#i just get flashes of these scenes from her arc in modern as i've sketched it out

[takivvatanga]

fifteen years is a long time.

“This can’t be it! Are you sure this is the right address?”

“It’s the address you gave me, Miss.”

“But… but-“

“It’s the address you gave me. Makes twenty-seven fifty thank you very much.” 

The taxi driver looks at her over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. She doesn’t look like someone who’d try to dodge a fare, he’s been in his job for long enough to know that type. This woman simply looks out of place. Country lady come to visit the city, clearly. He knows country people. Once, a long time ago, he was a country boy himself, yes ma’am, country boy in gumboots and a swanndri, taking the quad down the creek to check on last night’s eel traps at the crack of dawn. Go home, he thinks. Go back home, lady. There’s nothing worthwhile here. The Big Smoke ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Cecilia var Anahid looks up at the apartment building. She doesn’t quite know what exactly she has expected, but this, well, this isn’t it. How long has her sister lived here? She tries to imagine what Assire looks like now, but her mind draws a blank, defaulting back to the last time she saw her, sitting cross-legged on her bed, an awkward teenage girl with a clip in her hair. 

Fifteen years. Fifteen years is a long time.

“Miss. Twenty-seven fifty. Are you alright, Miss?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Here you go and… keep the change I suppose. God Bless you.”

The taxi driver smiles, pockets the two crumpled notes.

“And you, Miss. And you.” 

________

Cecilia scans the name plates beside the doorbells, for a moment both relieved and disappointed when she cannot find her sister’s. One is left blank. No one lives here, it tries to tell her. Cecilia knows a lie when she sees one. She rings. 

Was that the bell? She’s not expecting anyone, who on Earth?!

Assire puts down her watering can, tugs at a wilted leaf that mars the appearance of one of her plants.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

The plant, of course, does not answer. But the bell keeps on ringing.

Something isn’t right.

Assire’s stomach twists with anxiety. She could just sit this out, do nothing, wait for the intruder to go away. They’re bound to give up eventually, right? But if she does, she’ll be forever left wondering who and why, getting stuck on the thought, losing herself in worst case scenarios. What if it is important? What if something terrible has happened? What if someone died? Even worse, what if her not opening the door will mean that someone will die? It would be her fault, her fault, all because she was scared to answer the door. Someone is going to die, because of her.

She has to answer. It’s not a choice. She has to.

____________ 

“Hello?”

The voice that reaches her through the intercom could belong to anyone. Maybe she’s got the wrong address after all. But there’s something in the voice, an undertone, a certain inflection that gives Cecilia pause.

“Assire? Assire, it’s me. Cecilia.”

Silence.

“Assire? Are you there? Let me in. We… we need to talk.”

Assire feels sick. She doesn’t know what to do, she wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t prepared for anyone, let alone… her sister.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years is a long time. What is there to talk about, after all those years?

I have nothing to say to you. I have so much I want to say. But I can’t. I just can’t.

“Assire, open the door. Sister. Please.”

She can’t get out of this now. She has no choice.

Assire’s fingers feel numb as she pushes the button.

“Okay.”

___________ 

She doesn’t look any different. She’s older, sure, there’s lines around her eyes, her nose, the corners of her mouth. There’s grey creeping into her hair. But it’s still undeniably her. Her sister. Cecilia.

“Assire, I…”

Cecilia doesn’t know what to say. Assire has changed. Not physically. She still looks like, well, Assire, only older. But something in the way she holds her head, in the way she squares her shoulders, in the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other tells her that the sister she knew is gone. Gone, like she’s been gone for fifteen years. 

Fifteen years is a long time.

“Can I come in.”

Assire nods, her fingers tugging nervously at the hem of her cardigan. She feels numb, like a puppet pulled along on invisible strings. Is this even real? Maybe she’s dreaming this, like she often dreams about them. Her sisters. But it’s never like this, in the dreams. In her dreams, they are children again, running through the meadows behind the house they grew up in, the sun just setting, tinting the long grass that tickles their knees the colour of molten gold. They are free, and they are together, and no one ever dared to tell them what they could or could not be. What they could or could not choose. No one feels guilty and no one is ashamed.

This is not a dream.

________________ 

Lord Almighty, she really is lost. Heavenly Father, give me strength.

Cecilia barely manages to hide her distaste. This is how her sister lives? She wasn’t raised like this, none of them were raised like this. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. There must be order. Cecilia runs a fingertip over the cabinet that stands in the hall, leaving a trail in the accumulated dust.

Assire, I am so sorry.

“Do you… do you want tea?” It seems like a good place to start. As good a place as any. The words come out with relative ease, usually that is a good sign. But why is she here? Why now? The reason! Just tell me the reason!

Cecilia smiles, not entirely sincere, but she is trying. By God, she is trying.

______________ 

Two cups on the table. Sunlight filtering in through the kitchen window. Two sisters, sitting across from each other in silence. Something suspended between them. A grief that is spoken and one that is not.

“When?”

“Last week. Assire, we… you know how things are, we-“

“You stick to yourselves. I know.”

“Nobody knows I’m here. Mum doesn’t know. Jovanna doesn’t know. I was thinking about telling Eviva but she, well, what with Dad’s passing and her new baby and everything I didn’t want her to worry about me going to meet you as well.”

“Eviva… had a baby?”

Cecilia’s smile is laced with pity. Assire knows nothing. Nothing at all.

