➔ They never had a proper wedding, but technically they are.

SEVEN FACTS

► ‘Birth’ Place ➔ You know what? I've never asked the name. But it was in a hospital. ► Hair Color ➔ Blonde, but that may change. ► Eye Color ➔ Brown, but again, that may change. ► Birthday ➔  October 17th. ► Gender ➔ Female ► Summer or winter ➔  Summer. Always the best time to be at the sea. ► Morning or afternoon ➔ Morning, but I like to stay up late too so I'll sometimes sleep right through it.

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE 

► Are you in love ➔ I . . . might . . . be a little . . . ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ Not really, though I believe that you can have a feeling. ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ I haven't been in one yet. ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ I don't think so, but I really hope not! ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ No, though I haven't had much chance to find out. ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Yeah. Mama and Misty. ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ I don't know - doubt it, though. ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ I don't think so.

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ Love. ► Cats or Dogs ➔ Dogs. Like our Sherlock! ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔  I'd like a best friend, but I've never really had one. Misty is close, though. I think I prefer best friends. ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ Romantic night in. ► Day or night ➔ I 

FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ No, never. ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ Ridiculously frequently, though not as much as Mama! ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ Yes, definitely. ► Wanted to disappear ➔ Yes.

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along  ➔ Usually, though Mum and I have argued. And I've said things to Mama I wish I hadn't, concerning mum leaving for the library. ► Would you say you have a “messed up life”  ➔ No, though it's an odd one. ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ When I was tiny, I ran outside to the sea with some of Mama and Mum's jewellery and said that I was going to become a mermaid. I got up to my knees in the water before getting scared I'd be eaten by sharks and then came running back. ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Never!

FRIENDS

She couldn’t help but laugh when he said their nickname for Poppet, wishing he had a hat to shove over the man’s head. Tonight, before the shows would begin, they would be in their own Wonderland. “If we find the Red Queen, we shall invite her to join us, though be prepared to run if she so much as shouts ‘off with their heads!’”

"If she shouts ‘off with their heads!’," Widget said, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her against him, "we’re going to find a hiding place, just the two of us. Maybe leap into the Stargazer and giggle as we watch her try to hunt us down." Widget gave her a kiss. "I love you, Isis."

Isis rested her hands on her husband's shoulders, grinning at his words. "Just like when we were children then?" she whispered, kissing him back as best as she could before he pulled away. A light blush hit her cheeks at his next words, and she murmured, "I love you, too. . ." She hurried to kiss him again, more words wanting to fall past her lips, words about a surprise she couldn't tell him just yet.

"Doesn’t it just?" Widget wrapped an arm around her waist, making to leave the tent. "We can try to hide from the Red Queen," he said in a stage whisper, remembering their childhood nickname for Poppet, who had a bit of a habit of bossing them around. "Or we can invite her highness for some cocoa with us. I doubt she’ll try to chop your head off tonight."

She couldn't help but laugh when he said their nickname for Poppet, wishing he had a hat to shove over the man's head. Tonight, before the shows would begin, they would be in their own Wonderland. "If we find the Red Queen, we shall invite her to join us, though be prepared to run if she so much as shouts 'off with their heads!'"

He couldn’t help it, a smile spread across his face as she told him about her plans for her paintings that night. He just loved her paintings so much, one of the many parts of her that he’d fallen for. He remembered the first time he’d visited Isis as a child, when she’d shown him the paintings she made. “They aren’t the only mad ones, you know,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. “I think we’re all mad. You and I both as well. It’s good to leave your peace behind you sometimes. Kick off your shoes and run, do absolutely mad things.”

Maybe he could cheer her with her favourite book, he thought, suddenly smiling. “What do you say we believe six impossible things before nightfall, my lovely Alice? We’ll have hot chocolate and wander for a while before the gates open. And if you find your mama, the … the white queen, I’ll let you two just be together. Sound alright?” Widget gave her a short kiss. He was never entirely sure what to do when she got messy and cried, especially given how seldom it happened, but he was going to do his absolute best to make the night easy for her.

A smile broke out on her face when he called her Alice, when he called her mother the white queen. "Oh, my dear Hatter," she began, giggling at the kiss. "I believe that sounds like the most wonderful plan for us."

And it did. Her husband might see that peaceful mask of hers, rarely seeing her tears, but he always knew how to keep her happy. It was no wonder why she fell in love with him, and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

"I know a nice quiet spot," Widget murmured, stroking her hair as she rested her head on his chest. "I doubt you’ll have a big crowd, you’ll only found by people who specifically want to find you. Is that okay?"

He smiled a little when she said that her paintings would be different. “Did you know that the rêveurs especially love your paintings that aren’t your usual? I get asked all the time who those two women are, from your painting done two years ago today - some want to know about the one with the red hair, some about the one with the red lips.” Widget tipped Isis’s head up, giving his wife a deeper kiss than before, hoping that she’d feel the love he put into it.

"Now," Widget said, brushing his hands against his pants, "I’m not in my circus clothes. I need to change before dark. And you usually wear make-up in the circus. Other than that, what we do right now is up to you," he gave her a soft smile, keeping her close.

Isis smiled when Widget talked about how her different paintings were loved. How they asked questions about what she painted this very night. "My love. . .Oh, I'm sure they'll have more questions this year. More than just about the women. . . I think this year I'll let the madness of my mothers show in the paintings." She did feel the love he put into the kiss, one that she returned happily, putting in an equal amount of that love. This was the man she fell for, the one she ran to the circus to be with.

