chapter one.

❛ ananke. ❜ 

MADELEINE DELACOUR HATED THE WORLD MOST WHEN IT HAD NOTHING TO SAY.

She loathed the quiet. Always had, for as far back as she could remember. There was something so nauseating about the way everything was still. Being the only moving thing in a sea of silence, where the only sounds came from her own thoughts. The quiet terrified her. Especially in cities meant to be bustling with life — racing cars, children walking to and from school, screaming and laughter for a thousand different reasons. Paranoia bit too quick to her racing thoughts; the silence was a poison that spread too fast, made her spiral like a ship in a whirlpool. Something always felt wrong, something was too loud, something hurt too much —

— but she had learned to deal with it. Just as she had everything else.

She stifled a yawn in her hand. Sleep still clung to her body, beckoning her back to bed as clumsily as always. The faults of an insomniac with an early bird complex. No matter; aching muscles and weary minds would have to wait. Life still went on, after all, and Mae was not going to be left behind again.

Madeleine Delacour was a woman of schedule. She did not do spontaneity, or surprises, or random pockets of time with nothing planned to fill its seconds. She went from one task to another with barely a blink of hesitation in between, forcing her hands to be busy from the moment she woke up to the time her eyes finally slipped shut for the night. Many laughed at her, tried to psycho-analyse her, make up rumours, call her 'robotic' or 'unhinged'.

But honestly, she didn't really care what they said, as long as they weren't quiet. 

Her hands left the window sill, drawing the curtains closed. It would still be a while before the sun came up, at least an hour or two of relying on cold, artificial light instead. She flicked on the light switch, blinking at the stinging brightness, and shuffled into her bathroom. Watching through heavy eyes, her hands searched, running along the counter before they found what they were looking for. Long, lithe fingers fiddled with knobs and buttons that had long since been made familiar. There came a crackle, then static, then finally...

"...if you're just now joining us, it is 5:45 on a cloudy Tuesday morning, and we're joined with Megan here to tell us about this week's weather report. Megan?"

The silence eased, and her thoughts faded to background noise, just like the radio humming in front of her. Everything was calm again. A thousand shades of grey she could actually handle. Finally, her morning could start.

Everything was routine. Brush teeth until the bitter taste of a bad night's rest had washed away. Scrub the unrest and lavishly moisturize dry, sleepless skin. Mae never used cheap products, a habit (and usually gifts) from her older sister. Makeup came next, not to paint a mask but to fix a friendlier face. Conceal the stress and lift her downturned pout into a sweet grin. Make her eyes look interesting, not withdrawn and grey.

Her hair went up next, perfectly coiled back in a bun. Her mother had taught her that hairstyle when she was thirteen, and Mae had never really been able to leave it behind. It was simple, easy, and it looked professional. She fussed over the hairs that escaped its hold for a few minutes, but they were a lost cause she could live with.

She spared a moment for her dear cat, Bowie. A huge rescue tabby (who was possibly part Maine Coon) who's exaggerated pout could not be more unlike the affectionate pet. He keened for more than a short headrub, but Mae was already moving past, apologising under her breath. Sorry, Bowie — time waited for none, not even adorable kitty sweethearts like you.

Mae always picked her outfits the night before. It saved her time and eased the stress of fumbling for options. So there was no surprise in the maroon blouse or black slacks. Nor in the silver studs, a graduation gift from her father, pinned easily to her small ears. Still, she allowed herself a moment to pick at her outfit, adjust every piece to perfection, before sighing.

"Best we're going to get, huh," she murmured to a watching Bowie. Her lips pursed. "Oh well. No time to waste picking myself apart."

And just like every other day, she was ready just on the dot of 6:30. Grabbing her shoes for the day and whatever else she needed, mentally mapping out her next list of tasks. Breakfast. Coffee. No, coffee first — otherwise, she might drop dead before seven hit.

Yep. Coffee, A-S-A-P.

