#i adored Lucille and Dalton's little friendship and to this day i still do... even if she thinks he is useless lmfao

[foxclcves]

𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒆 (𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 08)

Lucille hated the endless blank sky. All winter, they all couldn’t catch a break from the weather and all of its flurries and storms and blizzards, and not having a hearth to curl up against every night made it feel all the more indefinite. Whenever she started to miss the baker, and his warm, fresh breads and his perpetually heated kitchen, she would begin collecting twigs and sticks and any other kind of wood she could heave into her arms and onto her shoulders, and then dump it all into a pile and hoping to make a fire out of it. She had a full book of matches she had lifted from a general store not too long ago, but it would do no good, she’d realize again and again. As cold as the snow was, it still made everything wet, and no flame could thrive on her collection of meager firewood. She’d almost thrown down the matchbook in frustration, but would think better of it because wet matches wouldn’t do a lot of good, either.

Kicking at a pile of snow, the light powder stirred upwards into a weak icy cloud for but a moment before it fell among the masses again. It was satisfying for only a few seconds before she pressed her fists against her hips and glared up at the sky. It had begun snowing again, and she growled in annoyance.

“Stupid snow!” Lucille bellowed out. She stomped her foot once into the snow, then more times until her leg tingled and her heel and knee felt tender. “You don’t make anything easy, I hate you so much! Why don’t you make like spring and melt already!? You—”

The remainder of her tirade was cut off when she heard something just under her uproarious ranting, the breath catching in her throat and her mid-stomping body becoming rigid. She swore she heard something—the snapping of twigs, the crunching of snow underfoot, icicles cracking and falling to the earth with some sort of sound, like a thump or a shatter. She kept herself perfectly still and quiet, breathing as shallow as she could in such frigid air.

She was on a road, but one that was currently unoccupied, and surrounded by all sides with tall, thick trees. Lowering her foot and straightening, glancing every which way she could into the endless forest, she chided herself most sternly: Lucille, you are shouting at yourself in the middle of the woods, you stupid girl. Best not attract any more attention than you already probably have. And it most likely ain’t the human kind, either.

From this point, she could not tell how far she was from the nearest town or any other human claimed establishment or territory, and had no inkling of what time it was, the damned blanketed sky hiding everything. With a final glare of defiance towards powers who were obviously taunting her, she stuck up her nose and continued her march down the road, adjusting the mittens she had also lifted around her hands and wrists.

Despite being on edge now that she has reminded herself of her current whereabouts and wellbeing and all, Lucille allows herself to think of the future, if not to just pass the time since she had no traveling partner or other things to distract her, but not distract her too much. She wondered if she’d ever reach a time when she wouldn’t have to steal things to get by—sure, they were the absolute necessities and she always made sure they wouldn’t be missed, but she felt dreadful every time she did it. Well, maybe not every time. Some people deserved to get robbed, if you asked her; keeping all their riches and fortune to themselves while others froze and starved on the streets, well, it just wasn’t right. She vowed right then and there that if she were to, out of astonishing circumstances, become wealthy—if she lived long enough—well she’d promise to do good by it. Maybe she’d open up a shelter or two, so people down on their luck could sleep in a bed every night and eat three meals a day and meet other people, not be lonely and have a shoulder to cry on when they needed to. Yes, that’d suit her just fine. Or maybe she could open up her own bakery, learn how to bake and cook and all, and then send that ol’ baker something really special, as an apology for all the trouble she no doubt caused for him. A heavy sigh escaped her at the thought, and she folded her arms as she tread uphill. Did she even deserve most or any of the forgiveness that she wanted? She was too afraid of what could be the answer, to be sure.

And what’s all this thought about opening shelters and helping people when she couldn’t even help herself? People like her, well… people didn’t like people who were like her, if they’d even heard of what sort of human she was and what she could do. It was bad enough that she was a thief, homeless, but a runaway child, as well—frankly, she was surprised that she hadn’t seen any wanted posters of her yet, for whatever crimes she committed or…

Well. Maybe they didn’t want her to get any attention. They had their sights on her after all, but sometimes she pondered that maybe, just maybe, after all this time they decided to forget about her and carry onto new things. But she doubted that, too, and refused to allow herself to become complacent and let her guard down. They could snatch her up at any time if she did, she knew. She still didn’t understand why she was so valuable, but at the same time, she did, and it sickened her. They won’t be catching little miss evasive Lucille Louise, no they would not. Not if she had anything to do or say about it, but she wondered how much that was and how much that would matter, too. A little breeze picked up then, and she cursed it as she adjusted her scarf over her ears and forehead.

She let her hand linger on the scarf, and through the thick mittens she could feel the design woven into its knit work. It was a fine scarf by her standards, but she had gotten it through Mister Dalton, and compared to him and all of his get up and that sparkling pocket watch of his, the scarf was ratty and unfit. She wondered why he had it in the first place, if it actually belonged to him or if he had found it and was holding onto it.

“I’m happy to see the old thing finally putting itself to good use.”

She knew the cold didn’t bother him at all, as he was never dressed for it, so keeping the scarf for himself didn’t make sense. She scoffed at the notion that he had been saving it for her, as Mister Dalton and the idea of being remotely helpful just didn’t go together. No… she didn’t mean that, not at all.

“Do you know why I brought you here? Because this is hallowed ground. You’re safe here.”

Pursing her lips against the breeze and hunching her shoulders closer to her neck, Lucille trudged on, her fingers and toes feeling the tickle of the cold but mostly protected. She had not seen Mister Dalton since then, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again. She had a feeling she would… something inside of her felt it.

“It’s just the way of things. Even if one really wanted to, if they cannot enter hallowed ground, then that’s simply how it is.”

“Are you protecting me?”

“No. I am not a protector, Lucille.”

“Then what are you, Mister Dalton?” She asked herself out loud, her teeth chattering some when she did. “And… what do you want, anyway? What makes you so special, and why can you go on this ‘hallowed ground’ but apparently no one else can?”

“Remember what I’ve told you, Lucille. You must remain strong. And if you find it to be any consolation, I do believe in you, truly. You are something special.”

Lucille gradually slowed her painstaking journey to a halt. She lifted her head and stared onward, a thoughtful frown on her mouth and her eyes on what would have been the horizon beyond the trees. The breeze made pine branches quiver, and what things they had to tell her, if only she was paying attention. But, she was not.

“Who are you?” she asked, to no one. To someone.