a/n: it's a mess, but oh well, they're a mess.

***

Have you ever stepped back and looked, truly looked, upon the world, and grasped every ounce of wickedness it possesses?

Have you ever stood there, mouth wide open, inhaling dust as your perception of all that is good and beautiful crumbles like sand beneath your toes, coughing and coughing because you cannot comprehend how you went your entire life not realising that under all the kindness lies the rotten, gaping mouth of cruelty, as hollow and damp as the cavity in which your heart resides?

It's chilling, terrifying even, to realise that no matter how progressive we believe we are, there will eternally be people who will hate for hate's sake: who are so blind with prejudice that they merely stumble further into the dark and drag everyone with them.

Dorcas could not escape them. People didn't think she noticed their looks, their mouths twisted in disdain, mocking, implying inferiority in every raised eyebrow.

She lay in her bed, staring at the walls of her tiny, dilapidated house with unseeing eyes, head heavy with longing for a different time.

Never being viewed as anything other than black drained her of energy, making her withdraw from people besides the ones she felt she could trust, like Remus (who'd never had an issue with her skin) and Peter (who seemed to hold a deep admiration for her, which was flattering). Mr Black and Mr Potter were polite and even friendly, and that was more unusual than she was willing to admit.

But the one she couldn't seem to get her mind off was her. That woman, with her honeyed hair and warm, dark eyes, seeing Dorcas as pretty, as a person.

Stifling a groan into her pillow, she berated herself. Stupid, stupid, you can't fall for a woman! Not like this!

Not like this. Not when she was who she was, and Marlene was who she was. Not like this, when there was no chances for them.

No chance at all.

***

"Miss Meadowes?"

Marlene felt her stomach curl up into a warm knot, as Dorcas raised her dark head and glanced about with those wonderfully dark eyes.

"Miss McKinnon? Oh, I wasn't expecting..."

"I apologise, it's impertinent of me to have called upon you, but I merely wanted to say hello."

A smile pulled those full lips up. "Well, 'hello', then."

They were stood in the tailors shop. Unfortunately, Peter was not there, it was his partner in charge today, who was prone to giving Dorcas condescending looks that made her blood boil.

"What are you doing here, Miss McKinnon?"

"Marlene, please." A shared smile. They stepped closer to each other. "I came to fit a dress for myself. It's been a while since I've bought new gowns, after all."

"I see. Should... would you like my company? Of course, I can leave-"

"Stay," she replied quickly. "Erm, please stay. I'd rather it."

An unusually shy smile. "Alright, love."

The knot in her stomach got tighter, and Marlene quietly berated herself. Stupid, stupid, you can't fall for a woman!

They stayed there for a while, chatting pleasantly and avoiding eye contact, because everyone moment of eye contact set their hearts racing. They had met a few times, but every single time there had been this underlying current of impossible possibility that was undeniably drawing them closer.

Marlene was desperate to kiss her, even as guilt over her feelings plagued her nights. But she couldn't pretend to feel indifferent to the beautiful, brilliant woman, whose vibrancy drained the light from her surroundings and bounced it right back again.

Now they were walking to Marlene's shared villa, words passed back and forth as the tension grew and grew.

Dorcas felt faintly nervous as they paused outside the doorway, Marlene a step above, looking her (just as nervously) in the eye as the setting sun turned her gold hair orange.

"Thank you for the evening," Marlene whispered.

"Thank you... people don't often want me around."

"I want you around."

A sharp laugh. "I don't understand why." A smile. "But thank you."

"Thank you..."

The street was deserted. Because people here were rich, and therefore could afford early nights.

In reality, it wasn't too surprising when Dorcas leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Marlene's cheek, holding it there with her breath.

"Oh..."

"I believe I'm being impertinent now," Dorcas murmured, yet she didn't move away for a few moments longer.

They watched each other, deeply. Asking questions neither of them could answer. Then Marlene moved aside, motioning for Dorcas to follow. They both swallowed nerves as she closed the door behind them.

"Dorcas..."

And then they were pressed together, lips together, hands carefully holding the lines that jaws sculpted into faces, stumbling into a wall that Marlene found herself against.

She mumbled a quick thank you to the fates that Lily and Alice weren't home as they made their way up the stairs, giggling as Dorcas tripped in her fervour and then laughing harder as Marlene did the same.

You can imagine how the evening went, so I shan't describe it, mostly because I'm not aware how to do so.

But rest assured it was the most perfect tangle of chiffon and white sheets, of soft skin and darkness and paleness and the way they seemed to fit together so nicely, shaking and moaning and laughing and letting their voices carry throughout the empty house with no shame.

The shame came later, when Dorcas kissed Marlene goodbye and left quietly to prevent anyone from knowing she was there or what they'd done together.

It came when Marlene lay awake, so late into the night that the birds deemed it fit to break dawn before the sun did, and she took no pleasure in the incredible peace of a silently waking sky, instead slowly sinking into a puddle of guilt and guilt and guilt.

Dorcas felt little shame, however: she had been made to feel ashamed of too much, and had decided long ago she just couldn't find it in herself to care.

The world may be hideous and hollow, but within the rotting beliefs and moralities that were apparently so dear to humankind, she had found the tiniest, purest bud of hope: hope for a future that someone might one day live. Hope for herself, as wretched as she felt.

And she clung to that fragile light with all the strength she had, because without hope, what even was existence for?