Emma narrows her eyes slightly. Focus, isolate, magnify. "Fourteenth air force. That was the plane that dropped the very last shell that you saw. American, of course, but..." The push grows stronger. Magnify. Magnify. "That isn't him. Why does that read as him in your head?"
Itās like brain freeze without the pain, uncomfortable, intrusive. The memory of the last shell sparks, unwanted, in his mindās eye. Itās too close. Itās too real. His mind flinches with every thought she examines.Ā
āIād stop, if I were you.ā His voice falters, just a little. A crack in the facade of composure.Ā āYou donāt want to know.ā Because it isĀ Shaw, of course it is- all that trembling power sucking into him, the thin hand stretched towards the sky, the pale eyes caging an inferno. And watching him is Erik at nineteen- feeling smaller than his body, terrified, tattoo on his forearm.
The well-dressed man before Ms. Frost now seems - as his creator does - like another man entirely.
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The girl tilts her head to the side, all cool consideration, her eyes clear and cold as a frozen lake. "You think he's going to eat me alive."
Overwhelming flashes of heat and light reverberate in his mind- Shaw, wreathed in crimson and smoke, his eyes wild and volcanic. His laughter is a thrumming pulse, his gaze a wave of energy that threatens to Ā c o n s u m e. Erik is blood and hunger before him- Erik is not here- Erik is three feet behind himself, watching his metal wires choke the life from a boy his age- Erik is not here, Erik has been eaten alive.
Erik, if he can even be called that anymore, looks back at the girl and imagines how Shaw might shape her - assuming he shapes her, and not one of the others. Disgustingly, sheās not the only candidate.
She snarls under her breath, baring teeth that carry all the deadly threat of a smashed-open Chandon, and hurls him, all six feet, over her shoulder, across the room. But he does not fall. He hangs, suspended in the air, held by the strength of her gaze like a butterfly under a pin. "I a m hell," she breathes.
Heās been thrown before, knows the crash and ache of impact like he knows deathās shadow, but it doesnāt come. Erik freezes, suspended in mid-air, with Emmaās voice a shattered hiss and her eyes burning like frostbite. He shivers with the chill of it.Ā
āWhen did you learn to do that?āĀ
His own voice is little more than a curious, reverent whisper, body straining to move, to break free; even the metal around him does little more than tremble with his efforts.Ā
Ms. E. Frost
The Hellfire Club,
Somewhere Ridiculously Expensive,
Ambiguously secret location is secret.
Emma,
Iāve been meaning to write to you for what feels like forever. How long has it been now? I thought it might be easier to put things on paper, but I guess the whole literacy argument turned into a bit of a disaster. As you can see though, a certain someone worked his magic. Thereās still a few hiccoughs now and then, words I donāt know or grammar that somehow turns to gĆ³wno, but at least you can translate what Iām trying to say, without need for more than a few glasses of chianti and a dictionary.
Weāre doing okay, I think. Adventures with an infant are surprisingly more fun than they sound. Weāve just spent the last week in Venice, which was nice. Have you ever been? The canals reminded me of you. Or at least, the pretty woman rolling her eyes at a crooning gondolier does. One day I think we should all come back for the carnival, all those masks, the colours, the dresses, itās another world and sometimes I get a little tired of this one.
Sheās getting bigger you know. Everyday I swear she starts to look a little more like Erik and I donāt know if thatās a good or bad thing. Sheās going to break hearts, thatās for sure, but then I think youād already guessed that much. I think she misses you too. Iām not sure if you noticed, but before I left I borrowed one of your earrings. (And I do say borrowed, rather than stolen - because I have every intention of returning it to you eventually.) I donāt know if they were from Shaw or something you picked yourself, but itās become a piece of treasure wherever we go. I like to hang it above her crib, so that when the light hits it in just the right spot, it sends tiny rainbows dancing around her head. I know thatās ridiculous and sentimental in ways we really ought not to be - but itās the only kind of magic we can cling to sometimes. Some thought of a far off place where everyoneās actually together again.
I thought it might be easier, being here while youāre all there - but I think in hindsight I didnāt quite think this plan through. I like the travelling. I like going from place to place, collecting postcards and taking photos. The freedom of it is liberating, it reminds me of my parents and of home - but I wonāt lie and say itās not lonely. I wonāt pretend I donāt miss conversations with people that can more than babble back, or that know the intricacies of everything thatās happened rather than strangers that youāre never sure you can entirely trust. Iām not even sure how much longer I can afford to keep doing this either, but workās in plentiful supply. I think I might try Spain next, see if any seamstresses are hiring and try and come up with something that way.
