#when the film hammers home as loudly and clearly as possible that he is a textbook repeat rapist and abuser using classic manipulation

[see-arcane]

Oh bitter bitter irony

Bile below

I started out afraid that Eggers would over-Coppola his Nosferatu--he didn't! :D--only to run into a growing dual tide of fans who are either

A) actively trying to Coppola his Orlok and Ellen into lash-batting forbidden romance bodice ripper cliches ("He backhanded Knock for daring to suggest he steal Ellen! uwu He brought a plague and attacked her loved ones just to be with her! uwu She clearly wanted to be with Orlok all along, fuck Jonathan Thomas, the useless stuffy loser! uwu Orlok just doesn't want her to deny herself! uwu Every word he says should be 100% taken at face value, he would never use the Classic Abuser Playbook to victim-blame his target into compliance, just do murders and choke slam her for saying she doesn't like him, ignore the long-distance repeated psychic rape since she hit puberty, it's fine it's fine uwu")

or

B) going full pearl-clutch about the very concept of Orlok being an icky evil unpretty mustached corpse monster (with all the abuse and assaults being tacked on in the aftermath to Prove~ this is Not a Proper Ken Doll Dracula)

like

guys. we're sinking into the deep ends of two very different nuance-free pools here

Yes, there is a disturbing fucked up but Actually There connection between Ellen and Orlok. There is attraction, there is a core spiritual likeness that led Orlok to her as a girl. But that does not obliterate the fact that he is monstrous to her and to everyone she cares about. He is a rapist. He is a manipulator. He abuses her and the covenant connection--which he point blank tricked her into without any warnings to what she was agreeing to as a teenager--for years. And then, when she dares to fall in love with and wed someone else, he throws a murder-tantrum until she agrees by her own will* (*under duress) to be his. Not his equal in anything but suggestion, but his property. His owed Affliction. And it is meant to be horribly fucked up that Ellen has even a thread of positive feeling for him, regardless of what supposed matching darkness she has in her. Just like many victims in her position will feel for their own sexual and romantic abusers.

This is not Count Gary Oldmanacula and Winonmina Harkryder. This is not star-crossed tragique kissy kissy Francis fanfiction. It does not call for mental gymnastics to take the fangs and blood and violation out, to excuse the monstrosity Eggers harvested from the actual source story or--and I am putting my head through the wall about this--taking anything Count Orlok says at face value when his entire MO, from the first assault on Teen Ellen to the trick document he makes Thomas sign to sell her away to the full spread of mind game horseshit he says to Ellen's face or puts in her mouth to puppeteer a fight between the Hutters, IS TO MANIPULATE AND ABUSE EVERYONE AROUND HIM

Fuck, even Knock got ripped off via Orlok's bullshitting and he made a literal full Faustian willing contract with him

And on the flip side:

Stop stop stop stop STOP wringing your hands over the presence of gothic horror monstrosity being in the gothic horror monstrosity film.

Bela Lugosi and Gary Oldman? They looked impressive. They looked charming and elegant and polished and, obviously, iconic. The legion of pressed and bleached and chiseled Dracula Lites after them, less so. But they are pretty!

And none of them have looked like the Count who Bram Stoker made or what his inspirations would ever have recognized as a vampire or a boyar. Robert 'If I do not personally graft the actual time period of this movie into place with my own two hands I Will Die' Eggers actually did his research in putting his Orlok together and, being a Horror Film Writer and Director, actually remembered to put the horror into the famous vampire horror story.

Attraction, sensuality, romance, and assault all have their place in it too--it is Nosferatu: "Dracula, But the Focus is On a Dracula Trying to Make the World's Worst Nightmare Threesome Happen"

And, shock of shocks, in Murnau's film, as in Stoker's book, the main couple--Harkers, Hutters--have the loving couple intimately preyed on by the same monster. While Mina/Ellen ostensibly 'allow' themselves to be preyed on, in both scenes it's done out of a desire to protect Jonathan/Thomas from the Count.

