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Anne’s father came alone to meet her at the Ivory inn.  Only a handful of the merchant’s she’d traveled with remained, most had dispersed to less reputable locations, none sat with her.  She was grateful he was alone, the journey had been long and the idea of her mother fretting over the appearance for the final leg of it was especially unappealing.

[color=DCDCDC]“Anne!”[/color] He was a short man, rather unimposing, and had to force his way through the crowd. There were no awkward greetings or forced physical displays of affection. They understood each other in that way. He offered to take her bag, and she accepted and they left the inn to a street filled quite entirely by a single, large black carriage.

[color=DCDCDC]“Your mother insisted. For the festival.”[/color] Anne only nodded in reply before stepping it. A stupid waste of money they didn’t have, but her father knew such already.

[color=FFFACD]“I’m not here for the festival”[/color] She spoke only after he clambered in beside her. It was his turn to nod in understanding. Fellow victims to the will of Abigail Gress for the time being.

[color=DCDCDC]“I ought to tell you before we arrive… The body’s been burned, we tried to keep it for you, but two weeks is…”[/color]

[color=FFFACD]“I understand”[/color] Anne cut him off, not particularly caring to hear how the smell of her brother’s rotting corpse forced the family to action. They lapsed back into a familiar silence that lasted until they arrived at the house.

It was smaller than she remembered, and seemed darker, but she attributed that to her reason for returning. Her mother was waiting in the entryway, and her sister Lydia came to loom in the doorway at the former’s first cry of joy.

[color=DCDCDC]“Oh Anne, it’s so good to see you! You look pale, are you well? Was the carriage ride alright? Come sit I’ve just made some tea, we have so much to discuss.”[/color] Anne stiffly allowed herself to be embraced, but kept her eyes on Lydia. Expressionless against her sister’s glare.

[color=FFFACD]“I want to see Charles first.”[/color] That was enough to dislodge Abigail.

[color=DCDCDC]“Well, all right. We left his room just as.  But do come down again quickly, I’m making you a dress appointment. That black makes you look so pale, and your hair…”[/color]

Anne began on the stairs before her mother could go on much more. Pointing out that they should all still be in mourning would be futile against her mother’s vanity, and she hardly wanted an argument in the first hour of their reunion. Of course, she could only be pushed so far, and it was obvious some disagreement was going to happen as a set of footsteps followed her own to her brother’s room. The bed was cleanly made, papers and books all neatly aligned on his desk. The only sign Charles Gress was anything more than out for the day was the unpolished, inexpensive urn resting between too still-new prayer candles and a box of matches on the flat chest at the foot of the bed. Anne entered to look closer, Lydia took up her place in the new door-frame, and wasted not time to begin her attacks.

[color=DCDCDC]“He wouldn’t have died if you’d been here.”[/color]

[color=FFFACD]“I don’t know how to heal people.”[/color] Anne reached out and laid a hand on the urn. He’d been a full grown man when she’d left, but she still couldn’t envision him as anything but a spiteful twelve year old knotting her hair the bedpost alongside his twin.

[color=DCDCDC]“Yes, yes, spent all your time learning flashy parlor tricks instead. Then off across the world to study equally useless things.”[/color] Something in Anne’s chest swelled.  It was an old hurt, turned bitter with time, and foreign with the distance from family. Her mother was an empty-headed fool, but Lydia was only contemptuous and stubborn in her envious hatred, and Anne never had the patience or compassion to soothe it.

[color=FFFACD]“My being away is what has kept you all here and fed. You should have taken him to the temple.”[/color] Where Anne’s anger was cold, Lydia’s ran red hot, waiting for an excuse to strike out.

[color=DCDCDC]“It was paying for your damned [i]education[/i] that got us all into this mess, and you want gratitude?”[/color]

[color=FFFACD]“Yes.”[/color] Lydia moved, and for a moment Anne anticipate a strike. It was a tactless thing to say, Charles had been Anne’s brother, but Lydia’s twin.  They’d been co-conspirators, mostly in torment of their younger sister, but it was a bond, and loss, Anne could never understand.

[color=DCDCDC]“Mother will be waiting.”[/color]  There was acid in her voice, a warning.  Anne would have to go to her mother’s dress fitting, or do anything but stay inside the house and rest as she’d planned.  Lydia turned from the door to her own room.  Anne sat down at the desk, staring at the urn.

It was nearly half an hour later when her mother came to check on her. In two steps she was beside Anne, pulling the pins from her hair until it fell to her shoulders. 

[color=DCDCDC]“We really need to make you more presentable for the festival.  So many families will be there…”[/color]  Anne opted to ignore her mother rather than mention her appearance wouldn’t matter; she’d find her destined or not. There would be no choosing. 

[color=DCDCDC]“Turquoise would look lovely on you, with long angled sleeves I think, and a high neck.  My pearls…”[/color]

[color=FFFACD]“I’m in mourning.”[/color] The hands fell away from her hair, and Anne had a clear mental image of her mother’s disdainful look without even turning.

[color=DCDCDC]“I’m going to find those pearls.  We leave in an hour.”[/color] No sooner did she leave the room then Anne moved to light the two candles.  She wasn’t much one for prayer, but it was her brother, and the only sign of respect she knew how to give.