impenetrable

amelia foxcroft. 27. corporate lawyer. 

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

arthurfoxcroft:

The murmurs that began to fill the sitting room were all indistinguishable. After such a long, repetitive chorus of, ‘we’re so sorry for your loss,’ the words began to lose their meaning — had they ever held any meaning to him at all, because what had he truly lost? His job, his love, his world, but that loss was another one entirely, in a sea of its own, disjunct entirely from the so-called hole these near-strangers dressed in black attempted to fill with their oversized bouquets of flowers and casseroles that would go uneaten. He couldn’t mourn the brother he’d never gotten to know, the brother he’d never allowed his heart to beat for, and yet the charade was still kept up. For whose sake? Arthur wasn’t sure — more than likely, Amelia’s.

Stoned had been the only way to make it through Amelia’s sham of a speech, and while any noble elder brother would’ve pulled the drunk girl off of his sister before she’d had the chance to break a nose, Arthur Foxcroft was far from noble on a good day. Truth be told, it had only brought a hint of a chuckle to his lips — that, and the bullshit she’d spewed about loving Adam in different ways, and keeping him safe, and pillow forts.

Fucking pillow forts. He snorted at the recollection of it — in the version he could remember, his perfect fort blueprint always got fucked by Amelia’s micro-managing, Adam’s fucking around, and Avery’s obliviousness. Picking himself up from the armchair he’d sat himself in, he turned himself towards the staircase. While liquor still burned his throat, it would take just one more puff before he’d be able to sit through another few hours of the Foxcroft Family Facade. His steps carried him down the hallway towards his room, but the sight of a crack in Amelia’s door stopped him. 

Arthur offered a gentle knock, but he waited not for the voice on the other side to invite him before pushing it open and letting himself inside. Jumping off the toilet and adjusting herself in front of the mirror, tissue dabbing at her black and red nose, was Amelia. Arthur’s arms folded, he leaned himself against the doorframe, chuckling to himself with a low shake of his head. “Now that back there was a fucking show,” he hummed, eyes glancing upwards to meet hers in the mirror. “Which teen movie did you lift that speech from, Ames?”

Arthur always had a way of getting under her skin. Today was certainly no exception. Amelia’s gaze turned to ice as the locked eyes. If looks could kill, she would have burned holes in her brother’s head. The fact he had the audacity to make a joke out of all this? Incredible. Gone were the moments where she missed the physical presence of her siblings, yearned for even the smallest of arguments between the three of them. Replacing it was a revival of familiar frustration, a pull to fight back even if at the heart of things he was right.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy the performance,” she shot back, unblinking. The hand not dabbing her nose gripped the porcelain sink tersely, the skin blanching under pressure. “and at least I said something, Arthur. Maybe it wasn’t the pure truth. Sue me – fuck.” She had dabbed slightly too hard into the cut on the bridge of her nose and the pain radiated to her skull. For a moment it was blinding; she dropped the towel into the sink and put both hands on the sides of the sink for balance, dropping eye-contact and bowing her head to ride a wave of discomfort.

She blew out a breath. Then turned to face her brother, leaning heavily against the sink. The bleeding had begun to ebb, the cuts clotting, but the area remained red and swollen, a nasty purple bruise beginning to pool under her eyes. For once, she looked as wrecked as she felt. The mask had slipped. It was going to be difficult to go out and face all those people, who would take one look at the state of her and see the history of the day marked on her. “Did you come up here to have a laugh at me?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or was there some purpose to your visiting my bathroom.”

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

lvckwood:

Boom. 

He had seen the DISASTER unfold before him. Willa Potter’s hand connecting with Amelia Foxcroft’s nose, and ( he swore to himself ) had he been closer to the actual scene he would have reacted more gallantly. There was something sinister about the fact that no one had come to Amelia’s help, none of her siblings reacting out of care, and ( once more ) had he been closer he would have done SOMETHING, or so Logan told himself time and time again. Grasping onto the golden boy status he had held when younger, keeping the firm belief that he was a GOOD person ( had he been closer ). 

