Charlie

Needless to say, I was in a terrible mood the whole shift through, though I tried not to let it show. I had barely gotten any sleep; heck, I was still half-convinced that all of this was just stress-induced psychosis brought on by the new move and lack of sleep, though the issues had begun long before then.

I must've looked like complete crap during work as well. I didn't even notice something I should've until Stuart pointed it out. "Hey, your hand's bleeding."

I noticed drops of blood oozing past the bandaging I had done over the cut I had recently received. "Whoops, sorry, if you don't mind, I'll clean it up."

"No prob—how'd that happen anyway?"

"I uh, was checking the windows and cut my hand on a shard of glass," I told him. He winced.

"Oof, that's not nice- make sure it's not infected. Then again, who am I talking to, right? You know better than me," he said, laughing as he slapped me on the shoulder and went on his way.

I stumbled my way to the bathroom, where I undid the bandage; the cut was still bleeding. Odd- I would've expected it to scab by now, but given all the action I was given, it was probably taking time to heal. I couldn't exactly not work, so I just cleaned it out and put on a fresh set of padding from a kit I had in my car before resuming work.

Charlotte

Consumption.

Consumption.

Consumption.

The words he had said brought back memories, now clearer than ever before.

"Are you sure you want to go?" May asked, her voice layered with a tinge of worry. It had been such a long time since I had last seen her that I struggled to remember simple details that I should've known without a single doubt, like the exact shade of the color of her eyes. In my mind, the clothes she was wearing also shifted ever so slightly. Was she wearing her red or green beret on that day? She had been all dolled up for where we were going, but what was it exactly that she was wearing?

May was three years older than I was, and the two of us had spent so much time together that you would've thought we were sisters, not cousins. May would tell me stories about how I would always follow her and keep pestering her when I was younger than five, though I greatly suspected that she was lying about a bunch of them.

And this made it all the stranger that I couldn't picture her face exactly in my mind—her favorite color was red, right, or was it yellow? Had I really forgotten so much?

"Of course I do," I told her. "We've been planning this for months, and I don't intend to-" I stopped as I had to cough.

"You look way under the weather," she said, her worry increasing.

"Nothing, it's just the flu," I told her, having no idea how wrong I was while saying this. We had been waiting for this theater performance for ages, and I wasn't going to let a mild cough stop me. That was what the me of long ago had thought.

"If you should say so," May said, finally giving in. I had a fever the night before, but I didn't let anyone know, as I knew they'd make a huge fuss about it. It was gone now, after all, which I thought would mean that I was fine now.

We went downstairs, but as my memory showed that I had flown down the stairs as fast as possible, I urged my mind to stop. I had seen the house every single day during that time and never made much notice of it, but now I wanted to remember it...

...to remember how it had once been in those days. To remember the fountain that had once stood outside near the doorway. To remember my mother's prized rose garden, where she made sure the gardeners tended to it with the most considerate of care, and how she had fired two of them when she felt they weren't up to the task. To remember my father's study, where he would often let me read when I was younger in his lap. To the memories of my mother wandering around the hallways. To the chandeliers that once hung over each staircase. To the tapestry on the second floor that depicted Hannibal crossing the Alps. To the line of family portraits that had once adorned the East Wing.

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I remembered those details, but at the same time, I knew that I had forgotten far more than what I remembered now. Tiny details popped into existence in my mind before disappearing forever into the ether.

To call the house in its current condition a hollow shell of its former self would be an insult to hollow shells.

And yet, the me of yesterday did not bother to notice any of these details, taking for granted that all would remain as it always was, and wandered outside the house where there was already a carriage waiting for us.

I had purposefully taken a route that avoided my mother's usual path that she favored, because I had a feeling that while I could deceive May, Mother would find a way to see through it. Father was away on a business trip, so there was no risk of running into him.

Our head butler—it had been so long that I had forgotten his name—a shame too because he was always a kind gentleman who greeted us and bade us farewell as we left.

