annabelle

June Ashford was her parents prized child at the age of thirteen. They praised her open mind, the way she dressed in a constant poised manner, her delicate hands that have never suffered through the monotonous claws of labor. All golden-spun hair and bright brown eyes, filled with innocent curiosity whenever she looked out the window, she was truly a gifted child. Offered rare manuscripts, lavish bustle gowns, ornate jewelry crafted by the most talented of goldsmiths, she accepted all of them with a kind smile. The daughter her parents always wanted, the daughter she grew up to be.

During the harshest colds of the winter, as blizzards and wind swept through the woods, June would point out the hoof marks of the horses in the layer of sleet, the brilliant white flakes that drifted from the heavens, how her eyelashes slowly became heavier as snow covered them. During the summer, she would run through her home, her bare feet gliding against the rich wooden floor, her bracelets singing a soft melody as she raced through her hallways, playing small childish games followed by her mother's laugh in her small garden. She could still taste the citrus and overpowering fragrance of persimmons.

Her parents' friends, their closest confidants, would visit their chalet nearly every late spring, bringing their only child, only daughter, one girl equally as gifted and beautiful; Annabelle Gurney.

It truly was a fairytale. The Gurneys came from a faraway land from the east, their roots planted further that June could imagine, which brought captivating and peculiar features to Belle. The way her dark lashes curled against her milky skin, tinged with drops of lemon, her silky dark hair that looked like it was weaved from the darkness of the night itself, her way her hands curled slightly as she rested on her lap covered in expensive silks; it fascinated June. Her stories of travel, hopping from boat to boat, from ocean to ocean, the lilt of her tongue, the slight accent as she spoke, her peachy lips rounding against every musical word. Annabelle was a treasure. And to Annabelle, June was a treasure. It didn't take long for them to bond, to spill their deepest secrets, like letting them go in the dark, like freeing fireflies. Belle was June's first kiss.

June Ashford always had it easy. Until she didn't.

One summer, Annabelle didn't return. June immediately knew why. It was her parents strict words, their eyes, so dark and alike to her daughter's, filled with suspicion and disgust instead of love and admiration. June spent the summer hoping for the best, and her birthday crying at the worst.

It was like Annabelle was a catalyst; everything, everything June ever has known started to fall apart. Her wealthy father started having troubles in his trades her mother feel ill, so ill at some point that June refused to visit her. Her bloody hacks and ashen skin, once filled with youthful flush, terrified her. She could not bear to meet her parents in the eyes, especially if a pair was bloodshot and the other was weighed down with dark bags and much more June couldn't physically see.

Winter rolled in, crushing June's heart. There was no chance of Annabelle's return. No chance of her dead mother coming back to life, no chance at reasoning with her father's stressed and angry demeanor. She was hopeless.

And every single day, instead of laughing at the snowflakes in winter, she silently stared at the frost covering the glass, the unforgiving weather that battered June's heart.

She waited for Belle's return. She counted the days until summer.

Author Notes: random lil tid-bit from the proect i'm working on.

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