However, the aftermath of the scene was where true intrigue took place. Amelia whisking herself off into Marcus’ car and declaring that the reception would indeed still happen. Logan had assumed it would, Amelia wasn’t the kind of person to let anything cause her to stray from her plan, and due to that assumption he had been rather quick to gather himself and head towards the grand Foxcroft manor. Quick enough to see Amelia disappearing off into the house, and quick enough to follow. 

“ Amelia, it’s Logan ” he says her name in that soft way he did when they were younger. Semblance of care from a different time appearing, and he is surprised himself that it is there and that he followed her. “ ––– Are you alright? ” it’s a question with an obvious answer, and it’s a question he’s asked so many times before in the bar when a customer has leaned a little too far over the table with heavy eyelids. It’s the question that gets people to talk, Logan reckons and instead of opening the door he says it through the small opening in order to not impose on her space.

She laughed. Alright was a laughable term for the situation she was in right now. Embarrassed, hopeless, despondent? Certainly more suitable words. Logan probably knew that -- the ‘alright’ was a curtesy. Amelia appreciated the small kindness from her old friend, and took it up gratefully. “Will be,” she spoke eventually, staring at her ghastly reflection. She debated leaving it at that, returning to cleaning her face and leaving Logan in silence with the decision to stay or to go. It was almost too much to allow someone into her space, to allow them to feel the radiation of her emotional state. To have a person take up just an inch of her burden. 

Amelia covered her nose in a hand-towel and creaked the door open with the toe of her heeled stiletto. Made contact with Logan’s eyes for a simple second. Felt herself awash in a confusing nostalgia. Not for the essence of their romance; that notion was long past. It was more a yearning for the time of their youth, for a time in place where the only worries were college applications and essay due dates. Schoolwork was handleable. Relationships like the one they shared were manageable. A dead brother, estranged siblings, and an empty coffin? They were conundrums with no how-to guide, no easy way through. 

“Are you the first one here?” she asked, unsure of what else to say. She didn’t even begin to know how to talk about the elephant (of a missing body) in the room. 

[voiladavis]

[ivymurinakeller]

Despite evidence to the contrary Ivy was aware that there was more to Foxcroft than the swamps that cradled the town. It was just that, thus far, the swamps were the part that held her interest. It was almost demanding the way they seemed to pull at her attention from the moment she awoke and cling to her thoughts until long after dark. Even after hours spent among murky waters and bright blooming flowers it was hard for her to make herself leave. It seemed as though the land itself was reluctantly to loosen its grasp on her and her last moments on site always seemed to turn up some unusual reading or a surprise discovery of a new sample that would keep her there for a few more moments…a few more hours…all night long. It was as though the swamp was a lover offering coy glimpses of flesh to draw her back to bed and she a green girl too stricken by love and wanting to resist. 

Still after three days spent from sun up until after nightfall even she had to admit a breather was in order. She dropped her notebooks in her room and resisted to urge to settle into her desk to pour over them instead opting for a shower and a trip into town to find something other than a bagel for breakfast and perhaps reward herself with a trip to Calypso. 

People always said civilization was loud… and there was truth in that she supposed if you only factored in cities or if you didn’t know how to listen. Compared to the swamps where the world around her seemed to be singing in a chorus of birds, frogs, and ripples of water Foxcroft was quiet. Still with the swamps still babbling loudly in her thoughts, did I remember to catalogue that last sample? It was such an unusual flower for this time of year. I wonder if that frog has a favorite lily pad…it sure seems like he does or else he’s just decided to keep meeting me there… it was easy for her not to notice the person walking behind her until they were almost on top of her. It was probably more her fault than theirs she had a tendency to shift her pace and meander along with her thoughts

“Oh, I’m sorry have I been in your way?”

