Warning:

PG13+

Everything will end in embers and ashes.

The sides of my face itch as if sharp grass has pricked into my pores. Slowly opening my eyes, I find that I actually am lying on grass that is void of all moisture.

Allison and Ethan are sitting, slightly rubbing their temples as I get up and the heavy clouds in the sky greet my vision.

I press the tip of my hand against the back of my sore neck as frostbite evades the air I let out.

Your brother knows more than he lets you on.

"Where's Dylan?"

Ironically, I've been asking that question for the past seven years.

"I'm here." A loud grunts follows as Dylan tries to stand up from behind me. Allison and Ethan are already on their feet.

Dylan and I stumble slightly in our tracks and mount ourselves for the memory ahead.

Dylan rubs his temples as I gaze over the area; we are in the far left side of the gardens. The warm red roses present in the first memory have withered away to lush white roses. Among those roses, a single begonia lies stranded within.

Begonia means beware.

The symphony of flute notes rustles in the wind, making us all turn our heads towards it.

It's coming from somewhere near the gates.

I look back at the rose bushes and see that the begonia is gone.

What the....

"Lindsey, come on." Dylan shakes my hand from the side and his eyes widen a bit before they normalise. He lets go and says,
"Why is your hand ice cold?"

I remove my hand from his palm and put it my jacket's pocket. My hands are cold most of the time.

"Just slow metabolism, I guess."
I fasten my arms and walk forward, crunching the grass at my feet as everybody scrambles towards the melody.

Maybe, that's why the hum always sounds melodious.

Don't. Say. Always.

Ah, my Potterhead mind strikes again.

From my peripheral vision, I see Allison and Ethan at my side while Dylan is nearby. Everywhere around me there is mist, with a touch of rainwater enveloping.

"Please stop playing that flute, Timothy"

I stop in my tracks as do the others at the mention of Timothy.

"At least it assauges the situation, brother. Otherwise, in the given circumstances..."

That voice, Isabelle... It can't be...

My steps speed up till I reach the voice's source and the others do the same. There are two persons standing near the gates: a man and a girl.

Henry and Isabelle. With Timothy's hand pirouetting around a flute.

Henry looks quite younger from what I remember, at least five or so years. Isabelle and Timothy, on the other hand, looks about my age.

A few more seconds of rustling wind pass as everyone takes in the image in front of them. All of our eyes are wide while Allison lets out a tiny gasp.

Henry has his arms folded across his chest while Timothy tightens his grip on the flute.

Isabelle sighs,
"Do you think they will reconcile?"

Henry shifts his irises from the gates and looks directly at Isabelle.
"Both of them think that they are correct. Even though I agree with Matthew, I do not think that Father will see otherwise."

The mist around us overcomes the environment and entangles us in silvery linings.

The clouds are here again.

I don't even try to wade through them this time. This time my hands only grasp the insides of my pockets, instead of inanimated smoke.

The clouds thin out and my eyes adjust to the surroundings. We are in the centre of the parlour room near the Main Door of Edenfield.

My feet twirl around as I look across the room with two figures sitting at opposite ends. One has his legs crossed while the other has her back crouched.

They are Mr and Mrs Knightley.

I have a feeling that this isn't 1890...

The pittar patter of steps prob on the dark wooden floor as someone hastly tries to reach the door. The person stops before the side entrance of the parlour room, his aquamarine eyes travelling over to his parents.

"A moment, Matthew." Mr Knightley uncrosses his legs and sits with a cemented stature.

Matthew sighs deeply as he walks to the centre of the room.
As soon as he enters, Percival mutters loudly,
"People's children go rogue in their adolescence. Mine go at five-and-twenty."

Matthew glances towards Mrs Knightley, who remains still, before looking directly at his father.
"I am not to be wooed, Father, especially not this time."

"I have always been by your side, son, but this is unacceptable. I did not stop you from pursueing a labourer's profession instead of managing our lands like you were supposed to do. I did not stop you from serving people who were lesser than our status nor I force you to participate in society. But I will advise you to not step out of this door." Percival looks at the fire crackling from his side.