Mina keeps silent and allows Dracula to feed on her and force-feed her his blood to kick off a magical enslavement-undeath, lest Dracula follow through on his threat to bash Jonathan's skull in

Ellen sends Thomas away and offers herself as bloodbag and bride to Orlok specifically to keep him from killing Thomas and finishing off all of Wisborg

Would these magically have become 'better' setups if only Count Dracula/Orlok were hunky clean-shaven bishounen sexyboi doms there to ~liberate xoxo~ the already-married already-fucking already-skirting the lines of propriety gender role-bending young woman?

Because if that's the case in your eyes, click here. Scroll on through almost 130 years' worth of film and TV and plays and books and a thousand other spinoffs where Dracula is perpetually sandblasted into your cape-swishing hickey-nibbling knockoffs of choice. All yours.

But for fuck's sake.

Let the gothic horror be gothic horror. Up to and including the monster being monstrous. Up to and including, yes, a deranged connection and magnetism between Pretty Girl and Actually Freaky-looking Undead Rat Man. Up to and including, yes, the Human Lover not being the starched and stuffy blandman there to be thrown in a ditch to let Girl and Sexy Monsterman who truly understands her~*~* get together, and instead be a genuine romantic partner who is as adamant in endangering himself to protect his beloved as she is for him.

tl;dr:

Stop trying to retroactively Coppola this movie and using 'haha but I'm a monsterfucker' to side step the fact that the villain here is a villain and is using the rule book of actual abusive relationships to gaslight his victim(s) in a very human, very gruesome way

Stop wailing that your personal diet vampire fetish is being sullied via the presence of a mustache, maggoty corpse pecs and the horror of the Count not being a GQ model

Just stop

[gigi-sinclair]

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This is entirely for @draculas-gay-daughter, because of this.

Also, the research for this has awakened in me an actual desire to learn to make candles, so thanks for that new quarantine hobby!

It's like, what do they call it, ASMR.

That's what Edward tells himself. Some people find it relaxing to watch strangers pop plastic wrap or flick dry paint brushes or whatever. He happens to find it relaxing to watch Tom Jopson talk about the intricacies of making candles.

He doesn't know how he first landed on “Brighten Your Day With Candles.” Some winding path of Youtube “recommended videos” he wouldn't be able to retrace if he tried, but the moment he found it, Edward was entranced. He watched every one of Tom's ten-to-twenty minute long videos immediately.

Nine months and thirty-four new videos later—Tom took off the weeks of Christmas and New Year's, leaving Edward bereft over the holidays—Edward understands no more about candle making than he did before. Tom, however, is endlessly fascinating.

Edward can't say exactly what it is he finds so alluring. Tom is handsome, with his flopping dark hair and his five o'clock shadow, but Edward sees handsome men all the time. He's clearly very intelligent, but Edward works with some of the biggest minds, not to mention egos, in the country.

There is something else, something which leaves Edward unable to look away. When Tom says, “Adding too much fragrance can, unfortunately, lead to curdling in soy candles” with a look of heart-wrenching empathy in his big eyes, Edward wants to gather him in his arms and give the man a good, solid hug. When he says, “I had news from viewer Jamie in Nova Scotia that they've solved their ongoing issue with wet spots!” Edward wants to kiss him in celebration. And when Tom leans forward, the V-neck of his shirt revealing a patch of dark chest hair, to confide, “Today, we're going to talk about the length of your wick,” Edward offers up a mental apology and reaches for his fly.

Edward thinks his obsession is secret, until one evening his flatmate George says, “Thanks for staying out when I had Emily over the other night.”

“It's fine.” It is in Edward's best interests not to be about when George and his girlfriend get together. There is only so much saccharine sweetness and over-the-top pet names he can handle.

“I really appreciate it. So does she. We wanted to get you a gift.” It's only then Edward notices the bag, printed with pink flowers and the words “It's a Girl!”, in George's hand. “Sorry about the bag,” he adds. “It was the only one I could find.”

Where? Is the question Edward doesn't ask. “That's not necessary, George. Really.”

“Open it!”

Edward tries not to sigh as he opens the gift bag. George's gift-giving history, while admirable in its efforts, is remarkably poor in its execution. The last thing Edward needs is another “Purrrrrfect Friend” mug with a cat’s tail as a handle, or a T-shirt with a Sasquatch on it. It's the thought that counts, he reminds himself, even if that thought is, when it comes to George, quite often incomprehensible.