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

A missing body was a big fucking deal. Dead people didn’t just up and walk away when the going got tough. They were moved. By people with malicious intent. Or obscene curiosity. In either situation, it was grossly indecorous and absolutely the opposite of how Amelia planned to send Adam off. Instead of a unassuming affair, the funeral had turned into the talk of the town. She wouldn’t have come outside the lonely depths of the manor had it not been to raise her hackles at the injustice her family had faced. And of course Amelia would be the only one to confront the police on the issue -- she wasn’t sure if Arthur cared enough to do so, and it wasn’t likely that Avery would think of confronting authority instead of running away from it. 

Her nose still ached. It gave a dull throb every heeled step Amelia took on the pavement of the main street, and only increased her distaste for having to go this alone. There was also the slightly panicking feeling that Willa Potter could be out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on her again for simply breathing the same air her best friend used to. For just living life while her brother lay dead and missing. 

To top it all off, the woman in front of her seemed to have no purpose in her forward movements other than to have a wayward stroll. Amelia would have simply brushed past her had she not turned around and apologized. There was a face she didn’t recognize -- another newcomer in Foxcroft she couldn’t place within its hierarchy, within context to her and her family. It made her ponder how many others had come and gone (or stayed) since she’d left at eighteen, how many strangers occupied the places she had once barely called home. It made Foxcroft all the more distant, all the less familiar. It was a lonely feeling, to know the town your spent most your life in was slipping from you. 

“Yes, a little,” Amelia hedged, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and staring past Ivy to glance at the police station. She noticed Marcus’s personal car wasn’t parked in the lot and sighed. She wasn’t in the mood to complain to anyone but him. “Are you -- lost? There’s a café down the street, if that’s what you’re looking for.” 

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

levifletcher:

The radio hummed in the background as Levi leaned back in his seat and his thumb gently tapping against the steering wheel. As the car continued driving forward, he couldn’t help but feel like he was going the wrong way. The area that surrounded him was foreign to him. What a concept considering the size of the town and the fact that everyone knew everyone. But it seemed that Levi didn’t know anyone wealthy enough to ever make it this war back into the town. The long gates that guarded the surrounding area was just a reminder how guarded this place really was. How it seemed that the longer you spent here, the more you realized that the people here all had facades, just waiting for someone to discover what truly lies beneath.

As he crept closer and closer to the Foxcroft mansion, Levi wondered what he was doing here. He never though in a million years that anyone of the Foxcrofts would be willing to talk to the one person who got a little to personal to their brother’s case, let alone Amelia. Spending hours trying to figure out her angle here, Levi couldn’t help but question her motives. But after all that time, he had nothing but a personal invitation from the woman herself.

Realizing that he had arrived the mansion, Levi sat up in his seat as he turned the car and continued down the long drive way. He couldn’t help but look around the property as the car made its way to the front. It felt strange, surreal even being here. There was something eerie lingering in the air. But that wasn’t going to stop Levi. He had made it this far, he wasn’t going to stop now.  

Putting the car into park, Levi took a deep breath as he leaned forward to take the mansion completely in. “What am I doing here?” His voiced lingered as it filled the empty space. Not wasting any time, he reached over his seat to grab his satchel before opening his door and getting out of the car. Levi took a few steps before he stood outside of the door. Bringing his hand up, he gently knocked on the door, just trying to imagine what was awaiting him once he was inside.

It didn’t take long for the door to open and once Levi heard the creek of the door, he stood up a little bit straighter as he looked to see the woman looking back at him. If she was going to back out, it was too late now. With her offer, he stepped in without hesitant. He couldn’t tell if she was second guessing herself or if that was just the normal look that rested on her face. Levi waited for her to close the door before speaking. “So where do you want to do it?”

If nothing else, she had an appropriate answer to Levi’s question. “The den, by the fireplace,” she replied, speaking to him as if he knew the place as well as her. Amelia didn’t give him much pause in the doorway of the mansion before she retreated into its depths. The less time spent in pregnant pauses, the better. The Foxcroft Manor in the day was mostly lit by daylight -- an ingenious invention by her architect ancestors, as there was little to no need for electric light until the sun had completely waned. It did give the house a proportionate amount of light and shadow, a sharpness to the items illuminated and a mystery to those hidden. 