"If provinding common citizens with medical assistence instead of watching them die due to negliegence is a sin, then I am to be crucified for it. I only used my talents for helping."

Matthew purses his lips and looks sideways, before saying,
"As for the lands, they were and will always be Henry's. He deserves to follow his passions and I will not take away what my own blood is ardent about."

Now Percival sighs.
"You understand that the Edenfield's gates will be closed for you when you return."

"I understand." Matthew turns to leave but he stops in his tracks when Percival says,
"All of this, only for a scarlet woman's witch of a daughter. She will want to rid of you when she sees you with no fortune."
Percival looks up from the flames, their golden light and his anger showing the cracks of his porcelain face.

Matthew whips arounds, several waves form on his forehead:
"If you'd known even a speck of Mathilda's heart, you wouldn't say that.

"And Mrs Penrose has passed away now please... At least, respect that."

Percivals stands up from his seat and walks over to Matthew,
"That is not how the world sees it, Matthew. It condemns without knowing reasons. Do you wish to disgrace our family name!"

"I would prefer supporting the woman I love, rather than caring for the hypocritical gentry who feed on idle gossip."

Percival's right hand rises, making Mrs Knightley flinch, but it stops before it can meet Matthew's face. It falls down.
Matthew stays still, unblinking.

My own mouth is agape and the rest around me have similar expressions. Everyone's eyes are glued to the ongoing war between father and son.
Dylan's tightly wrapped his arms across his chest, Ethan blinks rapidly while Allison lets out an audible gulp.

"I am going, farewell." Matthew's ragged breathing slowly calms as he walks out of the room, leaving a trail of dead leaves behind.

Several seconds pass but they feel like an enternity. Time only restarts when Percival looks over at his wife.

"Are you not going to say anything, Estelle?"

Estelle remains still, a droplet falls from her cheek.
"You have already taken our son away from me, Percival. Do you want me lay roses at your feet....."

"I never forced you to agree with me. I never have!"

Estelle slowly turns around as two silent streams cascade her face.
"You never have but my promise did.... I could not break the vow I made all those years ago to stay by your side, no matter what.
Do not expect anything else."

"He will come back, Estelle."

"No, he won't... I raised him and I know..."

"He will when that scarlet woman shuts that door on his face."

Estelle shakes her head and says,
"I know her; she isn't a scarlet woman, Percival. Mathilda is not one to do so..."

"Instead of persuading him, you're still defending the girl!"

"He has and always will have my blessings, whether he marries an heiress or a commoner." Estelle sits up and walks out of the room, her green silk sleeve becoming a handercheif for her tears. Before going out, she says:
"Your glass castle has finally shattered, Percival. Embrace it."

Percival stares at her as the old grandfather clock strikes five times. He takes his hands out of his pockets and rubs the back of his neck continuously while pacing across the room. He mutters incoherently to himself.

Isabelle runs into the room, her hands fastened around the hem of her skirts and the ribbons in her hair loosening.
"F-Father... Henry.... I-I don't know what happened to him. H-he collapsed..."

The warmth of the fire has created a brickish tint on his face while the rest of it turns into a pale-ghastly white. He takes Isabelle by her hand and runs out of the room.

I feel like this was Matthew's reaction when Percival raised his hand.

The track above is Solitude by @BrunuhVille :)

Gosh, I think that this the shortest chapter I've written in a while. It's only 1500 words(excluding the AN).

Whenever I feel as though the chapter might contain some triggering content, then I will add a simple warning and rating above. I do not want to give away spoilers by warning and I definitely do not want to mislead my readers.

Note:

1) Dead leaves symbolise sadness 'leaving a trail of dead leaves', meant that there was excess woe.

Anyways, I hope you guys liked the chapter and let me know if you feel that there's an info-dump anywhere.
Also, did you notice that the grandfather clock struck exactly FIVE times ;)

Now to the question of the week:

What do you think about Mathilda and Matthew? Yay or Nay?

(Remember, Lindsey mentions that she thinks that this isn't 1890 as Percival, Estelle and Isabelle are alive)

Hoping you all have a wonderful week.

Avoid weird typos.

Love,
MS Zame