This gift is just as strange. Edward stares at what appear to be squares of white wax, a roll of string, and several tiny bottles, until George, still smiling, explains, “It was Emily's idea. I told her how you're always watching that candle making channel on Youtube, and she said you're probably dying to give it a go yourself.” He looks at Edward, his expression expectant. “It's great, right?”

“Right.” Edward smiles. “It is. Great. Thanks, mate.”

The next day, Edward buys a pair of headphones.

***

One Wednesday nearly a year after Edward first found him, Tom finishes a talk about gel wax, then leans back on his stool. All of his videos are filmed in the same kitchen, with several little cactus pots on the windowsill and a gleaming sink, spotlessly clean, in the background. Edward wonders if it's Tom's own kitchen. If the rest of the room, or the house or flat, is as tidy as what he shows. If he lives with anybody. No one else is ever on the videos, although that doesn't mean Tom doesn't have a friend or a flatmate or a partner behind the camera.

“I'm really going to miss you,” Tom says, putting the gel candles aside. Edward's heart seizes. “But I won't be making any new videos for the next little while, because I'm going on a book tour!” He holds up the book, also entitled “Brighten Your Day With Candles”, he's been showing for the last few weeks. Edward ordered it the first time he saw it. He feels like he owes Tom at least that much. “I am so excited,” Tom says. He looks it, but Edward has never seen him be anything but sincere. “Unfortunately, it's just in south east England at the moment—sorry Jen in San Luis Obispo, I can't make it out to California this time, although I would love to someday—but I would really like to meet as many of you as possible. My complete schedule is below. See you soon!” He waves. Edward is about to scroll down to the comments, then hesitates.

What would he say if he met Tom in person? That he thinks Tom is the most incredible man he's ever seen? That he's watched every one of Tom's videos multiple times, and still knows nothing about making candles? That he often pictures Tom talking authoritatively about long burn times and multiple layers while Edward blows him? It's disgusting, inappropriate, probably illegal.

With a shake of his head, Edward puts the thought of meeting Tom Jopson entirely out of his mind.

***

At one time, Edward loved his career. That was before the company president died suddenly and his role was taken over by two co-presidents, promoted from within, who have a long history of conflict and have used Edward as a go-between, the miserable child of an unfriendly divorce, for months now.

It saps Edward's energy to the point that he doesn't have the will to look for another job. He just goes to work every day, suffers, and comes home to brighten his day with candles. Until one night, when George meets him at the door.

“Don't take your coat off,” he tells Edward. “We're going out.”

“I really don't feel like...”

“You will. Trust me.” Edward doesn't. They're great friends, but Edward doesn't trust him a bit. The feeling is vindicated when they arrive at the local Waterstone's, and George pushes him inside.

Tom is even more beautiful in person. His stubble looks like it's deliberate rather than the result of a long day, although Edward has always found that very charming in itself. He's wearing a smart white button-up shirt, and the smile he directs at the woman in front of him is so brilliant, Edward feels weak.

“No.” Edward turns to go.

George stops him. “Why not? It's the guy you like, isn't it?”

“It's...I don't...What am I going to say?”

“That you're a big fan? Even though you still haven't used that candle stuff Emily and I got you?” George looks at him pointedly. “Get him to sign your book.”

“I don't have it with...”

George reaches into his satchel and presses “Brighten Your Day With Candles” on him. “Get in the queue,” he says, in that imperious tone he sometimes has. “I'll wait in the café.”

Edward's stomach churns, but he follows George's direction, joining the queue behind a middle-aged woman and her teenage daughter. There are two other people ahead of them. It’s long enough for Edward to regret his entire life up to this point, not long enough to gather the wherewithal to walk away.

When Edward reaches the table, Tom's smile becomes even more brilliant. “You're Edward, right?”

Edward's carefully thought out opening words—“Good work”—disappear. “How did you...”

“Your friend George sent me a message.” Of course he fucking did. Edward is going to kill him. Is actually going to put his hands around his throat and...“He told me you'd be here.”

