Chapter Text
the fight was an ugly, puerile thing that broke out when they least expected it.
she was fourteen, erika two years older. that late afternoon, they were hiding in a corner of the garden behind her family's enormous mansion, charlotte reading and erika lying on one of her socked thighs, listening attentively. it was a routine of theirs, one they did whenever charlotte felt like she needed a break from her own family. erika indulged her, always, even when they were not particularly fond of books in general. they would stay with her without questions, quiet but anchoring, as she pored over novels and encyclopaedias and at worse times, dictionaries, scrutinising each and every letter. they would cuddle later, after she had tired herself out, her head on erika's warm chest and their hand in her luscious brown locks, combing gently through the knots. they would sleep until darkness settled in and dinner was ready, sometimes.
this time, that did not happen.
she had a leather-bound les misérables with her as she jogged down the familiar path, looking forward to spending four blissful hours with erika. her study schedule had been gruesome today, lengthy philosophy lessons and two - two! - papers to be written by noon. she was completely knackered at lunch, and had excused herself early in favour of a quick nap. she wasn't able to close her eyes, though, her mind a strung-out mess and body unfathomably tense, so she sent out a maid for erika and donned her best summer dress, skipping down the hall to her mother's chastisements.
the sun was still high up as she raced past the large wooden doors, but it did not deter her. it wouldn't be much of a problem when they get comfortable in their usual spot. the wind tangled playfully in her skirt, dancing a cheerful little waltz that had her giggling lightheartedly as she pushed it down. lush, parakeet grass carpeted her soles, grazing her shoes ever so softly. her mother wouldn't be pleased, should she see the dirt on her pretty sage mary janes; but then again, charlotte wasn't one to fear such minuscule things. she could clean them herself if need be.
the garden welcomed her, its cooling shades embracing her motherly as she trudged in, much slower now than before. there was muffled rustling in the far end, and she smiled, picking up her steps. she could already picture her best friend in their everyday calf-length skirt and blouse, diligently arranging a picnic rug and little sweets on fine china plates. their hair, a gorgeous grown-out eton crop, cast dreamy shadows on their viridescent grey eyes. thin lips set in a concentrated frown, cheeks ruddy in the heat; her friend would stand, somewhat grumpy, but otherwise satisfied by what they had managed to do under such short notice.
her mental image proved to be true as charlotte circled an oak tree to see erika, in their immaculately ironed polka-dot mutton sleeve and navy swing skirt, plain white gloves hugging their nimble fingers sensationally. charlotte waved at them enthusiastically, a radiant beam on her face, and erika gave back a small, tight-lipped twinkle. they had never been quite as expressive as charlotte was, but that was of no significance. she toed off her shoes with practised ease, and erika did the same with their smart oxfords, setting them on the grass.
they both sat snuggly on the mat now, a hair's breadth away from each other. sunlight streamed a golden trace through layers of leaves, dripped down her cream frock in splotchy bursts of citrine, and erika bent down ever so slightly, an elegant finger caressing each drop. they were always easily enticed by this kind of negligible details, childlike and naïve, but she did not mind. charlotte read out loud, then, lilting syllables coming out crisp and clear, the foreign language pouring out with such lucidity. erika leant in, casually threading their hand in her hair, feeding her tiny bites of rhubarb coffee cake when she stopped for a breather. their index shall meet her lips, once in every while, and she found herself uncannily distracted by the gesture.
it went like this:
she flipped the page, and recited methodically;
elle aimait avec d'autant plus de passion qu'elle aimait avec ignorance, and erika laid their head on her thigh, gazing up into her baby blues. elle ne savait pas si cela est bon ou mauvais, utile ou dangereux, nécessaire ou mortel, éternel ou passager, permis ou prohibé;
elle aimait.
elle aimait, she repeated, voice barely a whisper. her eyes traced their lovely face, lingering a tad too long, and weirdly enough; she felt enlightened. the wind danced around them, a comfortable chill, yet an alien warmth coiled in her chest, butterflies fluttering beneath young rib bones. she dared a glance at erika, knowing full well her cheeks were burning with ferocity. they refused to meet her eyes.
silent stretched out, centuries-long in a heartbeat.
they moved first, sitting up so abruptly that their forehead almost bumped into her chin. she watched helplessly as they put their gloves back on and fixed their ginger locks in place, not sparing her a subtlest of glances. then erika whirled around, looking her dead in the eyes, and said,
"i would never see you that way, charlotte," they gritted out, storms brewing. "i am only here because your mother had been concerned enough to hire a tutor for you, which is my father; i do not, and won't ever, seek romance in the entitled fool that you are!"
she blanched; and as if that wasn't already bad, tears were filling her eyes, hastily blended cerulean. "erika, please," she croaked, fear overtaking her. "i don't need you to see me that way. i just want a companion-"
"you would not fall in love with a mere companion, charlotte," they muttered, putting on their shoes. "especially one who is only befriending you because they were paid to do so."
the finality hit her as a freight train would. she had so much to say, to scream, to beg; yet not a single word escaped her parched throat, not a soul shall listen. erika stood solemnly, their body taut in a way that reminded her of her father. a liar. a coward. regret painted their feature a sick, hollow green, and she knew. they did not mean what they said, however hard they had tried to make them both believe, and she had forgiven them already. but their words cut deeper than they should, unforgiving razors, merciless sabres. they walked away now, each stomp hammering a twisted nail into the coffin that was her heart.
ah, it must end here.
(twilight poured violet and crimson, the golden demise of day. indigo clouds hazed her vision. half-eaten sweets and checkered rug pooled together, an indescribable mess, as she wept mournfully, a damsel in distress.
there would not be a knight in shining armour.)