She hoped Levi had kept up, because she hadn’t turned around once to make note of him since she’d turned down the hallway to the den. How was she supposed to interact? With pleasantries, she supposed, though she knew out of her mouth they’d simply sound trite and false. Better not to give too much of an artificial sense of herself; Levi would see right through it. Down the hall and to the right was the hallowed den, with its grand fireplace and high backed velvet chairs positioned ever so carefully for an intimate conversation. Amelia had planned this exact arrangement, of course; that, the clothes she wore, and the answers she gave were the only pieces of this day she could completely control. 

The fireplace had a few burning logs, half for aesthetic’s sake and half because the room was known to be rather drafty and damp, much like the rest of the house. Amelia had forgotten what it was like when she had first arrived back, and had spent much of her time since swathed in wool blankets and sweaters. “Sit, please,” she said, offering the chair to her left as she stood by the other. She waited politely for Levi to take a seat before she took one of her own. These chairs were perhaps the most comfortable items in the house; everything else was hard-backed, wooden, austere and rigid. 

Amelia sat on the edge of her chair, ankles crossed and hands folded over one another, unable to relax. Of the million thoughts in her head, the loudest had to be the repetitive “this is a bad idea”. But she’d already let the proverbial Devil into her house -- things would only get worse if she attempted banishment. She’d just have to do the best damn job she could at this interview. To get everything she said right, to the point, and without further interpretation. “I hope getting here wasn’t too troubling,” she fronted, as pleasantly as she could. “the swamps can be confusing if you don’t know your way around. I almost forgot how to get here when I came back.” 

[preachersantos-blog]

His eyes rimmed with red, his face covered in dark scruff, his hair sticking up in odd places - anyone who saw him might be forgiven for thinking that Gabriel did not look his best. But no one did see him, at least not at first, because there was no good reason for anyone to be near Sweetwater Church on a Friday morning. Even the preacher didn’t want to be too close, he needed it to be out of sight, the pressing concerns of the religious of Foxcroft not his to deal with, at least for a little while. ( Was he becoming too good at shirking responsibilities? It was better not to think about that now. )

He passed through the trees at the edge of the church grounds and on to the road, concentrating on the easy rhythm of one foot in front of the other. That was better than the pounding in his head or the dry mouth, at any rate. He talked to himself as he walked, silently at first, and then the occasional phrase slipped from his mouth the further he went, the more convinced he was that he was alone. If he looked back he would see that the steeple was still in view, peeking above the trees behind him. He didn’t look back though.

“…not my fault if they don’t agree with me.” he told himself, changing the subject of his own inner conversation. “And anyway, it’s not like she’s so…” He looked up, realising suddenly that he wasn’t his only audience. “…perfect.”

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

Amelia needed a new car. Any car other than the one she had rented since coming back home, really. It was the best one Hertz had on the lot and still it smelled faintly of french-fries, not to mention that this was the second time it had just decided up and not work. She suspected the battery hadn’t been replaced since the car was bought. But buying another car, even renting another, would project an air of permanence on her place within Foxcroft again. She would cement the growing realization that it wasn’t going to be so easy for her to run away again. That her coming back wasn’t simply for Adam. 

And that was. Unacceptable. 

She caught a glimpse of a figure coming up the road while sat on the hood of her car, dialing Wicked Wrench for someone to jumpstart the battery. It was an unfamiliar face, which meant something because Foxcroft was a small town. And if you didn’t know someone, there was a ninety-percent chance they simply weren’t from here. 

The stranger, upon closer inspection, was rather... haggard. And talking to himself. He was, perhaps, not the type of person Amelia would have wanted to come upon her in her disabled state. 

Amelia met his eyes with a cautious squint. “Are you... lost?” she asked, if a little callously. 

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

shaemckinley:

And there was the personality that surprised Shae, who had heard nothing but green whispers from the town about the creature standing before her exactly like the tall monoliths Amelia called home. Shae knew a little too much about wearing the skin of a black sheep in this little town and shouldn’t have felt as she did, proven wrong in broad daylight– yet there they stood. The hair at the nape of Shae’s neck rose as she watched Lady Foxcroft live and breathe in Shae’s own air.