Mae grimaced as another yawn, the dozenth that morning, pressed at her lips. She muffled it against her hand as she left her bedroom, heading down the hall to the apartment's shared space. Bowie followed close behind; at every step, tiny mews reminded her of how supposedly starved the poor cat was, even if they both knew he had only just cleared his bowl from last night.

"Morning, sleepy head!" 

Mae blinked at her roommate's strange position, glancing down at the bar stools to make sure they were, in fact, still there (they were). Her eyes darted back up to meet Theo's, taking in her strange, twisted cross-legged pose on their kitchen counter. The woman sipped her coffee like everything was perfectly normal, as bright-eyed and as bushy-tailed as ever, cocking her head like it was Mae that was being weird.

Mae sighed. "You do know I cook on that counter, right? And eat, and work?"

"Why would you eat off this? We have plates for a reason, dumbass."

"I—" she muffled another grumpy exhale. It wasn't worth the energy. Unlike Theona Chavez, she was not an infinite supply of exuberance and adrenaline, and she couldn't afford a pointless argument on where and where not to sit. So instead, she shook her head and walked past. "Nevermind. Good morning."

"Mm. You look cute today!"

Mae looked up at her friend through furrowed brows. Her hands poured Bowie's foods while she studied Theo's expression, trying to figure out it's curious state. "I haven't done anything different."

"Can't I tell my friend she looks good, when she does? Not that you don't always look good, but that colour really works on ya! Brings out your eyes, Mae-baby."

Mae rolled said eyes and batted off Theo's reaching fingers. For a woman with all the strength and grace of an Amazonian warrior...she really had to choose to act like a child in her free time. Or, was it even acting? 

"Thank you, Theo." She dropped Bowie's dish down, patting the cat's head twice before groaning her way back up. "I don't feel like I look especially good, but...s'pose coffee will help."

"Oh. Ha. Yeah..." Theo slurped on her own hot drink, looking over the mug lip with wide eyes. "Are you sure you need it? I mean, maybe today's the day you switch to tea. Or, or I know a great juice place, wouldn't it be—"

"—you used up all the coffee grounds, didn't you."

"Yeah."

"Theo."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I know I said I'd remember to grab more on the way home, I just, I got busy, and my mind was like in a thousand places, and — what are you doing?"

Mae turned around, smiling tiredly at her friend. She waved the tiny tin in her hand like a prize, her smile broadening a tad as Theo's eyes followed it's path. "I knew this would happen. So I saved some, just in case."

"What? No way."

She peeled off the top and showed the grounds. "See?"

Theo let out a low whistle. She slid off the counter surprisingly smoothly (though, perhaps not so surprising, considering the woman had the skills of a prima ballerina and just never applied it). Her hand clapped down on Mae's shoulder, letting out another whoop. 

"I honestly want to be worried about you and your addiction, but I'm just impressed. You're too prepared for this world, Mae-baby."

She let out a soft 'tch' and nudged Theo's hand off. "It's only coffee. And common sense, at this point, considering how often you forget these things."

"I said I was sorry!"

"At this point, I'm going to just have to tape reminders to your forehead, just so I know you won't forget." Mae's pale lips quirked up in a rare, teasing smile. "At least you'll remember, with how obsessed you are with the mirror—"

"—oh, you do not get to play that card, sweetheart, when any reflective surface your pretty eyes catch sight of becomes your best friend! How many times have we been out, and you've paused to fix yourself up?"

Mae huffed. "Worrying about my appearance and preening like a peacock are not the same thing, Theo."

"I do not preen."

"You do so."

"I-I mean, I do like, recognise that I look good 99% of the time, but that does not mean I'm preening like a damn flightless bird. If, if anything, you're the peacock, fixin' yourself like your soulmate's about to round the corner and meet you!"

Her lips quirked higher. Theo always liked to bring it back to that. "I'm not that vain. And I don't believe in soulmates."

"Psh. Sometimes I forget that you're so boring."

