THE WIDOW

‘Forever indeed’ Liu thinks, a heart ready to decay inside her chest withers upon hearing those words. There is so much to say to the young waif, a terror for them that goes beyond words. To fall in love in the manner which Polly speaks of is to lose a part of yourself forever, to reconcile with the fact that the thing which made you invulnerable, your mask — your sense of self — will no longer protect you. 

But there is the feeling of freedom in no longer having to carry the burden of your own sadness upon your own shoulders. To know that one would die for you is a feeling that compares to none other. Just as they may break you, so too can you do the same. Liu found the balance between herself and her late husband, a game of constant pull and tug. Testing him, making him beg for her, ensure that forevermore he would succumb to her every wish. It was the only way to not lose herself entirely.

If only he had kept the one promise she knew was entirely out of his hands.

But still, her feeling of love are complex and she does not wish to terrify Polly with the anger and sadness that comes with such a wretched thing.

“Is that so? Forever is a long time to be in love.”

HARD TO BELIEVE that so much has happened in a mere few hours. Though the afternoon had started like any other, things had taken quite a turn for the dramatic in a matter of minutes, before spiraling quickly into one whirlwind of an evening. The séance has undoubtedly left all of its participants shaken, and Rahat is no exception. They had taken their time in filing out of the room and walking down the stairs, distracted by what the enigmatic Mr Muiris Doyle had told them. The man had spoken to them purportedly under the “influence” of the spirit ( or spirits, as it turns out ) that supposedly haunted them in their own home. 

The undertaker remains uncertain what to make of it, and these are the thoughts that occupy them for a good while as they sit by the bar, where they nurse yet another cup of hot tea. 

The voice beside them is soft, but in its suddenness, they are pulled out of their private musings. Beside them sits the widow, whose acquaintance they had made during her husband’s untimely death some time back. Though they had not spoken earlier in the evening, the two of them had been seated next to each other during the séance. Her hold on their hand had tightened on occasion throughout the entire affair, and remembering that has them feeling an urge to speak to her. Gently, they offer a question. “How are you faring, Ms Zhou?”

...

Liu finds herself in the presence of death once more. She subtly shakes her head and looks at them cooly in an effort to reign in the emotions that was surely present on her face.

“It has been quite an evening, statements made by those who have passed do not easily leave my mind.”

Rahat, the last person on earth to have seen her husband in the wretched state he had died in. She wonders what they think about in their own feeble life, their profession a reminder of their own mortality, a constant question in the air when looking the dead straight in the face. Such silly thoughts should not provoke question for her, and yet, she finds herself curious regardless.

“I apologize for any harm I may have caused you during the . . . seance. I hope you will forgive me.” She looks away from them, trying to gauge the numbers of lurkers who hang onto her every word — vultures waiting for her to fall. “It is somewhat comforting though, if I am being honest, to know that I am not the only person in London haunted by these specters of our past.”

She wants to drink, but proper public etiquette dictates it would be rather unbecoming of her if she were to succumb to darkness so quickly.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Liu proceeds anyway. “Are you afraid of that which follows you?”

Closed Starter for @widowedwillow​ Location: Dorset Street Time Stamp: Early Morning, September 8th, 1888

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Polly reached out to catch the woman’s arm gently, stopping her in her tracks. Whitechapel was no safe haven at the best of times, and news of the attacks was spreading like wildfire. London smog had covered the skyline, morning’s light barely penetrating the fog, leaving the alley dark and gloomy. Polly wouldn’t let anybody wander them alone. They knew them well enough, and even they were a little jittery at the prospect of it. “It’s dangerous. Especially this morning.” 

They didn’t ask before linking their arms together, using the closeness to gently pull her along. “We’re safer together. Even if it’s just until we get on to the main road,” they explained with a half of a smile in their direction. “But you must let me walk you home.” They insisted. Perhaps they should be worrying about themself, first, and everyone else later - but that simply wasn’t Polly’s way. “We can keep each other safe, and take our mind off of things.” 

❖ ──

Polly Sheedy, the name brings with it mournful tones. It’s not often Liu finds herself to be in the company of those younger than herself — a previously quiet and reserved life being the main perpetrator of that — but Polly had always been an exceptional case. As they intertwine their arms together there is a sense of companionship, a fluidity of motion that makes Liu wish she had not squandered her youth in a hardened heart. Of course the widow had troubles of her own, but the waif’s struggles remind her that perhaps the childhood which she had lamented once before was not nearly as treacherous as Liu had once believed it to be.  

Still, it is too late for her now. 

“Are you somewhere safe, Polly? At this time I do not trust the streets of London — more specifically, I do not trust those who claim to own them.”