It took courage, Shae supposed, to waltz into the heavy, hazy air of Calypso and stand so at ease in the dancing shadows. There was something enchanting in the colour of those fair cheeks that had nothing to do with the magic shop in which they faced off, witnessed by spellbooks and crystal balls. Shae found the corners of her lips curling up in something a little more friendly than the wry, sarcastic smile she’d worn a moment before. 

“It’s the floors,” Shae admitted, and there was the ghost of a laugh lingering around the edges of her warm-honey voice. Not at Amelia– Shae had a hard time imagining anyone laughing at Amelia– but instead a bit at herself, a bit at the situation they’d found themselves in. That mallet belonged in Amelia’s hand about as well as a legal text would’ve belonged in Shae’s. The abrupt collide of different worlds never failed to amuse her. She took a half step forwards and leaned her bony elbows on the worn countertop, slim fingers lacing together under her chin and eyes back on Amelia’s. If she was a little warmer, a little more welcoming, it certainly wasn’t imagined. “What can I do for you?”

Two women couldn’t be more polar opposites. Tall and small, fair and tawny, cold and warm, skeptic and mystic. Yet a conversation transposed between them that edged on... friendly? Their dissimilarities were mostly surface-level, Amelia could admit. What connected them was a sense of the outsider: of being looked at, gossiped about, stereotypically assumed. It was what all people did -- Amelia had just reduced Shae to a gaggle of stereotypes before their meeting in Calypso. A defense mechanism.

“Something beyond a rabbit’s foot or perfumes,” Amelia said. She kept still, unwilling to descend into a mode of comfort just yet. It could be possible that what she wanted wasn’t even a service Shae gave -- that this crazy idea was just that. Crazy and impossible. But she wanted answers. Answers the police weren’t giving to her. And the only person who held those secrets was somewhere she couldn’t reach. Not without help.

The question was: would this woman, this complicated tangle of mysticism and reality, actually help her? Or would this turn out like those bawdy television shows on Bravo or the History Channel, with Amelia in tears for a fake confession and Shae a couple hundred dollars richer. She didn’t know if she could handle a situation like that. She’d already lost so much. “I need to speak with someone. Who isn’t here any more.”

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

Damn this broken nose. 

And fuck Willa Potter, for good measure. 

Unsurprisingly, her siblings hadn’t come to her rescue after the unceremonious decking. Amelia almost sensed a vein of glee washing over Arthur. Though that could have been a side effect from the marijuana he’d smoked before coming to the service. She didn’t do drugs, but she wasn’t dumb; the red eyes and glazed expression clearly gave him away. 

So with a bleeding nose and wounded pride Amelia had had to soldier on alone. Alone in the misery of the disappearance of her brother’s body, alone in this brutal, physical pain. She held ground and gave a statement that the show would go on. A show of strength even in the most difficult of times -- something only Amelia Foxcroft could do with a broken nose. 

She had Marcus drive her in her car to the house, refusing proper medical treatment until she had cleaned up and assured the reception was in full swing. Other than the throbbing pain, she felt numb. Amelia hadn’t dared look in the coffin; the shouts and gasps of horror were enough to confirm Adam’s disappearance as she dripped blood onto the white floors she had paid money to be cleaned. Was she insane for continuing on as nothing had happened? 

Well, maybe. But it was the only thing she knew how to do. If she broke, she’d never be able to fix herself. 

Marcus drove a shortcut so they could beat the traffic of other mourners to the house. Once inside she excused herself to her room to clean herself up. Her bathroom mirror reflected a creature she’d never met before -- a wild-eyed girl, red and strawberry blonde. The sight of a her that wasn’t her brought fresh tears to her eyes. She avoided all contact with her reflection after that, soaking an ivory washcloth in warm water and sitting on the toilet, dabbing the drying blood off her pale cheeks. 

