Chapter Text
The first thing Penelope was aware of was the cold.
It was like a chill she had never felt before. It began in her temples, needling beneath her skin with a vengeance that made her brain ache and her teeth clench. It radiated throughout her skull and downward, seizing her chest, her heart, her lungs. Every nerve was affected, every bone clasped in the iron frost.
She could think of nothing beyond it, this predominant chill, besides one name.
Two syllables.
A single person.
It was who she had been running from. A man who had, just hours before, cradled her heart in his hands with such care, promising her such wonderful things- telling her such sweet words, only to crush it to ash the very next moment.
Colin.
He was the harbinger of this storm, if not the catalyst.
She’d been running- fast, so fast. Faster than she ever has before in her life. The world was dark, and the evening foggy. Her eyes were misty and it seemed the further away from her home she grew, the thicker the fog became, descending upon her with such an intensity that one moment she could see her path, clear as day, and the next she was tripping over a small, disguised rock and falling face first into a shallow pond.
She had no hope. Her dress was heavy, her stays bound too tightly, her body laden with sorrow and loss. She was clumsy and uncoordinated and, unfortunately, not quick enough with her reflexes.
She was plunged into the icy depths of the water, her dress immediately weighted with the bone-deep chill only London’s water could manage to have this late into the summer. It was not deep, no, but it was deep enough that she’d been drenched in moments- that she became so weighted with water that attempting to slow her fall downwards was futile.
It was a rock not unlike the one she’d tripped over that clashed with the side of her head. Hard.
Vaguely, she’d heard something crunch, and there was a scream- but if she pays any thought to it, if she really tries to remember, she believes it may have been her screaming. If the burning water plunging its way down her throat was any indication.
And then, it was that burning in her throat and that god awful chill. Her head was barely above water, cushioned by the very same rock that had sealed her demise. She could not see, could not speak, could not breathe.
It didn’t help that she was tired. So very tired. So, she gave in. She did not fight. Did not scream beyond the initial reaction to hitting her head. She did not move. She just surrendered. To the gentle lull of the frigid water, to the chirping of crickets and that annoying, incessant buzz in her head.
The one that sounded like a name.
Like a man’s name, perhaps? It started with a C. Or was it a P?
No, it was definitely a H.
Holland?
No, that wasn’t right. But her brain was fuzzy, and the ache and pains were slowly receding as this delicious warmth descended over her and that familiar darkness beckoned her forth with a sweet smile and a warm embrace.
She could not remember the man. She could not even remember herself. All she knew now, and potentially for the rest of her life, was nothing.
Nothing beyond the murky shadows slithering through her skull.
Tempting her with the promise of peace.