Their pace is leisurely but calculated. There is no need to stand out amongst those who would gladly watch their demise.

“Were you able to gather information on Mrs. Taylor? Was she the one who spread that vicious rumor?”

“ I know. That’s why I’m giving it back to you. ” She hands the pin back to Liu before leaning back against the wall next to her. “ Some young fool thought he might brandish it like a trophy—look what I took from the London’s wicked widow, he was saying. ” She rolls her eyes at the farce, but offers no explanation on how exactly she got it back. Liu knows Zoya can be exceedingly persuasive when wanted; did they not play that game years ago, betting on who could collect the most calling cards at the end of the night?

( It’s not entirely clear who won. Sometimes it is Zoya and her glimmering warmth, and sometimes it is Liu with her charismatic coldness. )

Zoya casts her gaze across the pub, its populace abuzz with the seances being held as entertainment. It was curiosity that drew her upstairs, and curiosity that lingers after. I am with you everywhere. It is the breath at her neck when she is alone in the wings, the chill at her back before she turns to take a second look. Is she fearless or foolish for entertaining such an entity? “ You don’t suppose that…ghost will start calling itself my biggest fan, will it? ” 

❖

Liu is not startled by Zoya’s sudden appearance, the whispers of praise which followed her was warning enough. She takes back the broach and pins it to her dress, her hands linger above her heart the soft memory of her late husband’s touch a reminder of his cruel removal from Earth.

“I suppose if some heathen were to try and do such a thing, then there would be a real cause for causing me wicked.” Her voice speaks of amusement but the threat still lurks beneath.

At the mention of ghosts Liu holds her breath and tries to forget the startling realization that the specter which haunts her is not, in fact, the one whom she would want to be haunted by the most. It was a nauseating realization, the kind which might tempt the poor widow into the ocean’s embrace.

For her friend however, Liu finds herself at odds. One part curious, one part aghast —  “That is to say, who wouldn’t be your biggest fan?” There is a question though that linger at the tip of Liu’s tongue, and perhaps before the seance she would have swallowed it, but the anxiety from tonight loosens her lips. “How often does this ghostly being haunt you? What does it do to you?”

Something afoul indeed ; but, it was a common misconception that foul things would smell foul - it is often the other way around. Aren’t the most beautiful, the most vibrantly coloured, or most alluring scented of flowers usually the deadliest? It is always the sweetness that covers the stench of rot, the sweetness which follows it - it is the bitter note within it that lets those willing to pay attention that something is very, very wrong. “Those without an eye for things would say it is the Britannia’s rotting interior. All that silt liquor will, eventually, make the wood rot. But, I would say it is a different kind of rot that you and I perceive.” Xinyue spoke, sitting herself down and making sufficient room for her companion - close enough to converse without being overheard, yet putting enough distance to grant the other some privacy. Still, her lips quirk up in a smile at the woman’s words, irony lacing them like poison. “If you were a murderer, I doubt you would use a knife.”

Xinxin leaned back on the chair, gaze rounding the room, before her attention returned to the widow and her words. She wasn’t entirely wrong - while the medium certainly enjoyed moonlit walks, they weren’t frequent ; mainly because night time was perfect for her line of work. “I cannot quite put my finger on it. Perhaps that is the main reason behind my leaving the house.“ She replied, lips pursed in thought, before adding ; “Something stirs in darkness and remains cloaked from my sight. But, I know with certainty that this night is far from over. There’s a … tether here, almost like a string, far too tense and overstrung, a mere breath way from snapping in half.” A brief pause, and then ; “It worries me, I must admit. These things never bear anything good.”

❖

Liu takes Xinyue’s word with caution, a sense of trepidation begins to threaten her demeanor. Still though, the widow remains passive if only for the other patrons at the pub with their wandering eyes. They will not be granted the privilege of knowing her fear.

“Such strange occurrences, I often wonder why we were granted the right to live if it is something which can be so cruelly taken away from us.”

Perhaps that unusual German philosopher was right — to live is to suffer.

“I shall endeavor try and stay by you tonight, you are the calm I find in a sea of turbulent rumors.” Liu looks at her friend and allows herself to soften her gaze. “Thank you.”

She remains silent until the end of the seance, the nagging feeling of something gone wrong in her mind’s eye. The man has said that which had haunted her walked willingly to death, but her husband was foolishly in love with her, he would not have sacrificed himself to some dark machinations without prior warning. 

She inhales a deep breath, the world suddenly too large and all too small at once. The stool which had remained empty is now filled by the widow who gazes into the abyss vacantly. 

“My dear, where have you gone?” she speaks to herself out loud, reminiscing about the man who had left too soon.