“Hm.” Edward has no idea what to say. His mind is entirely blank. He searches desperately, a quest which eventually arrives at, “Yes.”

“You like my videos?” Tom holds out his hand. Edward shakes it, then, face burning, realizes Tom was reaching for the book. Edward drops it onto the table. It thunks loudly.

“Yes,” Edward repeats.

“Do you have a favourite type of candle?” Tom opens the book and turns to the title page.  

“Wax ,” Edward replies, because his brain has apparently given up on this situation as entirely unsalvageable.

Tom laughs, as if that was a joke. He scrawls something in the book, then closes it and hands it back to Edward. “Thanks for watching, Edward. I really appreciate a loyal viewer like you.” He holds Edward's gaze as he says it.

Edward swallows around the lump in his throat. Edward has never done well in front of others. If he and Tom were alone, Edward might be able to come up something halfway coherent. Maybe. They're not.

“Thanks,” he says. He could swear Tom throws him a wink as he walks away.

It's that, along with the general humiliation, that leads Edward to duck out of view between Interior Design and Gardening. He opens the book to see what Tom wrote.

The words “For Edward” and a scribble that could be Tom's signature lie across the title page. Beneath that is a series of numbers. It takes Edward a moment longer than he wants to admit to realize it’s a phone number. He's not that lucky, usually. But he's also not this stupid.

His heart still hammering, Edward takes out his phone. I'm not really an idiot, Edward types, then sends the text before he can think twice. He glances at Tom, deep in conversation with a young woman in denim overalls, and goes to murder George.

Two hours later, Edward is sitting on the sofa at home when his phone trills. You don't seem like one. It's too kind. Just like he expected Tom would be. Can I buy you a coffee? Or better yet a drink?

“Who's that?” George asks, without looking up from his laptop. He doesn't need to. His entire body exudes smugness.

“Mind your own business,” Edward says. But, he adds silently, thank God you never do.

***

The rest of Tom's flat is as tidy as the kitchen he shows on his videos. It's also, amazingly, less than half an hour's drive from Edward's place. In addition to that, Tom has a day job at a shop Edward has passed hundreds of times, which he's always derogatorily classified as “candles, crystals and shit” and avoided.

“So if you hadn't been such a snob, darling,” Tom tells him, with a smile and a kiss, “we might have met a long time ago.”

Edward can't deny that. He can, however, deny that it's a good idea for him to join Tom on screen.

“Don't worry.” Tom sets up his phone on its tripod and comes back around the counter. “Just pretend it's not even there.” He kisses Edward again, on the cheek, then turns to the camera. “Welcome back, everyone! We have a very special guest today. This is my gorgeous boyfriend Edward, and we're going to help him make his very first candle!”

Tom posts the video later that evening. Not long afterwards, the comments start appearing. Normally, Edward would avoid them—he knows what Youtube commenters are like, and he never wants to see any criticism of Tom—but this time, he looks. To his surprise, there are several remarks about him. “Edward's so cute!” “OMG ur bf is the sweetest!” And, “That Edward guy really is great. I think you should have him on every episode.” The username beside that one is “PianoMan86” and the picture is the same one George uses on Instagram.

Bloody George. Fortunately, Edward thinks, looking at the slightly lumpy candle he produced with his own two hands, he has the perfect gift for him.

“Edward!” Tom calls, from his room down the hall. “Are you coming?”

Before they met, Edward assumed Tom would be the kind of guy who lights a million candles in the bedroom. In fact, he only ever lights one, but it never fails to have the perfect luminosity and fragrance for the mood.

“Yes.” Edward puts down his phone and hurries to join him. As amazing as he is on Youtube, Tom is unspeakably better offline.  

[lollercakesff]

soft touch

chapter 17 | ao3 pairing: anne/gilbert rating: mature wordcount: 3,694

"I’m her husband!” Roy shouts as Barton wheels around to face him. I stand on my porch, arms crossed over my chest as I look down at the two men.

“I’m sorry sir, but that doesn’t seem likely. Do you have any proof?” Barton questions further, his hands on his hips.

“Of course he doesn’t - “

“Doctor, please let me handle this,” Barton intejects, holding up his hand to me. I could practically feel the exhaustion pouring off of him, the day’s events already wearing him thin.