Voices began to fill the space downstairs. She shut them out for the time being, allowing a moment of weakness for her chin to tremble, her body to shake. Then, a knock on the door she’d left slightly ajar. Amelia jumped off the toilet and faced her reflection once more, attempting to assume battle positions. “Just give me a minute,” she wobbled, wincing as she dabbed a rather painful part of her nose. “I just -- I’ll be down once this stops.” 

[fc-radio-blog]

N E W S   A L E R T:

“The Foxcroft family has decided to continue the reception at Foxcroft Manor, even in lieu of the unfortunate circumstances. Adam’s memory deserves to be honored through these disturbing tragedies.” – Amelia Foxcroft. 

People are encouraged to take the available vehicles from the Foxcroft Cemetery to Foxcroft Manor. 

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

willapotter:

She sat in the back because she wasn’t invited. She sat in the back because no one, especially not Amelia Foxcroft, wanted to see her sitting in the front. Amelia Foxcroft couldn’t look out on the crowd and be reminded that there was someone there, someone right in front of her who knew, and loved Adam better. At least, that’s what Willa thought she must’ve been thinking. Still, it didn’t really matter why she’d been sentenced to the back row in a long line of rows of stiff, white plastic chairs. This wasn’t about Amelia, it wasn’t even about Willa – it was about Adam.

She wouldn’t have been able to hear Amelia speak from how far she was sitting from the stage had Amelia not placed huge speakers around the rows and rows of seating. Everyone had to hear what the great Amelia Foxcroft had to say about her beloved brother. 

Give me a break, Willa thought, rolling her eyes at the speakers. 

The speakers were one thing. The speakers, she expected. Willa didn’t expect Amelia to make shit up off the top of her head. She didn’t expect her to grasp at straws for some sort of memory that made them seem close. Adam, an architect? Give her a fucking break. Willa laughed. She laughed so loud, that even all the way from the back of the rows and rows of chairs, everyone heard her.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right, Amelia?” she yelled, now, looking right up at the podium. She got out of her seat and started slowly sauntering up towards Amelia. Maybe it was thanks to a mix of alcohol and rage, but before Willa knew it, she was up on stage with Amelia, and all the crowd could do was watch. Who really cared if Willa Potter ruined Adam Foxcroft’s funeral right? No one really knew him like she did – no one but Neil at least.

In one swift movement she tore the microphone from Amelia’s hands. 

“S’orry for that bullshit, folks! I thought this was Adam Foxcroft’s funeral, not some imaginary friend Amelia thought up. Anyone who knew Adam would know he was much more likely to blow shit up than to fucking build it.”

Just like that, she’d started, and nothing could stop her – well, almost nothing.

“Why the hell are you even speaking right now, Amelia? Did you even like Adam? Why isn’t Avery speaking? Yeah, she fucking left without a goodbye, but she at least hung around him when she was here. You fucking left and you never cared about him. That’s right! You never cared! Why’d you even throw this thing? For your god damn image? Why do you care —” 

She had tried ignoring the laugh. Attempted to crack on -- nothing if not determined to finish, and finish well. Because that was what the town wanted. Not what Adam wanted, not what her siblings wanted (if they cared, even), not even what Amelia wanted. But this was Foxcroft. This was the youngest son of the Foxcroft family. He bore a legacy that had to be honored in bleak tradition, no matter how dry and impersonal it would be. 

All she was doing was getting things done. Doing what needed to be done. And so she was made a villain by those who just didn’t understand. Who couldn’t fathom what it meant to carry a town on their shoulders. People like Willa Potter and Neil Monroe, selfish and insular in their love for her brother. 

The microphone ripped. The monologue of savagery. Tearing her limb from limb. In front of all these people. In front of all these people. These people. 

Better person, that was what she would be. As much as the raw, vitriolic beast inside her screamed to be let out, to unleash a bitter end of the girl who let her emotions run wild, who thought her pain was bigger, deeper than hers -- Amelia couldn’t do it. Because she was a Foxcroft. And if she broke, everything broke. So she just. Couldn’t break. 

Smoothly, impassively, she took the microphone back from Willa’s desperate hands. As if nothing had happened. As if her pain, her being hadn’t been ripped limb from limb by the drunk woman next to her. Amelia took a deep breath, and resumed. 