“She has three, actually. Our little sister’s family is just delightful. A joy unto the Lord.”

Assire frowns, her hands gripping her cup a little more tightly.

“Well, good for her.”

“Assire, please. No need to be like that.”

“Like what?” Assire looks up, still frowning. This is too much, too much! Too much to think about! It’s been fifteen years, fifteen god damned years, and she’s only just managed to stop thinking about her family. She doesn’t want to start this again, her mind going around in endless cycles, drowning in guilt, choking on shame.

“Dad was ill for a long time.” Cecilia crosses her arms over her chest. She won’t take Assire’s bait, will not allow herself to be goaded into a confrontation. Lord, give me strength.

“We looked after him until the very end. We all prayed for him. We took great care of him, united as a family. As a community. We would have never let him be taken away into one of these godforsaken hospitals. It was God’s will, Assire. It was God’s will.”

“You didn’t seek treatment.” The only thing colder than Assire’s voice are her eyes.

“We don’t believe in medicine. We believe in the power of prayer, the mercy of Christ. We believe that God and God alone decides when our days on earth are done. You know that.”

Assire does know. That doesn’t change the fact that it enrages her. Assire feels as if her insides were swarming with bees, an angry, erratic buzzing in her stomach, her lungs, her throat, her brain. She looks down at the table, bites her tongue.

If I open my mouth, she thinks, if I open my mouth all that will come out will be poison.

“Assire. I know it has been a long time, but… it’s not too late to come home. Mum needs you. We need you. You can be forgiven. Your soul… you can still be redeemed, all you have to do is to ask. You don’t have to go on living like… this.”

“Is that why you’re here? Is that why you’re here, Cecilia? To try and get me to come back? After fifteen years? Our father died and you’re just… you’re just using this as bait, aren’t you? You want me to feel guilty, Cecilia? Well, don’t waste your time because I already do. I’ve spent every single day for the last fifteen years feeling guilty for leaving. But you know what? I don’t regret it.”

”Assire! Please! Listen to yourself, just…”

“No, Cecilia. You listen to me, okay. To me.” She does not know where this has come from, this sudden burst of bravery. All she knows is that she will not go back. She will stand her ground.

“You, your family… yes, you heard me right. Your family. Not mine. Your family, your community – you’re poison. You put people into a little cage of ideology and make them scared to ever look beyond the bars, because if they do, if they dare to look, and see, and ask questions, and want things like everyone does in life, why, they’ll lose their soul, won’t they? They’ll lose everything, because you made them dependent on doing what you want. For ‘the good of the community’, for their ‘immortal souls’. It’s bullshit, Cecilia. It’s about controlling people. It’s just… treating people as if they are things! People are people, they should be allowed to be people! You call it faith, but it’s got nothing to do with God. Because God isn’t about locking people up and making them feel ashamed and like they are tainted and sinful and bad for every single day of their lives. God is… God isn’t supposed to be a cage.”

She watches as the colour drains from Cecilia’s face, her mouth a thin, pale line, her hands slowly curling into fists. For a moment, Assire feels sorry, so terribly sorry, for speaking like she did, for her hurtful words and her hateful thoughts, for her refusal to rebuild the bridges she burned so many years ago.

But I shouldn’t feel sorry. It’s the truth, nothing but the truth. If she wasn’t prepared to hear it, then she shouldn’t have come here.

“Assire. Sister. I thought there was still hope. I prayed for you, that you’d see reason. That maybe Dad’s passing would be an opportunity for you to find forgiveness. I’ve never given up on you, you know? I always had hope for you. Always. But it seems I was wrong. You’re lost, little sister. You and your soul. Lost, forever. And I am so very sorry.”

The words hurt. They are thick with pity, full of judgement, every syllable an attempt to tug at her strings, to pull her back, to confuse her enough to make her relent. Assire feels the distance between them grow. It is a welcome feeling. She will never go back. Never.

“I think you should leave. Now.”

“Assire, don’t do this. Come with me. Come home.”

“I am home.”

“You call this home? Look at this place, Assire. Look at yourself. This is a mess, you’re a mess. This world has wrecked you. You’re broken.”

Assire rises, abruptly, her cup of tea untouched.

“This world has been good to me. Because I’ve been good to me. Leaving was the hardest and the best thing I could have ever done. There’s nothing else to tell you, Cecilia.”

I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But you leave me no choice.

“If you change your mind –“

”I won’t.”

“Yes, you say that now but… if you do.”

“I won’t. Goodbye, Cecilia. Enjoy your life. Enjoy your cage.”

“Lord have mercy on your soul, Assire. Lord have mercy.”

_____________ 

There’s a finality to the sound of the door closing, to the echoing of Cecilia’s steps on the stairs. As if someone had typed out the words the end, underlined them, turned the page. This is an end, definitive, distinct.

She will not look back. She will not go back. Never.

Fifteen years is a very long time.

#vignette: assire #verse: modern #me: owes a million things #also me: writes a 2k vignette of interest to exactly one person which is myself #i always feel kind of ??? about posting these bc #legit idek what this is #i just get flashes of these scenes from her arc in modern as i've sketched it out #and then i gotta write it #and stuff doesn't feel like it has been written until it's posted for some reason #also this is choppy and messy and it's not self-contained #i jump between imagery too much #it needs tidying up and streamlining #and i am so bad at editing my own work #like i go back to read my own stuff and i just wanna delete it all #editing is harder than writing it is a FACT