Mae ignored the slight and continued making coffee. While it was fun, riling Theo up and making her lose her cool, she was too tired that morning. She'd let her win that argument, especially when she had a point. Madeleine was boring, in most senses, but she rather liked it that way.

Boring was easy. Peaceful. Simple.

"Busy day today?"

Mae didn't look away from the dripping coffee. Her fingernails tapped idly at the side of the pot, ignoring the heat billowing off of it. "Same as usual, I suppose. You?"

"I think I'm stuck working late tonight again, sadly."

"Mm. Does that mean you won't be here for dinner?"

She turned slightly to catch Theo's disgruntled expression. She'd worn that same face maybe a thousand times before, and usually for the exact same reason. Working late was the bane of Theona Chavez' existence — well, that and her pitiful memory. And yet, despite her burning hatred, she always got saddled with overtime and night shifts.

Why she stuck with the job, Mae didn't know. But maybe being a purchasing manager had a thrill that she'd just never understand.

"State's been tryin' to negotiate a big new park, downtown and it's been a fuckin' blow. Everyone wants to fight over everything, and," Theo huffed angrily into her mug, "it means I have to take care of it all. Like the fools under me weren't hired for a fuckin' reason."

She clicked her tongue sympathetically. "Sounds like a drag."

"It is, it really is! I get it, park's a park and kids need to run around somewhere, but hell...back in my day, you got a stick and a stone and you made your own fun. Yanno?"

Mae's skin prickled. Something about that sentence made her uneasy, like eating a bagel a few days old. Still, she shrugged it off and busied herself with the coffee maker. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured dully. Her fingers clenched around the coffee mug, whitening around the red painted porcelain. "I'll save dinner for you, though. Will you be super late?"

"Dunno yet. Shouldn't be too bad, I'm not in the mood to stay all night...I'll try to be home by seven."

"Sounds good." Mae turned, sipping at her still burning coffee, and watched her friend trying and gather all her things. Unlike her, Theo was a disorganised mess who chose to get herself ready for anything important maybe three minutes before she had to leave. Half of her stuff laid around the apartment, piled in small stacks (by Mae, of course) and the rest laid at the bottom of Theo's enormous black work bag. The most random of things were in the bag, like a dirty treasure trove stolen from a weirdly utilitarian Walmart. Someone needed anything — hair ties, a pair of shower shoes, a wide selection of books of various genres — and Theo would have it.

Once, Mae found three leashes in there. Theo never told her why, and frankly...she'd rather never know the answer.

"Can we leave a couple minutes early, today? I want to stop and pick up another coffee."

Theo rolled her eyes, though her smile off-set any sense of irritation. "You and your caffeine infatuation. You know, that stuff'll kill you, one day."

"I'm doing just fine."

"You won't be, drinking ten cups a day like you do!"

Mae scooped Bowie up in her arms and pressed her nose to the cat's fur. He protested, but allowed her to coddle him regardless. "Doctors' say it doesn't affect my system."

"And I don't believe a single one of those squash heads."

"Squash heads? How clever."

"I—don't question me."

"I'm not! Just," Mae hid her smile in her pet's fur, even as he batted at her cheeks, "that's such an intelligent, concise, meaningful insult to the medical profession. Squash is of course such a big part of that field, and—"

"—you want to walk to work, Mae-baby?"

She didn't falter. "Like you would do that to me."

"I...shut up, and get your stuff. Squashhead."

"THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THIS TOPIC, is remembering that underneath all the shining stars and heroes that emerged, are thousands of brave hearts that gave their lives without any ounce of recognition."

Mae clicked, changing the slide from Captain America's iconic stance to forty or so photographs. "These are just a few of those brave men, women, and even children that fought to change the world. Obviously, there are so many more that could be acknowledged and should be, but we do not have the time or resources, unfortunately, here to pay our respects. So I've chosen this small collection for you guys to focus on."

Another click. Times New Roman filled the screen. 

