Tagged by the lovely @philtstone to share what I’m working on and I just wrote a bit last night for the soulmark au that I’m excited about! It’s also already at 6k and I was envisioning this as a one-shot so stay tuned if this develops into more 💀
Years ago — back in her own time — Claire had lost Uncle Lamb during The Blitz. At the time, she had been stationed in France and it wasn’t until the end of the war that coming home to England felt like opening the floodgates of her grief. There had been the contents of his flat to sift through and a lawyer to meet with, all while trying to reconnect with her husband who felt more like a stranger after their years apart. It had been easier to think of him as gone while in the midst of a war, but coming home to where her uncle should be… she hadn’t handled it well.
And then there had been the letter, written in her uncle’s hand and addressed to her. Postmarked, but never sent. She had known, somehow, that it should be read in private and tucked the letter into her bag.
My dearest Claire, it had said, you’ll forgive an old man for being sentimental, I hope. You are — as your father once was — in the thick of the war, and even here in London, I know we are not safe from attack. It makes one think about everything he hasn’t said and perhaps should. My dear, I haven’t felt it was my place, after your wedding to Frank, to say anything of my research on unusual soul marks. I know you’ve made peace with yours, and I would never suggest you would forsake your vows. But who can say what the next few years will bring for any of us? And I suppose, in my heart of hearts, dear girl, I simply wish you every ounce of happiness you can wring from this life or any other. I’ve enclosed something from my research. Perhaps we’ve had it wrong, all along? Perhaps, as it so often is the case in this grand adventure that we call life… things will unfold in ways we never dreamed.
Claire had not thought about that letter or the enclosed contents in the months since she’d come home from France, before she and Frank took the trip up north. Her grief was too fresh and things between her and Frank too tenuous to let herself agonize over its meaning.
Now, Claire laid on her back in the shoddy tent the MacKenzies had given her and listened to the crackle of a nearby fire and Rupert’s loud snores that would probably keep any wildlife away from camp better than any of the men posted on watch. Now, she thought of the letter.
What she had thought was simply the love of a father — for that was what Lamb had been to her — wanting to impart some hope to her in the face of uncertainty, she now looked upon it in a new light. Had he known more than his research had suggested?
Had he known that she would stumble back through time?
“You could be wrong, you know,” she whispered — to herself or to Lamb, she wasn’t sure. “His birthday might be May 1st, but there’s no way on earth that man is only twenty-two. For heaven’s sake, Beauchamp.”
No pressure tagging my buds @theawkwardterrier and @forgetmenotsassenach17 and anyone else who wants to share what they’re working on!
