Whenever someone asked, Cordelia never knew how to describe her old friend. Tall, complicated, utterly entrancing always came to mind, but they never felt right. They could never show how Rosalind Harte made her feel.
When Margot asked her, she always pushed the questions away. Your grandmother was never one for feelings, her mother told her when she came pouting.
But she knew that wasn’t true. After Cordelia came to live with them, Margot woke in the night to the house shifting in time with the sobs coming from the room next to hers. She felt Cordelia trying to hold it in, but she also felt her wanting, needing, to let it out.
Margot grew up keeping her grandmother’s secrets even closer than her own. She grew up hiding the fact that her nightmares once cracked a window and that her laugh once made the broken drawer handle work again.
She grew up hiding the fact that she knew when this happened. The fact that she could feel the same things that the people around her were feeling. When Pierre DuFleuve’s mother died, she felt his grief. She mourned for a woman that she had never met.
Pierre DuFleuve had never spoken to her.
So when Cordelia Zabelle finally told her only grandchild who the girl in her locket was, she was dismayed at what she had to say after.
“But Grand-maman, she can’t be as old as you. I saw her in the garden just yesterday.”
@headcanonsandmore this is what I wanted reviewed. :)