“I’ve got our marriage certificate here,” Roy argues, shoving a piece of paper into the man’s chest. Barton unfolds it and reads the scrawl, glancing between us.

“Sir, this certificate is made out for a woman by the name of Anne Shirley Cuthbert… The woman who lives here doesn’t go by that name. Perhaps you’re mistaken?”

“She’s disguised herself, Officer. She has taken up with this man who she knew from school. I’ve done the research - I’m certain it’s her,” Roy snears, forcing himself to remain calm as Barton looks over the paper again. “Look - I’ve got a photo!”

My heart sinks as Roy tears back towards his carriage. I hadn’t - Anne had never mentioned a photo. They were still rare around here, it hadn’t seemed likely that one would exist… But then Anne had always been fanciful and would have dreamed of her wedding being captured on film.  

“It’s our wedding photo. You see? It’s her!” Roy thrusts the image into his hand and Barton looks up towards me, his face unreadable. “I demand that this man produce my wife at once.”

There’s a weighted pause as Barton looks between the two documents carefully, his gaze sliding up towards me as I shake my head almost imperceptibly. His lips form a tight line and he looks back towards Roy, handing him the papers abruptly.

“I’m sorry sir, but we’ll need to find another way to resolve this issue. I can’t verify these documents today. Perhaps you’ll be best to find a place for the night and we can investigate this more clearly in the morning,” Barton states evenly and prepares for Roy to explode at his answer.

But he doesn’t. A calm fury washes over the man and he steps towards his carriage, climbing into it and forcefully cracking the reins. Without another word he takes off down the laneway towards town and leaves Barton and I standing in shock in my yard.

“You’ve got a lot to explain, Doctor,” Barton growls, motioning towards the house as we head inside. Susan leaps back from the door as we step through, her eyes wide as she looks up at the man.

“Gilbert - Sarah called. Cordelia...” Her voice rises an octave as Barton snaps his gaze towards her.

“Cordelia? Or Anne Shirley? Someone needs to start telling me what the hell is going on,” he instructs and stands angrily in the kitchen as I try to help him understand just what sort of tangled web we’ve weaved. “So they are the same girl? And she came here of her own volition?”

“Yes - to get away from him. She’s been hiding here because it’s wasn’t safe to go back home and she couldn’t stay there or he’d kill her. We only went about this to try to legitimize her getting away from him. We hadn’t thought - we didn’t think there would be anything that would prove his claims.”

The truth fills the space around us, the tension palpable as I try to explain our reasoning. Barton listens without expression, his eyes thoughtful as I recount all of the ways that she’s shown signs of her abuse since coming to the Glen. I realize as I explain it that when you say it all at once it’s much more damaging, the scale of it almost insurmountable.

“I only wanted to keep her safe. Just like I wanted to help Beth.” I hammer home the point and watch as the man’s steely look shifts into a moment of regret, a hot wave of pain coming over him as he looks away abruptly.

“I believe you, Doc. I do. But I can’t do anything if - “

“She doesn’t press charges. I know. Can you promise that he’ll leave her alone if she exposes herself and does so?” Barton shakes his head and looks away, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon.

“That guy has money. He’ll take it to court and he’ll win. That’s how it always happens. He won’t go to jail and she’ll be stripped of everything she’s built here. Nobody will hire her once they find out what she’s done. There’s no easy way for a woman to escape this,” he admits and glances up towards me. “I’m sorry.”

In a fit of frustration I pull at my hair and leave the room, stalking towards my bedroom and slamming the door closed without warning. I yell once, twice, lashing out angrily at the pillows on my bed before returning to the kitchen and looking between Susan and Barton.

“I’m going to go find Anne and then she’s spending tonight here, with us. With her family. And then I’m taking her back to Avonlea and we will keep running until that man is jailed for his crimes,” I hiss before looking at Susan expectantly. “You’re welcome to come with us but if you don’t we won’t hold it against you.”

“Doc, I don’t think - “ Barton starts.

