November 17, 1846

CHARLOTTE DIDN'T WANT TO DIE. She shivered against the cold of the winter, unable to find any warmth, even as she was pressed up right against the fireplace, her husband and the midwife next to her, each holding one of her hands. She couldn't even cry, her heart racing so fast she was sure it would just stop. It would soon.

She tongue felt so dry and her stomach couldn't stop aching. She sighed as she remembered all the outbreaks ten years prior, remembered how everyone was sure it wouldn't come back. It had been spreading for years, and the orphanage was only the beginning.

She shuddered as she remembered the orphanage, of all the children whose parents had died in factory accidents or of the outbreaks years before. Children who had been sent to factories to work, disfigured and unable to truly heal again. Her husband tried to insist that they were someone else's problem, tried to convince her to work in a mill as he worked in the factory.

"We could work our way to a palace," he would always try to say, a dream the two had harbored when they were so young, so full of hope.

"I don't need a palace," she would always whisper, cradling his head in her hands, looking deep in his blue eyes, shaking her head, "I just need you."

He'd always turn to kiss her palms, holding her close as he told her how much he loved her, how much he wanted to give her the whole world and more. He'd never mention children, he never resented her for what happened. Even after all this time, he still loved her.

They were supposed to be together forever. To die old together, sitting on the front porch of a home in the country. Maybe without the grandchildren running about, but with each other.

But while they hadn't been her children, they were still children. They were someone's children, whether that person was around or gone, wanted them or not, and she wasn't the one to decide which children received love and which had to live with what life gave them.

She stayed with them until the end. She didn't falter when the first child—Alice—fell ill with the sickness, when panic spread throughout their home as people fled for the hills, panicked and demanding safety and quarantine. She stayed to take care of the children, holding their hands the whole way through, staying with them in their last moments, even when no one dared to look at them.

"It'll be okay," she always whispered, looking deep in their tear filled eyes, "It's okay. I'm with you. It's okay."

"Will I see you again?" some of them would ask, and she would just whisper, "Some day," before brushing back their hair, giving them an encouraging smile.

She always smiled during their last moments. Even as her heart shattered over and over and over, she never stopped smiling, never showed her pain or her fear. Because she wanted to make sure the last thing these children ever saw was the proud face of a woman who loved them, when no one else did.

Her husband would tell her time and time again that she would catch it, that there was something in the water at the orphanage, and she always promised him she would be careful, always used as clean of water as she had, boiling it for hours before bathing or drinking. They had technology now, this wasn't the plague. She promised him she would be fine.

She wasn't surprised when she caught it, barely batted an eye. Cholera. She took it like a list of groceries she'd need to pick up, taking it in stride despite the stabbing in her heart, the panic that threatened to rise up. She tamped it down until she couldn't even stand anymore.

Now here she was, on her deathbed, finally allowing herself a moment of true fear.

"I don't want to die," she whispered, gripping her husband's hand as she looked up at him, her entire body seizing as he looked down at her with tear stained cheeks.

"I don't want to let you go," he sobbed, shaking his head, "I can't, not yet."

She sighed, reaching out to stroke his cheek, her lip quivering as he caught it in his own hand, kissing her palm the way he used to—the way he always did. He took her other hand and did the same, pressing his face against her hands, as he sobbed, holding on so tightly that she nearly cried out.

She looked towards the midwife who sat at the foot of the bed, looking away; she wanted to give them space. She knew Charlotte had run out of time. She had grown too weak, her body couldn't sustain itself anymore.

It was time to let go.

She struggled to breathe, sighing as her hands were let go, placed at her sides, her body too weak to do anything but exist, melting into her bed as she struggled to keep her eyes closed, her vision growing hazy, staring up towards her husband who looked down at her, sobbing.

"Smile," she whispered.

"What?" he breathed, looking down at her like she had finally lost her mind, his entire body trembling.

"I want to see your smile," she pressed, trying to reach out to him, her arms failing her, "Please. I miss seeing your smile. It's been so long."

He tried to muster a smile, but it came out as a grimace, the ends of his smile tilting downwards, showing her nothing but pure pain. She felt her lower lip quiver as she begged, crying out for him to show her one true smile, just this once.

"I have nothing to smile about," she sighed, propping his elbows onto the mattress, pressing his thumbs into the points on his nose by his eyes.

"Do I not make you smile?" she asked, and he laughed bitterly, refusing to so much as look at her. "Look at me, please."