"Most of your time in any history class is spent recognising the biggest moments. The largest figures, the greatest heroes. But I don't want you to write another essay on Captain America, even though I'm sure you could find more than enough material to do so." She smiled wanly. "Instead, I'm directing your attention to those equally interesting. You're going to pick one of the many names on this list and become their expert. Learn about their life. Their story. What made them happy, what hurt them most, what they lost, and most importantly..." she carefully circled the largest sentence on the board. "What they gave, to make sure you could live the life you have now."

"I'll pass around a sheet of further instructions. This is a mostly open assignment, which means I'm not just asking you to write me a paper. I want you to get creative with this, and find an interesting way to present your found information to the class."

Collective groans echoed around the small classroom, and Mae shook her head sympathetically.

"I know, I know presentations are not loved, but I want to hit home how important these people are. Not only because it's a part of your studies, but because they should not be forgotten. So, you can choose a PowerPoint, or some sort of interactive exercise, a video, even..." she trailed off, chuckling awkwardly as she passed another student a paper. "I don't really know. Get creative. Find what you feel will best emphasise these brave lives. If you're stuck, you can come to me and we can talk about it together. I'd like you to submit your person and idea by the end of the period, but I'll be here to discuss with whoever needs it."

She returned to the front of the class, continuing her explanation until she was back to her computer. She folded her arms and surveyed the students, all wearing a myriad of expressions. "Are there any questions?"

A hand shot up. Two seats back from the front on the left it waved proudly, belonging to the precocious Melinda Jones. Mae wasn't surprised to see her first to speak, as it was often the case — and she welcomed it. 

"Yes, Melinda?"

"Can I pick my person now?"

"Alright," she nodded. "Who would you like?"

"Gabe Jones? He's my great-great uncle." Melinda grinned, displaying her purple braces. "I've always wanted an excuse to brag about him."

Mae's smile grew softer. "Of course. That's a great choice, and I'm excited to see how you explore your family's personal connection. Just remember to be respectful. Sometimes it's hard to talk about the past, especially when you've been through what these people have been through."

The young girl nodded eagerly, scribbling at her paper in what Mae could only imagine was a dozen ideas. 

"Perfect. Now," she scrawled a line through Gabe Jones' typed name, "do I have anyone else? Remember, you have all period to choose, you don't need to rush."

She waited a few seconds before another hand rose. That time it was from the far right in the back, from the quiet Oliver. He normally chose to be silent in class, only speaking when he had to, which made Mae wonder what could make him want to speak now.

"Yes, Oliver?"

"Does it have to be specifically from that list?"

Mae glanced back to her screen. "I would prefer it, yes, just so we don't go down any rabbit holes. Did you have someone specific in mind?"

Oliver nodded solemnly. "Bucky Barnes."

That name wasn't a stranger. Mae had seen it almost everywhere, had to have in her line of work. Of course, it was never of any great focus. She never had any interest in the man, nothing past a vague respect for his sacrifice. It wasn't anything against him, of course — that would be hard to imagine, considering how little anyone knew about James Barnes. But still, something inside her just reacted oddly to the name. Like an internal cringe at an old enemy, or bad memory.

Still, it wasn't a bad suggestion. And so she nodded and scribbled down the name under the list. "You can do your project on him, yes. I suppose he fits in well on this list. But that'll be the only exception, I think. Alright?"

Mutely, everyone bobbed their heads along.

"Perfect. Now, before I let you guys work on your own, I just want to mention next week's field trip. The other teachers and I have arranged..."

TODAY HADN'T BEEN TOO BAD.

Despite a longer line at her usual café than usual (which prompted her to get a fourth cup of coffee at the commercial chain five minutes further) and the apathetic attitudes of her tenth grade class, she had made it through in an alright mood. She had managed to get all her students in her first period to decide their person of interest, even if some were still unsure on how to present just yet. While of course, the hardest work was still to come, it was still a win.

One she'd take quite gladly, too.