“I have nothing else. Nothing. If he takes her away - I can’t do it again,” I shout and look pointedly out the window to hide my fears. I starve for air, my chest aching as I look back towards the man who could do nothing to help us. “I won’t let him do what Murphy did.” The day’s events crowd in and I picture Beth smiling in my office, her lifeless body on the cold wooden floor and the anger of Roy Gardner screaming on my porch. It’s too much and my body shakes as I stalk towards the door and yank it open, the phone ringing behind me as I head towards the barn.

I ready the horse quickly and I’m half through the yard when Barton catches up with me, trotting alongside as he looks me over. “That was Elizabeth Collins on the phone. She thinks someone’s broken into your office.”

We don’t need to say what we’re thinking as we tear off towards town, my horse being pressed to the limit as we cover the blooming fields as fast as possible. When we reach the edges of town we disembark, sharing a look as we round the corner towards the street nearest the surgery.

“Perhaps you should leave this to me, Doc,” Barton suggests, looking up and down the sidewalks carefully. I shake my head and step past him, eyes peeled for Anne.

“She’s here. I know she is,” I state and come upon the surgery door. The window is smashed and a figure looms in the shadows near the desk, his figure imposing as I join him in the waiting area. “Gardner, you need to leave!” I shout, hands clenched at my sides.

The man turns towards me and smiles, his hair black as night as he looks me over. Thomas Hughes shifts on his feet and shrugs, walking past me on his way out of the surgery. “She wasn’t here either,” he grumbles as he passes.

I turn to Barton then who watches him pass, his eyes wide and questioning. We follow him out into the street and watch dumbly as a woman stumbles out of the cafe across the road, falling down to the dirt in a heap of skirts and black hair. Hughes laughs, standing off to the side and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, look what the cat soused out afterall…” Hughes crows as I take a step towards Anne.

“Wait,” Barton instructs and grabs at my shoulder, holding me to this side of the street as Roy Gardner steps onto the sidewalk across the way. My blood boils and I lurch forward, Barton’s hand on my arm solid as he keeps me in place. “Gain witnesses!” He hisses and I look at him, appalled as I try to fight free of his grip.

“Roy,” Anne’s voice cuts through the air and slams into my chest, rearing me back to look at her as she slowly gets to her feet. Faces line the windows of the cafe and nearby shops as her shoulders square towards the man, her expression neutral as she bats the dirt off of her dress.

“My pet, I’ve finally come to take you home!” He delights in saying, rushing towards her with outstretched arms. She stumbles backwards and somehow manages to slap him away, the crack of her palm on his skin loud in the empty street.

“I’m never coming home with you. This is my home now,” she spits. Roy takes the rejection in stride and smiles, sighing.

“You think you belong here? With these country bumpkins who don’t know a filet from a porterhouse? You make me laugh,” he adds with a chuckle. “No - that simply won’t do. Mother is expecting a full reimbursement for the amount she lent you or she’ll take the heir you promised her when you left. Either one will suffice.”

I lurch towards the man and grunt as Barton once again comes between us, his hands grabbing at my shoulder and pushing me back a step. Roy laughs loudly, jarringly, and it grates against my nerves as I watch Anne shudder at his words. He’s shoved a knife between her ribs and now he’s twisting it, enjoying the way she starts to come apart.

“I will never give you want you want, Roy,” she hisses, inching closer as she draws her shoulders back. She glows with the rage that comes to her surface, her tears drying up and her expression locking in place. A fierce girl stands before us, fire roiling within her. “We are not compatible. We are nothing to each other except punching bags. You’ve locked me up and stolen years from my life for what? Failed pregnancies that only embarrass you? You think the bruises weren’t embarrassing enough?”

“I can do as I please to keep control of my household, or have you forgotten the vows that we said? You promised to be mine and I will not relinquish you. You’re coming home with me,” he growls and captures her wrist in his hand, jerking her forward.

“I will not,” she responds and pulls herself free. The hit comes before we can stop it, Roy’s palm lashing through the air and colliding with Anne’s cheek in a sound that makes those in the windows gasp. It’s not a second later that Barton has tackled the man to the ground, Hughes stepping back as Barton orders brisk commands as he binds the man’s hands behind him.