After a few moments, he relented, looking at her with tired, pained eyes. She mustered up just enough strength to raise her hand, up towards his cheek, letting him close the gap, her cold fingers grazing his warm cheek ever so slightly.

"I never needed a palace," she whispered, shaking her head, "All I ever needed was you. You were what made me happy."

He sobbed, taking her hands and placing them against his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, to look at her until the very end, even if it killed him. "You were all that made me happy. What am I to do now?"

"Live for me," she whispered, "Please. Let others love your smile as much as I do. Let me see it, please."

He struggled, trying to find the right muscles, to give his wife the last thing she asked for, the only thing she wanted him to give her. After all his promises and wishes to give her everything, he couldn't give her this.

"Remember when we fed the ducks at the pond?" she whispered, and he laughed, the barest hint of a smile grazing his lips as he nodded.

"They followed us all the way home," he laughed, and she stared at his smile, at how it was always so perfectly aligned, stretched to show his top teeth, one side never higher than the other, his eyes crinkling from the force.

"I love you," she whispered, barely able to open her eyes, but struggling nonetheless, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," he breathed, pouring his whole soul into his words, "I will love no one but you."

"No," she said, forcing herself to speak, "Find another. Don't live the rest of your life alone. Don't subject yourself to misery for me. That is not what I want."

"How could I love another?" he cried, shaking as he felt her ice cold fingers against his cheek, he being the only one keeping them from her sides.

"Find a way," she sighed, no longer able to open her eyes.

"Sir," the midwife whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Maybe you should go—"

"No," he barked, tightening his grip on her hands, lowering them onto the bed, "I'm staying with her."

Charlotte allowed her breathing to slow to as much as she could handle, her eyes fluttering closed, a spike of fear rising in her stomach.

She didn't want to die.

She clawed at the last piece of consciousness she had left, focused on the sound of her husband's voice, struggling to understand what he was saying.

She didn't want to die.

"It's okay, Charlotte," she heard him say, like she was underwater and slowly slipping away, her eyes opened but vision just the same.

"You can let go."

○ ○ ○

March 12, 1923

"—c'mon, dance with me, Charlotte, I gotta get you home before midnight, you know?"

Charlotte blinked furiously, looking around at the darkened room she was in, lit by only a few lamps, people dancing all around her to a music she didn't recognize, girls in short dresses and boys in ties, laughing and joking, wild and loose and free.

This was heaven?

She stumbled to her feet, falling forward in her strange sparkling shoes, only to be caught by a teenage boy who grinned down at her, all teeth and pretty face, a hand sliding around her waist, eyes glinting with mischief and excitement.

"What?" she breathed, stepping away from him, pausing when she saw her hands, delicate and fair, so different than what they had been last she remembered.

"Lottie?" the boy asked, suddenly serious, coming to stand in front of her, shielding her from the others, "Hey, are you okay? If you're not up to it, we don't gotta. You wanna go, we can if you want."

She swallowed, shaking her head minutely as she tried to breathe, turning around to find a metal plate, picking it up and looking at her reflection, distorted but there. Instead of lines and wrinkles, all she saw was smooth and fair. Young. Like a teenager.

"Where am I?" she asked, looking up at him, and he gave her a funny look, concerned, but amused.

"New York, sweetheart," he said, taking her by the hand, "On a date with me at one of the hottest speakeasies in Manhattan. Your daddy thinks we're off at the park, and we only got a few hours before midnight."

"New York?" she repeated, only then catching the startlingly different accent of her own voice; it was still her own, no doubt about it, but it sounded so different, "What-what's my name?"

"Charlotte Burnes," the boy repeated, seeming to believe this was a game, "Lottie, if I thought we was gonna be playin' a guessing game I wouldn't have gotten as gussied up. C'mon, please dance with me, I've been looking forward all week for this."

She took a deep breath, looking around at all the people, then at the boy in front of her, just as much a boy as she was a girl, feeling herself sink into the feeling more and more. She still felt rather numb, rather strange, but it was starting to become easier. Like she had just come out of the water and the droplets were just starting to dry.

"Let go, Charlotte," the boy said, tugging her to the dance floor, "Just let it all go."

Charlotte allowed herself to be tugged along, sinking deeper into the feeling. She had let it go. But she wasn't sure what she had gotten in return.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 06.18.18 )

So! Here's the first chapter! I'm not so sure about it, I think I did pretty alright, there wasn't much dialogue, but I think that was for the best. I also didn't name her husband because if you think about it when this is all over, his name would soon fade away, so why even have you know it? It's symbolic.

That's really all I have to say so...thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!