I mean, alright, technically Charles set up a bank account - Ā did he tell you? It was a sum of money that had far too many zeros for my liking, so I havenāt touched it. I donāt like the idea of being traced. Of being found by the very people I left to get away from. Besides, you understand that too donāt you? Not wanting to be somebodyās charitable cause. Anya isnāt even his problem, neither am I, butā¦I donāt know. Maybe heās trying to compensate for Erikās indifference? Maybe heās just trying to be nice. In any case, Iād rather be working. I was never cut out for the socialite life, I donāt look half as good in silk and pearls as you do.
Speaking of, are you alright? Are you handling things? I know the pains you go through to keep the devil happy, Ā the things you endure for the sake of those around you. It makes me worry about you; but I also canāt admire your strength enough. Are you still really planning on going through with it? The wedding I mean? I know youāll look lovely in the dress and the flowers too will probably be impeccable, but the idea of being tethered to that man, itāsā¦unfathomable. You deserve better Emma. You deserve, so, so much better. Hasnāt Erik asked? Orā¦anyone else, that is younger, suaver and decidedly less twisted?
Iāll come back myself and steal you into the sunset if I have to. Elopementās still a thing right? We can have an island somewhere. Or a cottage in the middle of nowhere, or one of those fancy ski lodges you always see in magazines. You deserve an escape. You deserve to be a person instead of an incubator on legs. Thatās how he sees you, you know he does. Some trophy to hang on his arm, and warm his bed in the interests of procreation. What about the things you want? The places you want to go? The life you want to live? Whereās your wellbeing in all this? Whereās your chance at something you choose and want for a change?
I didnāt mean for that to come out quite so militantly. I know weāve not always seen eye to eye, but you are a good person. You are intelligent and strong and fierce in all the ways people like to pretend youāre not. I just donāt want you to self destruct because one rat sunk his teeth in. I want you to be happy. To be healthy. To be yourself and not worry for one second about it coming back to haunt you.
You are at least eating arenāt you? I know the cookingās terrible without me to keep everyone in check, but even if itās just a piece of fruit, you need to keep your strength up. You need to throw open those curtains and dust off the cobwebs. Put on your face, paint those lips red and look like the million dollar queen you are - so that when you do inevitably cut him down to size and stamp that insipid little man into the ground where he belongs, at least you can do it with style.
Somewhere I swear, Erikās probably smiling right now. I donāt think Iāve ever condoned violence towards anyone before, so you might have to keep this little tirade between you and me. I trust your secret keeping, moreso than I perhaps trust anyone elseās. I still have more to tell you, but perhaps today isnāt the time. I need to tell someone else first, about happy mistakes and the legacy theyāve left. Make of that what you will, but take it to the grave, kochanie.
I think Anyaās waking up. I should probably go. Weāre catching the train to Milan today. I might try and find some fabric to make her a dress. If youāre lucky, maybe Iāll send you one too. Look after yourself and certainly donāt sell yourself short. Youāre no manās island, Emma. No matter how much the wind howls, or the waves crash and seek to break you down - you are the rock. You are the constant. You are everything.
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"No?" Emma's head tilts in that way of hers, her eyes distant, considering; she reaches out without a gesture, without a word. She looks. She listens. She slides off of him.
Erik sits up, keeps his body turned slightly away from her. The silence is not uncomfortable, but it is expectant, and Erik doesnāt know what to say. Does she see the conflict in his eyes, or in his head?
Yours, but not justĀ yours.
(Heās not even his own.)
"I donāt know,ā he settles on, finally. It feels wrong to be conflicted over it after heās willingly, whole-heartedly, said yes, yours, alwaysĀ so many times before- without considering what it meant, without recognising that itās impossible.Ā āI donāt know what to say.ā
āYouāre mine. You hear me?ā That's something, after all, that she shares in common with their... employer. They speak softly, very softly, when they are utterly, deadly serious.
The smile that twitches at one corner of his mouth is tight, distant. Is there anyone that hasnātĀ laid claim to him? He feels--stretched, a tangled mess of string wrapped around too many hands. Some are gentler than others.
āYes,ā he agrees quietly, and means it- wantsĀ to mean it, wants to be hers- but doubt lingers, soft and flinching, at the back of his mind.
He is absolutely allowed. As long as the diamond is allowed to kiss his neck a little. Which she probably is. After all, the neck and the magnet attached to it do both belong to her.
Erik is very rarely hungry for touch in this place- but he arches, tilts his neck to her and sighs, keeping his face hidden. Of course heās hers. Heās missed her terribly, even if her distance was his own fault.