I find myself at Anne’s feet in a flash, my hands lifting to her face and fluttering over the reddened skin as it begins to darken into a bruise. “Anne, oh love,” I whisper, desperate to soothe her panicked breathing and the way her body shakes. A part of me keeps my distance, afraid she’ll be scared off if I get too close. But she doesn’t. In a drawn out second she meets my gaze head on and collapses into me, climbing onto my frame and holding herself as closely as she can as I move us to a bench along the sidewalk.

Neither of us let go as Barton drags Roy down the street, his screaming voice trailing off in the distance. Beside us Hughes slinks back into the shadows, his cocky grin having disappeared at the way Barton had taken down his boss. I don’t care where they’ve gone. I only care about the girl in my embrace who’s practically crawled into my skin for comfort. She’s all I can think about right now.

It’s only later, when the street is still and the frayed nerves have softened that Anne pulls back from my chest with a shaking sigh. Her eyes snake up to mine, red from the tears and swollen from battle. I let my thumb ghost over the skin there, watching as she shivers from the touch.

“I had to make him do it,” she says, looking abruptly away from me. I turn her back to my gaze and smile gently, urging her to continue. “Nobody ever believed me because they didn’t see it. When he came into the cafe I tried to make him leave but he refused. He told everyone everything, Gil. They all know.”

“It’s okay. We can deal with that,” I reply though my voice cracks. I pull her back against me in a tight hug, breathing through the last remnants of adrenaline in my system. “I wanted to kill him, Anne. I thought I was going to put him in the ground if Barton didn’t get in my way. I couldn’t stand to watch him hurt you again. To laud those things over your head - I couldn’t.”

“He doesn’t have that power over me anymore. I thought he would when I saw him again but he didn’t. I just hated him so much,” she sighs and gives herself a shake, sitting up abruptly and looking around us. “This town is going to want me to leave. They won’t want someone like me here when the word spreads.”

“Anne,” I urge, clasping her hands tightly in my lap. “They won’t turn on you. Sarah is making calls now and if having anyone on your side is important it’s having her. And they’ve all - I mean, they saw what happened. No one can blame you for wanting to get away from that. You’re safe here.”

With her eyes wide and hesitant, she looks up at me for a moment. “I want to go home, Gil. I want to say goodbye to Marilla.”

My heart aches as I pull her into me once more, tucking her head against my chest as the adrenaline fades and she begins to cry softly into my shirt. I hold her to me as though she were prone to float away, her ties to this world so weak that she could disappear in the blink of an eye.

If she wanted to go home then I had to be okay with that. I wouldn’t stand in her way, not after everything she’d been through. She was free to do what she wanted to and if Avonlea was where she wanted to settle then I would let her go once more. I could do that for her even if it felt like my world was falling apart to think about it.

“Blythe, oh thank god you’ve found her!” Michael says as he hustles down the street towards us, breathless. “I was trapped in a meeting and just got Sarah’s message so I came out to look - Oh!” He steps back as Anne looks up at him, her black eye growing more prominent with every second. It catches him off guard and he holds a hand to his chest, his eyes wide. “My dear girl - where is he?”

Michael’s hands begin rolling up the sleeves of his shirt abruptly, turning on his heel as he looks out at the passersby and tries to find Gardner in the crowd. “He’s already gone, Mr Turner. Officer Barton took him,” Anne states clearly, watching as the man’s face relaxes slightly.

“Good - that’s good then. What kind of doctor are you Blythe if you’re not treating her yet?” Michael snaps, leaning down to look at her bruising more closely. Anne smiles gently and looks towards me, her hand coming to rest on my chest.

“He’s been treating me with love, Mr Turner. It’s been more effective than any salve or compress he could offer,” she admits lowly before looking back towards the man. “But I won’t say no to a little peace and quiet, if that were a possible option. I don’t think I’m up to explaining to the people of the Glen what’s happened today. Not now at least.”

“Home then?” I offer and get to my feet, helping her stand and catching her as she stumbles to the side. Beth flashes in my mind’s eye and a panicked sweat tickles at my spine, my hands careful as I guide her to a steady stance.

“Yes, please. Thank you Mr Turner, for your concern. Hopefully we’ll see you soon?” Anne adds as she grips my hand tightly in hers.