Mae hummed, scribbling out that task. She glanced over the rest of her list; nothing too substantial stood out. As usual, her carefully planned out day had gone, well, to plan. Having only two classes (one and a half, considering she partly shared Intro to World History) made her school workload much lighter. She could mark all her first period work during study hall supervision in period two, and always managed to wrap up just before the bell and have time to walk to get her next cup of coffee. Then, third period was spent finalizing ItWH's work for the day, any field trip details, tests, always finished in time before the tenth grade students stumbled into class. Whatever work they left for her was easy enough homework, and stuff she appreciated, honestly — while nothing exciting, it at least kept her busy.

Her pen tapped anxiously at her agenda, next to the third task down, 'establish trip schedule with other teachers'. That, she was not looking forward to. She could plan out every detail of her own day and zip around to wherever she had to be, always on time, but other people were unpredictable. Unruly. Uncaring. And they never really liked her all too much, not unless they wanted something from her.

Mae sighed and snapped the small notebook shut. It's nothing to stress over, she assured herself, it can be handled over e-mail. Always easier than face-to-face. Where she did not have to worry that her face wasn't reacting the way they wanted her to, or her answers were not what they wanted to hear, or worry that something would snap at any given moment and—

—the sound of metal clattering to the floor snapped her out of her reverie. With a start, Mae glanced down to see her pen had fallen from her hands, which had formed claws, scrabbling for something the thin air couldn't offer. She clicked her tongue and gathered the pen with the rest of her things, piling it all neatly in her bag.

"Relax your muscles," she chided herself, "and breathe. You're fine, you're on task, you're in a good place. Just...call a cab and head home."

Mae kept humming. Through the tap-tap-tapping of her fingers searching for a number she called at least three times a week, through the ringing, even during the brief intervals where the bored operator was asking her questions. And she kept going, even as she untangled her earbuds (a gift from Theo she only used when irritated most) and the smooth, honeyed sound of well-loved piano keys began to play for her.

She just had to wait. Ten minutes, that was usually all it took. She had done it before, made it out just fine — but every time she had to sit on that bench and stare at the leaves and wait, with nothing but dull instrumental to keep her thoughts from eating her alive, felt like the first time. A fresh new torture, inflicted on delicate skin that had never felt the cruel cut of a panicked blade.

Mae disliked waiting. A lot.

"Mae?"

Oh, but she despised this, so much more.

There was no mistaking Kevin Hodge's voice; it cut through any sound like an elephant in a forest. That was to say, whatever was happening or being said, she could always hear that annoying man shouting (because clearly he never learned about 'inside voices') about some opinion or another. Or he was calling to someone who didn't want to talk to him, her eight times out of ten, and inflicting his painfully hoarse baritone on them.

Mae avoided most of her colleagues, just to be safe, but there was no avoiding Kevin Hodge. Even if they taught completely different subjects (which they did not, a deafening blow to her anxious heart) and even if she moved countries or continents, he could probably find a way to ask some demeaning or intrusive question she did not want to answer.

Still, he was a colleague. She had to be polite.

"Hello, Mr. Hodge." She removed one of her earbuds to appear polite, though piano still blared in the other one. "I thought you would have gone home by now."

"Oh, usually I would, but—" he hooked his fingers in his belt and huffed, out of breath from his stomp across campus. "Had to finish up a couple project details. You know how it is."

"Sure. Hope that went well for you."

"Oh, certainly. But, uh," he squinted down at her. "What are you still doing here?"

Mae's jaw ached from how hard she was clenching her teeth. Still she clung to her smile. "Just waiting for my ride."

"Oh, course. I always forget you can't drive." Kevin Hodge smiled, showing off the clump of spinach clinging to his front tooth. "You know, those tests are mighty simple these days. They let anyone on the road, ha! Bet you could hook yourself up with a permit, easy enough, even if—"

"—I choose not to drive, Mr. Hodge. But thank you for the advice."

"You can just call me Kevin, Mae. Got no students around, d'we?"