“Thank you, Willa. I’m glad one of Adam’s friends had the chance to come up and speak. It’s been hard for all of us.” She said. Steely. Focused. Controlled. Do not look her in the eye. Do not give her the satisfaction. “We all loved and knew my brother in different ways. He had a knack for starting a conversation with anyone who --” 

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

Coming up with words on the spot wasn’t possible. A script was required. Why a script, for a sister who dearly loved her little brother? Because she had to claw and scrape through her memories to find the ones that mattered. Because this speech wasn’t hers to give, but if she was giving it she was damn well going to be prepared for it. 

“-- Adam held our family together with endless, enthusiastic charisma. As children the four of us were enamored with pillow forts. Adam especially. After the parents went to sleep we’d slip out of our beds and drag our pillows and sheets to the living room to make a castle in front of the fireplace. 

He had such imagination. I loved the curious nature of his mind. We were mere worker-bees in the constructions of his masterpieces. He truly shined as someone gifted with design and architecture as a child. I admit I was sad when he never pursued his talents. He had immense, immense potential. 

When I was nine and Adam was six we read together. He’d sit on my lap, in our father’s chair in the library, and play with my hair whilst I read him whatever I’d brought home from school that day. I remember him squeezing my arm every time we’d happen upon something scary. It’s moments, like today, when I wished I could have kept my promise to him. That I’d always keep him safe.” 

[quotemadness]

Whenever I see a dead body, death seems to me a departure. The corpse looks to me like a suit that was left behind. Someone went away and didn’t need to take the one and only outfit he’d worn.

Fernando Pessoa (via quotemadness)

[roseredwrites]

The thing about blood, family, it’s always there. You can hate each other, you can want to kill each other but you never stop loving each other…

Joey, The Black Donnellys (via roseredrps)

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

The pile of clothes laid across Amelia’s bed mocked her indecision. She considered herself in the mirror, in her third outfit in the past half hour, smoothing her primly ironed navy trousers against her thighs before wrinkling her nose. The blouse appeared too severe; she wanted to look professional, not matronly. She slipped a cashmere turtleneck on and tucked it in, glancing herself over in 360° to ensure nothing lumped or was out of place. A hint of lipstick and mascara to darken her blonde lashes was all she needed; she kept the circles under her eyes and the pallor of her cheeks to ensure that yes, Amelia Foxcroft was human after all. 

She was not a people’s person. She wasn’t warm, charismatic, or easygoing; she was cold, aloof, and controlled. The people of the town respected her, but she doubted few (if any) truly cared for her. They knew her for her name and little to nothing else, other than she’d left in a hurry and was only back now Adam was dead. That was all they needed to concoct their own truths about her. 

Now she had the chance to correct the truth; to attempt skewing it into a light she preferred. Amelia wasn’t about to hand out trade Foxcroft secrets or sob into her hanky about her family issues -- that simply wasn’t going to happen. But she was purposed to set some things clear and make a voice for herself among the gossip circulating. 

The man coming to interview her -- Levi Fletcher -- she had done a bit of research. Just enough to feel comfortable speaking with him; it wasn’t fair for him to ask all the questions and for her to have no answers. From a quick glance over his internet footprint Amelia gleaned that Levi, like her, was ambitious. Which begged the question: why had he come back? Amelia suspected it had something to do with finances. In the end, ambition was always tampered by money. Fortunately, she had never had to worry about that. It was suffering that dragged her back to this lonely place. 

Through the hollow walls of Foxcroft Manor she heard the ring of the doorbell. “Good enough,” she murmured, taking one last look before walking down the noisy steps to open the domineering doors of her childhood home. Like everything in this house, the door creaked. “Come in,” Amelia said, subdued. Just then, seeing Levi’s face, pulled a tug of apprehension within her. What if this was the wrong idea? 

[wordsnquotes]

i am afraid that if i open myself i will not stop pouring. (why do i fear becoming a river. what mountain gave me such shame.)

