Once I had rarest rose that ever deigned to bloom

[gygaxed]

[ The Munson Mansion has seen better days. Eddie stands at the base of the road that winds slowly up the hillside, observing it from afar. He tries to remember how it was in his childhood, sturdy and strong and filled with life. Now it seems to sag as though the house itself is tired. He is determined to restore the house to its former glory, to restore his family name. Snow has fallen heavily on the ground, and he tries not to think about the fact that the red clay makes it look like puddles of blood have bloomed around the estate.

He's awaiting Chrissy's arrival, it should be any moment now. In its current condition, it's impossible for carriages to make their way up to the house. He has deemed to meet her here at the base, to escort her to the top. It's impossible to describe the way his heart flutters at the thought of her being here. It's less than she deserves, but the fact that she had forgiven him after the heart break he had caused makes him all the more determined to turn things around.

She's his wife now, though they have gotten to spend so little time together. Now that she is on her way to the estate, they will have nothing but time. Nancy, his long time friend since childhood, is the only other soul that haunts the halls of the estate. Even from this distance, Eddie swears he can see her darkening windows. He knows that she only wants what's best for his family, but there has been an undeniable tension in the air since his return.

Eddie pushes all that out of his mind as he hears the familiar sound of carriage wheels crunching against the earth. He turns to smile at the approaching vehicle, his hands flitting nervously over the deep crimson suit he has chosen for the occasion. The shade of red is so deep that it is almost black, and he finds himself hoping that Chrissy will like it. He runs a hand through the dark black curls that frame his face, tries to straighten up and look like the proper gentleman he is supposed to be. Her family had invested quite a lot of money into his restoration project before her father's untimely death, and he wants her to feel comfortable here. ]

Chrissy, my darling. [ He greets her as soon as she emerges, offering a hand to help her down. ] I'm so sorry, we'll have to make our way on foot from here.

Comments

[cheerleader]

[Chrissy can't believe there was a time when she was so focused on writing about the torments of love that she had felt she would be closed off to love forever. It had been her and her father for most of her life, her mother dying from illness when Chrissy was young. And although she had grown up quite literally haunted by her mother's dark spirit, Chrissy assumed it hadn't impacted her all that much. Sure, she enjoyed writing ghost stories. And yes, she did things that other young women her age didn't.

The thought of not working as a writer filled her with dread. And her father doted on her so, arranging for her to be free to work at whatever publishing house she liked. It was at work where she met Edward Munson for the first time, and she could still recall telling him her full name when she met him.

Not Chrissy, the nickname carried over from her childhood governesses. Not Chris, as her father sometimes would call her. Christina, the name her mother gave her, the name she thought she wanted him to know her by.

But as the days went by and she came to know Mr. Munson, the less she cared about things like formality. Oh, at one point she was certain he truly did view her as a spoiled child. He told her as much one night at a party hosted by her father. But a letter had corrected that wrong, and eased her broken heart. She was no more a spoiled child than he was a manipulative mastermind.

Chrissy ran to him the day she received the letter from him and never looked back, kissing him and insisting that he call her Chrissy from that point on. Not even the death of her father could separate them, his going with her to identify his body. The bribe of her father to make him leave stung deeper when she watched her father's body lower into the ground, and nothing could erase the image of him so badly beaten from her mind.

But focusing on marriage helped. Becoming the new Mrs. Munson gave her purpose, made her heart feel like it had hope of contentment. She gave up her life and eagerly made the long travel to his estate. It would be difficult, she knew. But nothing was quite as challenging as feeling her father's ice cold hand in the morgue. If she could get through those awful days, then she could get through anything.

That was the determined thought in her mind as the carriage came to a stop, and she was greeted with the sight of her dear husband waiting to let her down. Taking hold of his hand, she steps out of the carriage, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings.]

Oh, I don't mind walking. It's not as if I've never ever walked through a bit of mud before.