And perhaps if she had been more aware of her surroundings Liu would have chosen a different seat — one which did not rest next to the person whom she had held hands with so fiercely but thirty minutes ago. One who was not as haunted as she.

she had many versions of lillian liu zhou in her mind. few of them positive & all brought her to the same conclusion in the end. granted, there wasn’t any proof that she’d done her husband in, but winnie couldn’t shake the feeling that she had. it was the perfect story for the paper, even alongside a mass killer on the loose, & would bring ms. zhou to justice. who was to say she wouldn’t repeat the same process with her next husband ? winnie had learnt her mistake of letting secrets slide & she wouldn’t do so again.

“does it ?” of course it did. winnie had ingrained the image of that brooch into her mind & the facade she believes it plays a part in. “my sincerest apologies, ma’am,” winnie says cooly after examining the jewelry once more. wordlessly she returns it to her & softens her expression into a polite smile. “it must have fallen off in all the commotion. you ought to be more careful, might not be as lucky next time.”

❖

Her annoyance turns into a cool facade which hides the disgust the widow harbors for the woman before her. She wonders if those who are drawn to journalism are cut from the same cloth, or if Winnie Bao is a particularly ghoulish character, a vessel of misery upon herself. How could a person be so horrid if not due to something which lurks beneath their exterior?

“I would hardly consider this particular instance to be one which I would consider lucky.” Before her social disgrace, the widow might have been more courteous to the journalist, more polite in her disdain, but as Liu watches as Winnie’s lips settle into a civil smile something dark whispers to her. "While I have you Ms. Bao, I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

There is a moment of silence that lingers between them. Liu pins her broach back onto her dress, and raises her eyes to meet Winnie’s once more.

“You seem like a sensible enough woman, the kind who I would assume would not make accusations about another without proper proof. With this thought in mind however please try to imagine my confusion, and vexation for that matter, when I read your article and found nothing but falsehoods and hearsay.”

On one hand, Jinhai was always glad for any distraction.  Anything to not be asked if he was his parents’ child and if he knew how worried they had been.  All he could do was hope that no one recognized him and those who did, didn’t believe it was him.  To the best of his ability, Jin tried to behave like a boring wave amidst a sea of faceless anxieties that now bundled together in a pub that no one really wanted to be at.  

On the other hand, he felt for each and every person that small collectives ganged up on.  It made sense, he knew, just by watching them that their hands shook from an unspoken worry and it was that of the unknown.  What was in this pub right now was the known and that could be controlled to some degree.  He’d always been fascinated by the medical fields and especially the growing category of the controversial concept of psychology.  Still, he had been the one to find the pin.  In a way, he thought that might be lucky.

For her, at least.  Before he could speak or even will his legs to move, he heard the voice that implied that she was already aware of his findings.  He had planned to give it to her when people were a little more distracted but, his eyes hadn’t moved off the piece yet and now she was there, demanding to have it back.

“Right, yeah.  I was going to —” There was no use in this, he would only come off as a brat and the last thing he wanted was to even accidentally be associated, “I mean, I just hadn’t seen one of these in a while.”  He extended his hand to offer it back.  “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.  Truly.”

There is an air about the boy that Liu finds to be rather . . . dismaying. As though she had kicked a puppy he seemed regretful for doing a good deed. She picked up her broach and pinned it back to her dress, keeping a careful eye on the man before her.

He seemed harmless enough, and vaguely familiar. A soft face and kind eyes — but his appearance spoke of a middle class upbringing. Not that she hadn’t been in contact with those of a lower social class than her, but the deep seated impression that she had seen this boy before was alarming. 

“I must thank you, condolences,” her words come out steady at a measured pace. “I must offer my own sympathies for your loss.”

She extends her hand for him to shake. 

“Perhaps.” Xinyue smiled, but Liu wasn’t wrong - being here, cooped up with everyone else was a surprising event, especially for her. But, the question made her pause, lips pursed in thought. There wasn’t anything specific which bothered her - and perhaps that was what bothered her the most. “You know that such… afflictions are never too far from my sight or my mind, but I admit it was not, strictly speaking, the Unseen realm which sent me here. Though, perhaps, the restlessness could be tied with them.” Whenever she would get the… sensation, the dead were quick to follow.

“We shall see what the evening brings. They are… restless tonight, as well. Perhaps it’s for the best if we are in a crowded place.” She spoke, voice soft as she cast another glance around them, spying a table in the corner of the room. “Will you join me? We will be safer in a pair, and standing here might give any intruders an easy opportunity to seize us. At least there no one can stalk up on us without us noticing them beforehand.” Xinyue offered, hand motioning towards the isolated booth, nestled against the blank wall - no exits or, seemingly secret entrances in sight. “They could blend in. But, they can’t do anything here - not openly. And I believe people aren’t as foolish as to leave this place unattended or in a single pair. So long as we stay away from men, as they seem to be the most logical culprits, we should be just fine.” She chuckled, despite the grim topic.