What was with her family and fairy tale-like stories?

"Well. . . Could we go and have something to eat? And maybe some hot chocolate? I just want to spend some time with you. If we run into Mama, I also want to hold her for as long as I can before we all have to play our parts tonight."

"I hope no one finds me tonight… No one but you, ‘pet, and Mama…" As much as she enjoyed the crowd, tonight, she didn’t really want to be seen.

And then her husband offered to let her break, and she fell into his arms, sobbing openly, clutching at his clothes, ruining her mask. But she didn’t care.

She needed this.

"I know … I’ll help you set up somewhere quiet, if you’d like. Maybe then it will just be us, this year. And then I can help you put your things away later in the night so that you can find Mama.” Widget could understand Isis wanting to stay hidden, really. And he would help her hide away.

"Isis, Isis …" Widget soothed her gently; he could feel the desperation in her grip on his clothes and it killed him to feel her shaking with sobs. Still, though, he gripped her tightly and kept her close, letting her hide and cry. "Isis, I’m gonna make it okay … I’ll be here for whatever you need to get you through the next little while. Trust me." Widget wasn’t entirely comfortable with so many feelings, but he wanted to make it better. "Trust me," he whispered. "I’ll make it better." He held his wife as tightly as he could, wanting for her to know that he was never going to let go of her until she wanted him to. "I love you, Isis."

Widget knew she needed him - he was going to stay.

"I love you, too, Widget."

Isis lifted her head, eyes red from the crying, tears tracked down her face. She pressed the faintest of kisses to her husband's lips before resting her head against his chest. Her hearts calmed down, she sighed softly, closing her eyes.

"Let's find somewhere quiet. . . I don't think my paintings will be the norm, tonight, love."

Isis knew that Mama was somewhere at the moment, too, also being sought out by the Rêveurs, being called the Crimson Spirit. She and her mother wanted to grieve on this day…

But they couldn’t. Not yet. Not until they were alone, or together… Though tonight Isis wanted to grieve with her husband.

Taking the chance of quiet, she yawned, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, fighting back any tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, threatening to ruin her own, perfectly painted mask.

Hearing Widget’s voice after a moment was like a blessing, and she allowed herself to smile. “Very tired, actually,” she said, voice soft. “Not many have come by today. Perhaps the new members have diverted their attentions for a brief hour or so.”

"Your Mama came round to say hello. Our very own Crimson Spirit. She said she was going to the Stargazer, so I told ‘pet to go after her in a few hours. Don’t want her alone up there the whole evening, do we?" He didn’t add the obvious subtext. Widget didn’t want to point out that the Doctor would probably be crying up there, on the off-chance that it wasn’t true or that the image had somehow escaped Isis’s imagination.

Widget’s voice seemed to echo despite the canvas walls. He spent a moment looking at his wife before responding to her. “A quiet evening would be nice. Though we only have an hour or so before the patrons get let in, so the wonderful quiet is bound to change soon.” 

"Isis, he suddenly murmured, unable to just watch her struggle in vain to keep her mask together - the one without paints, forged with peace. "My love, if you want some time to break your peace, before you have to face Mama and the patrons and Poppet and the others … I’ll help you paint your masks back on afterwards." He moved his hand almost imperceptibly forwards, a way for her to accept without words if silence was all she could manage.

"I hope no one finds me tonight. . . No one but you, 'pet, and Mama. . ." As much as she enjoyed the crowd, tonight, she didn't really want to be seen.

And then her husband offered to let her break, and she fell into his arms, sobbing openly, clutching at his clothes, ruining her mask. But she didn't care.

She needed this.

The sun was setting over the black and white tents of the circus. Outside the wrought-iron gates, the noise of the usual crowd outside the tents growing to a buzz audible even inside the circus. Widget looked out at the silhouette of the crowd through the gates and prayed that they would just leave, so that he and Isis could be in peace.

Today was a special day - there had been three already before this one. It was known by the Rêveurs as the day the artist cries. Little did the Rêveurs know that their recognition made the day both easier and harder for the artist to handle. For she was not the porcelain doll that they all knew - she was his Isis, and the constant reminder of the day being different made it all the harder for her to keep the peace that was her sanity.

It was so hard for her because this night was the night that her mother died. Her mum, the one who taught her how to make those exquisite paintings that the circus so loved.

And so it fell to Widget to help keep Isis together for the night, to help her survive until she could abandon her paints and find somewhere to grieve, alone or with him or with her remaining mother.

Isis knew that Mama was somewhere at the moment, too, also being sought out by the Rêveurs, being called the Crimson Spirit. She and her mother wanted to grieve on this day. . .

But they couldn't. Not yet. Not until they were alone, or together. . . Though tonight Isis wanted to grieve with her husband.

Taking the chance of quiet, she yawned, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, fighting back any tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, threatening to ruin her own, perfectly painted mask.

Hearing Widget's voice after a moment was like a blessing, and she allowed herself to smile. "Very tired, actually," she said, voice soft. "Not many have come by today. Perhaps the new members have diverted their attentions for a brief hour or so."

She was just supposed to be having a relaxing day with her daughter. Just the two of them, working on the garden before River was to come home. Isis had run into the house to get them a quick lunch put together, and a drink, so she wasn’t there when the Doctor saw it.