The journey was nearly as exhilarating as the destination itself, I loved to open the small window near the side of the couch and feel the rush of the wind through my hair. Today though, I didn't do that, for fear that it would make my cough worse.

I tried to hold it in as much as possible- my mother often told me that it was unladylike to cough in public, and that I should always strive to make sure I never did so. I was less stringent given it was just May with me, who I knew very well, but who shot me looks of concern every time I coughed.

"Shall I have them fetch you a glass of water?"

"No, my throat's not dry," I told her. It did stop for a while, and we found ourselves near the theater, making our way to the top box whereupon we had the best view in the house.

The play was Othello and though I didn't care that much for it, this was one of the rare chances to go out to town and I wasn't going to miss it.

May waved to some gentlemen sitting in front of us, though I was far too shy to do so.

"It wouldn't hurt you to smile a little more," May told me.

"I would smile - if I had a reason to," I told her.

"You do have a reason to - because people want to see you smiling," she told me.

I didn't answer as I had to cough. Here, in public, I was much more pressurized to hold it in, but even then, it came out.

May noticed and frowned- though she hadn't told me off, yet.

"We're getting you some cough syrup on the way home, I swear it," she whispered in my ear while glaring at me, and then immediately smiling as she turned towards the theater.

It was strange, I had felt so nice before coming here, and hadn't even opened the window, and yet, I could feel a headache coming on. I felt cold and had to wrap my shawl tighter around myself.

Was the fever returning? I couldn't fathom why it would be doing so.

The play went on, and even in normal conditions, I probably would've found the whole thing terribly tedious. The story wasn't one that particularly enthralled me, and the language being used was another barrier to me understanding the piece. As it was, given how I was feeling, I nearly fell asleep in my seat when a voice from May woke me up.

"Ah! Intermission! Just when things were getting exciting!" she exclaimed, as the actors took a break, leaving the audience some time to relax. Most of the men took out cigars and began to smoke, though thankfully little of it reached me. I wouldn't have normally minded, but I did have a cough and such a thing might've set it off.

May looked at me and noticed my less-than-enthusiastic look. "Too boring?"

"No, it's fine," I told her.

May fidgeted in her seat, for the first time looking uncomfortable. "Listen... Charlotte, there's something I need to tell you..." she said. She leaned in closer, clearly this wasn't something she wanted bandied about. "I'm going to be getting married soon."

Even with how sick I felt, I felt like a jolt of lightning had run through me at the news and so I nearly stood up, unsure of how to respond. As I fumbled with my words, I managed to get out, "Er, ah, congratulations! Who is it? When is it?"

"I'm not sure yet, it hasn't been finalized," she told me. "I've had a number of suitors, and Father is pressuring me to accept one of them soon enough. He says it's time for me."

"Well, that's great!" I told her, before seeing how her face had fallen. "What's wrong? Isn't this fantastic news?"

"It is but..." she said, "...it means we won't see each other again."

"I mean, that's a bit of an exaggeration, right?" I asked her. "Surely we'll meet again."

"Yes," she said. "We might even meet as often as four times a year."

"So what's the problem?"

"It'll be like that in the beginning, sure," May said. "But what later? What when I have children and I'll be busy with them? And don't forget that you'll be married soon enough, once I'm done your parents will definitely want to find someone for you. What then? Who knows how often we'll see each other?"

"Right..." I said, my face falling. Of course, things couldn't be as simple as that. May would move away, and so would I. I had heard of people drifting apart like that - my own mother saw her sister maybe once every two years. "So... what do we do?"

She smiled, and this was not the socially acceptable, petite smile of a lady. No, this was a devilish smile if I had ever seen one. "Well, we may as well make the most of the time we have together. There is something I wanted to do." She pulled out a pamphlet for a play - a different play, in a different theater.

"They'll never agree to let us go this far," I told her. "Or to a place like that." This was a far seedier establishment than the one we were at now.

Her smile broadened. "Who said we would ask for permission? So tell me? Are you with me? Or not?"