Jamie Oliveira, “Erosion” (via wordsnquotes)

[ameliafoxcroft-blog]

ninadelgado:

“Black coffee. A traditionalist.” Nina wasn’t quite sure why those latter two words slipped from her lips. It wasn’t as if she knew anything about coffee. People who knew anything about coffee were either Italian or from a big city - probably New York. And Nina was none of those. Even when leaving Foxcroft, it hadn’t been a big city she fled to, but the comfort of another small town, albeit one that wasn’t quite so suffocating, or creepy. People who knew anything about coffee bragged about how cosmopolitan they were, lived busy lifestyles and could never make the time of day for the beauty of a simple conversation. Becoming one of them would be like giving up her identity. 

At Amelia’s offer of money, Nina simply shook her head. “No, please. My treat.” Sensing apprehension, perhaps a slice of pride and a reluctance to be cast as a victim - she quickly added an afterthought. “You can pay me back the favour some other time. Don’t worry, I’ll call on you.” It was important, to make your own way in the world. Nina had been like that once - scrap that - she was still like that. Unable and unwilling to take anyone’s help, happy to shelf the burden of the world’s woes upon her own shoulders. Was it a problem, to be so pure of mind that you could only look in one direction? Perhaps. But today, in this public space, at this time - it wasn’t exactly the best opportunity for self-reflection. That could come later, as she tossed and turned and struggled to sleep.

It’s unbearable. Hesitating, Nina decided against adding her own thoughts on the matter, which would have been little more than a - yes it is. How could she confess anything deeper? How could she tell Amelia that months on, your heart continued to break? That you would never quite be the same? That there was some part of you that continued to linger, far beyond in the veil, where your fingertips could not quite strain to reach. Such thoughts did not easily manifest themselves in words - and so she remained silent, catching the slightest tremor of Amelia’s bony hands. Whilst her instinct was to reach out, clutch them closely and soothe her pain, it was not her place. Amelia was not her friend. But it was impossible to remain hopeless. “You know, if there’s anything you need - driving these people away, or…I don’t know, getting them to stop staring - I’ll try.”

Amelia didn’t quite know what to make out of Nina’s comment. If anything, it was a bit amusing. One because of its awkwardness, and two because the word sort of hit a facet of her personality bang on. Traditionalist. She had never been much of a person to stir up change; sure, she’d talked idealities and possibilities with Beth, but in her adolescence it never seemed real to her. And when she had gone to law school, and been asked to choose her specification, she chose Corporate Law. Perhaps the most traditional, and least revolutionary of law careers. Why? Because it made sense and had clear goals. She could make waves in a contained pool of people, reach the deepest end and satisfy her ambition. But she wasn’t completely monotonous -- she knew from an early age she couldn’t stay on in Foxcroft and continue the legacy of her name. And Amelia understood the consequences better now than ever. “I guess,” she conceded. 

There was a part of Amelia that wanted to flat out deny the promise of a favor. Excise the need to see someone again. Push away the people she didn’t know. Isolate herself further, until there was nothing holding her on to this godforsaken swampland after Adam’s funeral. But as much as she tried to assume heartlessness, as much as she tried to live up to the townspeople’s fantasy of the eldest Foxcroft daughter, she simply couldn't. There would always be a damnable part hidden deep inside her that cared. That wanted a little human connection. Something to convince her that this town wasn’t the monster she’d set it up to be. And so she acquiesced. “Okay,” she replied, apprehensively nodding. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Against her better judgement, a hint of a smile painted her expression. As soon as it came it went, confusion replacing it. “Why?” Amelia asked. “You don’t even know me.” She didn’t mean it to be rude to Nina -- in fact, that was one of the nicer, more meaningful things someone had said to her in the past few days. But her kindness was unfounded, at least, in Amelia’s eyes. “I mean,” she added, nudging her computer slightly to the side. “I appreciate it. I don’t get that often.” 

[wordsnquotes]

The world changes too fast. You take your eyes off something that’s always been there, and the next minute it’s just a memory.

Michel Faber, The Book of Strange New Things (via wordsnquotes)