#tearborn

                             “So, MISTER DEWITT, is there a woman in your life?”                                                     “There was... SHE DIED.”                                                                     “How?”                                                                “Giving birth.”                                                          “You have a CHILD?”                                                                       “No.”

I'd like to shout out tearborn if that's okay? I think she's such a good addition to the fandom and it makes me glad that she's stuck with it as long as she has. I know she cares about Elizabeth and doing the character justice, as well as just overall being a really kind person that I'm glad to call a friend. She's worth the follow, and I just believe that she's a very fair person that definitely deserves all the credit she gets plus more.

  Ghosts were commonplace in the DeWitt household. Phantom laughter in the ballroom, the clink of crystal glasses and silhouettes of those who decorated halls only in portraits. The Missus DeWitt was certainly the spirit held in the highest regard; always flitting in and out, always seen rounding corners and spoken of in whispers. Many thought the former Whore of New York to be FRIGID; a mess of bones and taught skin that had had all the love scraped out of her until she had become HOLLOW: a place that fostered winter until her very heart ceased to beat. Though the world had stretched her thin (a canvas made for cruel brush; a woman who cracked iron between her teeth until she forged herself in the smith’s flames), there existed a few small rays of light; blessings that made ink-stained hands tremble and rusted smile grace visage with agonizing movements. Looking back upon her own poor choices, ne’er had she thought marriage to be in her future, yet she had walked down the aisle in a gown of WHITE; a wreathe of dried flowers in her hair and radiant beam upon lips. Motherhood only seemed to be a natural step forwards, and little Anna had come along one hot summer’s day with much grief. Little Anna with her mother’s pretty blue eyes, little Anna who had been named for the late Missus Todd, who had passed ten years prior. Never had a more perfect child been given to any union; the little dear hardly ever cried!  So enamoured of the little girl was her mother, that the Missus DeWitt had sworn to keep her daughter safe in ways her own mother had not been able to. No wolves would pick her apart, no men would take, and take, and TAKE until she had nothing left to give! Both parents had known much sorrow in their lives; it weighed upon shoulders as though it were the world, threatening to buckle under the sheer mass of BURDEN. Mister DeWitt did not tell war stories, Missus DeWitt did not speak of her men. If one truly loved another, tales of darkened nights and crawling shadows were not pried from jaw; nor were they bestowed upon a child who knew nothing of how cruel the world was. They might shield her from matters, but to tell the girl life was a SONG would be cruelty in itself. When she was older and questioned the world, they would answer with truth ringing in their speech; no more or less.  Despite sporadic presence in the house (Always coming and going with the chiming of clock; papers in hand and scowl present), the Missus DeWitt loved little Anna; a girl who rather seemed to be after her heart. Armed with a ZEAL for life, an untameable wildness that lurked in mischievous grin, the thud of feet clad in patent leather as she tore through the halls; hair knotted and linen stained with grass. Unlike her mother, she was not content to sit in factory by desk; choosing to pester the poor Missus DeWitt with an endless stream of questions (Mama, mama, what’s that? Mama, where’d ya get that? Mama, what’re they makin’?) as impish face was pressed to glass. Such a precocious child made frigid glare and deep scowl difficult to maintain in front of potential clients. Missus DeWitt was not known for gentle smile or warm expression (it was rumoured the woman’s left hook was something else!); nor was she known for tenderness. Clients were to be intimidated; for a woman such as her faced much scrutiny! Not even her husband could break that stance before other LIONS OF INDUSTRY, but Anna could.                                                     Only Anna, always Anna.  It had not been her intention to become too busy to set foot in the home for hours of play with dearest daughter, yet it seemed as though Missus DeWitt was only able glimpse the girl who smelt of sunshine at dinners or when she lay in bed, tucked in by father’s calloused hands.   Mercifully, she had come home early; mountains of files and their papers stacked most precariously in arms. Obscuring vision, she had hoped to enter study quietly and set files down before husband and child came to greet her; yet at the triumphant thumping of tiny feet, she froze. For briefest of moments did she hope for a servant to approach; yet footfalls were light and bright laughter resounded, heralding Anna’s approach as she careened towards her mother with no intent of stopping. The collision was quick; a shriek coming from the frazzled tycoon as she jolted backwards; the mere force of the girl who was far stronger than she appeared to be threatening to send dearest mother flying. Instead, the stack of papers wobbled, fell out of arms as the Missus DeWitt was sent reeling. Like snow did papers and folders fall, surrounding mother and child in what ought to have been a most serene painting in a blizzard of sheets.  Surveying the mess, Missus DeWitt found herself frozen; jaw slack and mouth hanging open. Papers had fallen to the floor, landed on chairs; and oblivious to it all was little Anna, who had pressed face into absent mother’s skirts. A proper woman might have admonished the girl for causing such a mess (One that would take hours to sort through!); the Missus DeWitt was neither prim nor lax; a rather happy medium that leaned towards the latter at times.   Wobbling, she stooped; careworn smile upon lips as she kissed her daughter’s pretty little head. Flowers, sweets; she was such a dear thing. Carefully did she disentangle legs from embrace, instead wrapping arms around the girl so that she might be pulled to breast.  “Did you miss me?” She murmured, nose pressed to the crown of Anna’s head. There came a nod from dearest daughter; now gathered in arms as the Missus DeWitt stood, thoughts far beyond the mess she would clean up later. “I know I missed you.” A kiss was planted to freckled cheek, light and fleeting as she manoeuvred through sea of files. “What did you do today, dove? Did you drive your papa mad? I bet you did, clever girl.”                                       After all, did she not take after her mother?

“C’mon now, songbird,” He tsks as he flicks his ashes to the ground,  “That ain’t very lady like.”

“Tasha Denu”