Sharp streaks of pain echoed in her forearms as her nails dug in tight; the only thing keeping her sane under his gaze. "I prefer to be called Ms. Delacour, Mr. Hodge. Just for brevity's sake."

"Ah, sure, sure." He shifted his weight and looked around curiously. "When's your ride coming? Cause, if it's gonna be a while, I can always get'cha home. My Subaru's got the room, and ever since my bitch of an ex-wife left me, my passenger seat's been a bit empty, so if—"

But Mae would never, thankfully, hear the rest of his preposition, as her chariot of grace pulled up to the curb in all its tacky yellow glory. She rose from the bench and hurried to the backseat. She didn't bother to look back at the other teacher, barely managing a terse wave as a goodbye. "Have a good evening, Mr. Hodge. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, sure. But, if you—"

"—good evening," she interrupted, before slamming the cab door shut behind her. Heaving a grateful sigh at the glass between her and the man, she glanced to the front of vehicle with a hopefully friendly smile. "Hello. Um, 1301 Maryland Ave?"

"Aye," the woman responded, grinning back at her in the mirror. She gave her a wink and a gruff, "dropped y'off enough to know the place by heart."

"Ah. Well, thank you."

"Uh-huh."

As the cab took off, Mae leaned back against the seat, trying to calm her heart. Her music still played though at a much quieter music, and the moving scenery out the window was a welcome change to the static of the bench seat. It, at least, was enough distraction to calm her mind — and erase the cabbage-nose of one Kevin Hodge from it. At least for the time being.

"Okay," she murmured under her breath, pulling out her cell phone from her bag. She went straight to the note's app and made a new note, quickly typing the same title she always gave them. Her thousandth to-do list, typed out in a flurry of pale, glossy fingernails pressing anxiously at the tiny keyboard.

Not much tonight was to be done, though. She just had to focus on finalising the field trip details and itinerary, but she could knock that out before dinner, probably. And she would eat that alone, but that would be bearable; she'd just put to use that new audiobook Theo had bought her. Other than usual homework and cleaning up, making sure Theo was all good and Bowie too, she would be on time with everything. She might even have time to do a load of laundry, because all her nice work bottoms were worn and she would rather not be stuck with something small or soiled.

"Traffic's good today."

"Hm?"

The driver gestured loosely to their surroundings, and Mae realised they had gone significantly farther than she had expected. "Usually this street's a nightmare, y'know? Not too bad today, though."

"Hm, you're right." She peered out the window at the passing cars and pedestrians. "Must be a  nice relief as a driver."

"I mean, less road rage — but the more I gotta drive, the more the money. So," the woman shrugged, "life's like that, I guess. You win some, you lose some."

"Mm. Guess so, yes."

And then Mae leant back, and stared out the window, soft instrumentals playing in her ears, and waited for the ride to be over.

ANANKE: the primordial deity of necessity and inevitability, also known as fate personified. In some writings, she and her mate Kronos were the ones who created the passage of time, as well as the mother/helmsman of the Moirai (the Fates). Ananke is not a prominently featured figure in Greek mythology, as she is referred to mostly in the more confusing and lesser used Orphism/Orphic tradition*, but was an important figure in ancient Greece lifestyle, as she was considered the only one who could influence fate, for both the gods and mortals.

ORPHISM: religious practices originating in ancient Greece from the poet Orpheus' writings. It focuses heavily on Orpheus' writings on Dionysus, who like the poet had gone to the Greek Underworld and survived. From Orpheus' writings spawned a variance on the creation of life, explaining the Titans, Gods, and humankind from Dionysus' sufferings and death. This variance of myth(s) are much less embraced for several reasons — one, because of Hesiod's Theogony's easier to follow linear timeline, another because of the heavy focus on Dionysus and his journey, placing him as the main facet of the religion and the creation of human kind.

FYI, it's been several years since the prologue, at this point. Mae is about 25 here.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought.

REWRITTEN: o5/16/21.