Chapter Text
Amoreen hummed softly as she fluttered about the interior of the cabin. The structure was a decent size, and clean. If this was a head trauma based hallucination for Pere, it was a vivid and well rounded one. Amoreen had died (allegedly) when Pere was 23. No one in their family had seen the woman in the months leading up to it, and the few times any of them had tried to visit, uncle Corve had told them she was sick in bed again. This hadn't raised any questions, as a dark shadow had settled behind Amoreen’s eyes almost a year prior to that.
Eventually, the dreaded news came. Amoreen had been sleeping more, and more, and more following a cough that would never seem to leave her. One morning, Uncle Corve went to give her honey tea and couldn't wake her. Had this been a simple dream sequence, the slender woman before her would have stayed wasting away.
The Amoreen of the present was far from a corpse. She hummed slightly to herself as she pre-made bread, cream, and sugar from storage. The cabin had only two rooms, but the second one was more like a tower. One would enter through the front door into a tall circular sitting space, then proceed under a large hanging bed that could only be accessed via a carved wooden staircase along one wall. It was a beautiful staircase, even at a glance. The wood was polished and set with master craftsmanship. Finally, at half height, a kitchen and workspace composed the other half of the dwelling.
It was beautiful there.
Amoreen, even at her weakest, had a taste for beautiful things. Whether it was carving, drawing, painting, dancing, or writing, the woman elevated any space she entered. Vaguely, Pere would remember treasured possessions growing old and her aunt restoring them.
The tunic that the silver haired woman was wearing showed not much had changed. It appeared to be multiple intricate fabrics woven into one primary garment. The stitching spoke of hours of diligent labor. It was beautiful. Amoreen…was beautiful.
Now, Pere’s aunt by marriage was not beautiful in the way Mallow was, but in her softness. The most tragic part of her death had been her leaving no children behind. Despite her face showing little age, the prematurely silver hair gave her an ethereal quality. Uncle Corve was a blessed man, the townspeople had said, to have such a woman. A crying shame she was gone as soon as she’d appeared.
“Do you want peach juice bab–...excuse me, Pereira?” Baby. Her aunt had nearly called her b a b y … after all these years. That totally wasn't about to trigger a free flow of tears. Totally not.
Peach juice sounds lovely…especially with bread at that as stunning polished table. “Peach juice sounds lovely.” And just like that, no time had passed. The only person who got the same inner monologue and outer monologue from our vaguely traumatized heroine had re-entered the equation.
The sun wouldn't have smiled so brightly. “Peach juice and sugar bread, coming right up.” Amoreen filled a carved wooden goblet to the halfway mark and tossed the double soaked bread until it shimmered, setting the snacks in front of Pere after around ten minutes of silence.
“You look like you've had a day.” A warm smile, a kind voice. The questions could wait until hunger subsided.
Digging wildly into the nostalgia meal, it took Pere half a plate to realize she was rocking it solo. “Are you eating?”
Her aunt looked perfectly at peace, leaning back in the chair next to her niece. “I've never been much of an eater.”
What an odd thing to say. “Am I dead?”
“Well, no.”
A pause. “Are you dead?”
“No.” Amoreen gave speeches or syllables, with little between.
The bread was incredible, just the way she remembered. The juice was clearly hand squeezed. The room smelled of oranges. “You’ve been alive, this entire time?”
“Also, no.” There was that guilty tone again.
Pere tapped her nails on the wood, wanting to yell but missing her aunt too much to shatter the moment. “It's one or the other.”
“I was dead for the longest time before I lived, darli–” Amoreen stopped short, looking sheepish as another endearment slipped out.
The redhead mixed a grimace and a smile together. “It's okay if you want to use pet names. I remember you told me once that sugar was the only thing you did well.”
“Ah.” The older woman placed her hand, palm up on the surface without expectation. An offer, not an instance.
And the notoriously angry, defensive, and damaged Pere clutched to that hand without hesitation. “I don't agree. I remember you were pretty awesome at everything. Uncle could never measure up.”
That seemed to upset the older woman, despite it being phrased warmly, and as a compliment.
A short stretch of silence.
“...did Uncle know?” Was he involved? Was he a liar? Was her Aunt a liar? What was the cause of the leaving? “Au-nee, why did you go?”
Amoreen squeezed her hand softly, ghosting a thumb over the back of her hand. “Sometimes we feel things but never see them.”
Pere laughed, despite herself. “Ever the long lost prophetess.”
A scoff, a sigh. “I was never wise beyond my years, darling. I was 18 when you were 14. I was 27 when I left.”
Silence. “Did…Uncle know?” The question had a new meaning now.
“I wish I could tell you the whole story. We don't have time today.” Her aunt continued. “I put on our marriage certificate that I was 21.”
Sounds like an excuse, but sure. “Uh…you have plans or…?” Pere furrowed her brow, feeling vaguely lonely. The last bite of her sugar bread caught in her throat.
Amoreen silently took the plate and cup to the sink, setting them for now. There, she opened wide the shutters, revealing the convoluted sky once more. The colors were fading to a deep maroon, the clouds soggy as though made of paint.
The redhead rose too, cautiously, coming to stand by the only family member who ever meant anything to her.
“Only women of the old blood can access this place. But it isn't perfect. It's a replica of a nearby scene. As the memory fades, so does the peace.” The silver-haired woman explained, and they watched together as a cloud splashed to the ground. “We only half exist here. The good remains, the bad stays on the other side.”
Well, Pere had seen weirder things. Recently, at that. “...wait. Is this my memory of a place or yours?”
Amoreen turned, smiling softly even as the house started to sink into the ground. “It's mine, sweetheart.”
Then the world was loud again.
Xxx
….and the pain in her head was back.
“Stay still.” A low monotone warned prior to Pere being able to jolt awake, the arms holding her not as familiar as she's like. They were moving at an alarming pace, though her eyes wouldn't focus to tell her where to.
Cold metal brushed against her arm, which was hanging limply by her side. Mihawk had his sword strapped to his back, supporting her with both arms. One hand supported her neck and upper back, the other under her knees. “Where's Buggy?”