❖

LIU FOLLOWED XINYUE AS SHE LED HER TO THE BOOTH, a gaze of disinterest cast upon those who carried themselves with trepidation. 

“There is something afoul here, a sickening stench in the air that dismays me.” There is a man with his hands tucked deeply into his pockets, and a tick that would have annoyed Liu had she been next to him. A woman seats herself at the bar, her words slurred and in disarray. The potential for murder did not seem at all her priory as she tipped back the glass of beer into her mouth. 

“If I were a murderer, it would be easy to slip a knife into the sides of another, silencing them over the sound of the incessant worries of patrons.” Liu places a gloved hang onto her cheek, letting her elbow rest on the table. “That is, if I were a murderer.” She laughs then, a sardonic noise of apparent futility.

She picks up the topic of Xinyue’s apparent restlessness. 

“What has you so unsettled then, that the outside world called you so? I do not believe I have seen you under the warmth of the moon.” 

BY SOME VARIABLE MISFORTUNE, Liu had been pushed to the back the pub by those who think her some monster in the night. Rumors may subside for a brief moment, but they never truly leave you. Words which follow and dress themselves in your visage, it’s an incredible feat of the human mind — to remember that which has no great importance to you.

Perhaps if another had been in her shoes they would have wilted much like the season which changes so often. Perhaps they would have faced their tyranny with bravery, an unwillingness to submit to lies which scald them deeply. Perhaps though they would not have been as composed as the widow before them.

Liu places her hand on her heart, reaching for the memoir of her past, but finds her chest to be bare of any ornaments. Only when the sudden realization that her broach no longer has a home above her heart does she begin to flicker her eyes across the floor in search of her missing piece.

She bends in search of her it, but finds her vision blocked by another. In their hands, her silver mourning pin: a hand holding a wreath of roses. Liu stands up, brushing the dirt off of her dress.

“I believe that belongs to me.”

It was a popular belief that she did not venture outside, unless asked to attend a tedious chore ; it was usually the Masters who called for her, demanded her presence and once a month she would oblige, vexed to the point of anger by their incessant yapping - circling around her like vultures. However, tonight was not the monthly chore which prompted her out of her home, but rather a sense of… restlessness which seemed to have settled in her bones. Mindlessly wandering the streets, the Medium had found herself reaching the destination, that prickling sensation beneath the surface of her skin magnified when her hand grazed the doorknob of the Britannia.

Pubs were never quite her cup of tea - too many people, too much noise ; and it left her drained a lot more than any attention-seeking spirit ever did. Still, she’s come here on intuition, and intuition alone, and setting her distaste aside, Xinyue rounded the room with a single, calculating gaze ; a gaze which landed upon a familiar silhouette, occupying the spot by the window. Ignoring everything, and everyone, else in the room, the woman’s smile was genuine as she came to stand beside the young widow.

“Most pleasantries are a waste of time.” She spoke, voice soft, a whisper in the crowded room. “I am surprised to see you in attendance. Are you faring well?”

THERE IS NO SURPRISE EVIDENT in her posture at the voice which responds to her, but Liu makes an exception to her icy exterior for the one she would call a friend. It was odd though, seeing her without a glass of wine, the widow could count on one hand a portrait of the woman without it. She slinks away from the safety of the window, a loss she dearly mourned.

“Perhaps this question would be better suited directed toward you.” There is silence and then there is uncomfortable tension — neither of which are mutually exclusive. “It is rare for the moon to behold your countenance.  Is there something which afflicts you, something which we cannot see?”

The latest murder had occurred a little more than a week ago.  A grisly crime that instilled fear into the hearts of Londoners.

“A crowded bar with so many in attendance would easily allow for an unwelcome visitor  to blend in.”

THE NIGHT HAD FALLEN ILL and Liu had found herself in uncomfortable company. The bar is cramped and smells of those too downtrodden to wash their clothing. She wrinkles her nose and tries to forget the fact that most do not welcome her company. From the corner of her eye she bares witness to a woman, chatty and with a glint in her eye, talking up someone at the bar. She clenches her teeth subtly, an air of disdain radiating off her body. Perhaps if had been any other day Liu would have been more stable, more sure of herself. But as fate would have it she had been returning home from the cemetery when chaos stuck.

She stands by a window, arms folded into her chest and feels the cold breeze through the crack of the window. The lamps illuminate the streets outside, but Liu wonders how long such a visionary thing may last. A figure comes to stand beside her, invading the arctic she was trying to separate herself with.

“I would say good evening but I do not think you care for such pleasantries.”