“Of course, dear girl. Don’t worry about a thing here in town. We’ll smooth things over!”

We leave Michael to head back towards my horse, climbing onto it in silence. This time Anne doesn’t hesitate to lean into me once she’s settled on the saddle, her fingers looping in the straps of my suspenders and her face resting fully against my chest. An aching sigh slips from her lips as we get on our way, the ride home much slower than the barreling gait I’d taken into town earlier.

Dusk arrives as we enter the small house, Susan’s worried expression greeting us at the door and steering Anne towards her room without hesitation. I mill about in the kitchen as the woman settles her into bed, my mind working overtime as I try not think about the parallels between the two women and the fate that awaits us tomorrow. They were questions too big to answer now and all I needed to do in this moment was watch out for her.

“Why don’t you go in and sit with her, Gilbert?” Susan suggests as she returns to my side, taking the kettle off of the stove and resting her hand softly on my elbow. She looks up at me and squeezes my arm, her expression softening. “She was asking for you.”

I don’t need more prodding than that. Finding my way down the hallway I slip into her room and pull the footstool from the end of her bed up to the side, slumping onto it as she rolls over to face me. Her colouring is all off from the bruise and I have to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Why are you all the way over there?” She mumbles as her hand reaches out for me. I grasp it between mine and smile sadly, lifting her knuckles to my lips.

“You need rest,” I reply carefully, attempting to keep my worries in check. She must sense them in me because she frowns and struggles to sit up, her hand coming up to press to her temple with a hiss. “Anne - stop! Just stay still before you hurt yourself more.”

“It’s fine - what’s gotten into you? You’re acting strangely.” I watch as she leans against the headboard, her brow tight as she evaluates me.

“We can talk about it tomorrow. For now I just want you to relax. You’ve taken a hard hit and  - “

“Gil, I’m fine. This is nothing,” she adds and waves her hand about her face. I feel it like a slap, understanding of her history blossoming brightly once more in my chest. If this was nothing… The rage builds in me and I clench my fists, looking out the window for a moment to steady myself. “Please talk to me, Gil.”

“It’s been a hard day. We should both get some rest.”

“I won’t get any if I’m worried about you. Tell me what’s going through that head of yours, I know it’s not just this. I can practically see the gears turning,” she adds, reaching for me. I lean forward and let my head hang between my knees, the breath rasping out of my chest.

“Beth Murphy died this afternoon at the train station,” I mumble. Her surprised gasp makes me sit up, shame fluttering through me. “She was just like you, Anne. Stuck. Abused. She left behind a son and it’s my fault because I told her to go to Charlottetown to see the occulist and gave her train fare for it. But she didn’t even get to board the damn train. I didn’t realize her head injury was more severe. I missed it and now her son doesn’t have a mother.” Anne’s breathing quickens and when I glance up at her it’s with tears in my eyes, my chest aching as she closes her eyes. “I missed it, Anne.”

“You didn’t. It’s not your fault,” she soothes, shifting and running her hands through my hair. Leaning towards me she presses her forehead to mine, her palms cupping my chin and holding me still. “What happened to her was horrible and lonely but I know how she felt when you helped her because you helped me too. She wasn’t in this by herself, not in the end. You were there to help her and she understood that.”

“She still died. By herself on that damn platform, she still died,” I growl, anger and hurt rolling through me as Anne crowds in closer.

“It’s not your fault. It isn’t.”

Looking back towards her I exhale shakily and lift my hand to her brow, my thumb ghosting over the bruising as she closes her eyes reflexively. “This isn’t fine, Anne,” I state numbly, dropping my hand into my lap as she opens her eyes once more. It’s too much to focus on tonight. If I didn’t escape it I’d surely drown in the agony of it all. “I’ll be in to check on you throughout the night, okay?”

She watches me with a stunned expression as I get up and head towards the door, forcing myself out of the room before I crumble under the weight of the day’s events. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes in treating Anne as I did with Beth. I was going to pay attention and watch for the signs. I was going to ensure she made it to Avonlea to grow old and live out her life happily, free from everything that had once trapped her. Including me.