The Legacy of Nola Witlock

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Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » August 31st, 2022, 11:48 pm

Nola Witlock
Image
Full name: Magnolia Witlock
Found Date: 18th of Goldleaf
Birthplace: Greatport
Birth Sign: The Fool

Age: 24
Height: 5’8”
Weight: Average
Eyes: Gray
Hair: Black
Skin: Fair complexion, more tan in the summer
Handedness: Right
Posture: Decent posture though she often slouches when standing and sits awkwardly in chairs, when talking to someone she leans forward.
Hygiene: Good, though her hair is always wild and looks as though she cuts it herself
Scent: Smells of iron, flax and lily of the valley

Physical Description:
Nola is above average height for a woman and has a well defined hourglass figure. Her arms are lean and the muscles there are well defined as though she often does manual labor. She has a large puckered and jagged scar that runs from her left hip up to her lower right rib.

General Health:
Nola’s physical health is fine but her mental health is lacking. Having suffered from head trauma in her life as well as two mental breaks she can lose time during stressful moments and forget stretches of time completely.

Personality:
Nola is crass, quick witted and has no brain to mouth filter. Her social skills leave something to be desired and she often makes people uncomfortable when she encroaches into their personal space. She speaks quickly, bluntly and rarely minces words. She finds beauty in things that terrify most people and walks to the beat of her own out of tune drum.

Profession: She was a sailor and spent a few seasons aboard a ship that ran discrete cargo but now sells her skills in mace fighting to earn money.

Positive Traits: Very loyal to those who share the same loyalty with her, calm in an emergency and asks very few questions for the right price.

Negative Traits: Impulsive, attaches and detaches from people quickly, short attention span.

History:
Nola is the only child of Franklin Witlock, the owner and operator of The Wharf Rat bar and brothel located on the docks of Greatport. She was dropped off in a basket outside of the bar one average day in Goldleaf with a note stating that the mother was positive she belonged to Witlock. After an argument between Farklin and the prostitutes who worked for him at The Rat, Nola was kept and raised mostly by the girls who worked there. She has worked the bar at The Rat, but has never worked in the back rooms as it were. She came to the First Province after her first mental break in search of her late daughter’s father with the intention to kill him.

Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

Re: The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » September 1st, 2022, 8:27 pm

A flash. A blip. A still frame. What was a memory? How much of what we recall can be trusted and how much of it was just that of dreams? Nola had a fragment of a memory, one built from the mythology of her entrance into this world. The kind of memory we all adopt from hearing the story of our birth as it is told and retold.

Nola, hours old, maybe days, wrapped tightly in a flax blanket and tucked into a produce basket. A woman leaning over her and placing a folded paper between her wrappings. Her face is blurry, obscured by shadow and half hidden by a hood. Her hair though was clear as day, long raven tresses that matched her own. She recalled the reflexive way her hand gripped hold of a lock as the woman leaned over her and how gently she had removed it from her grasp before vanishing into the stream of chaos that was Greatport.

She remembered the story how it was always told to her by her father and Jisel, they never told it with any hint of description of the woman who bore her for they didn’t know who she even was. Nola was unsure if her recall of the woman was a real memory; they said babies that young couldn’t make any. But she could still feel the hair in her palm and the gentle way the woman had parted with her.

Nola often traced that part of her hand with her fingers in times of stress or of loss and these days that patch of skin was nearly worn raw.

“You said you wouldn’t let this define you.”

“I’ve said a lot of things.”

Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

Re: The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » September 3rd, 2022, 11:50 pm

They say that funerals are for the living to celebrate the life of the deceased. But what about the funerals for those that never lived? Never took a breath? Who are those funerals for? “Closure”, Franklin had told Nola when she asked him that question. Closure for the end of a chapter in her life that never really began.

Franklin had forced Nola to attend, his partner Jisel dressed her for in her stubbornness she’d refused. The pyre was small, it didn’t take a lot of timber to burn a child. Of all things about the service that is what Nola remembered the most clearly, just how small the pyre had been.

She hadn’t intended to raise the baby, in fact, she’d made arrangements for her to be adopted by a childless couple in Heston. But that hadn’t stopped Nola from privately naming her, a creature growing inside of her that she had somehow known would be a girl.

What a waste it all had been. She’d abstained from drugs and alcohol for nine months. She’d eaten healthier meals, she’d slept more and even returned to the docks from her life at sea to give this being she was creating the best shot at life. All wasted when her body had failed her.

Nola thought that she hadn’t wanted to raise her, but she still resented that the choice was taken from her when she was sedated and the child was cut from her body too late. She had been told she was lucky to survive herself, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like her soul had been cut away and all she was left with was a gaping wound.

The pyre burned out and the Priest her father had hired sifted through the debris, collecting the bones and ash into a wooden box. He’d tried to hand it to Nola but she refused to even lift her hand. Jisel had reached past her to take the box, a woman too kind for the world she found herself in.

Nola didn’t want the ashes, that wasn’t her daughter. What good would a box of ashes do her? No, she wanted something else but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was simply a growing feeling inside of her, a longing she hadn’t named yet.

Lucus. Where was Lucus? The child that never was had a father, a man twenty three summers old, the same age as Nola. He was on a schooner at sea working, allegedly, she hadn’t had any correspondence with him in months.

He should have been there. He should have held her hand while she fought to deliver their child even if she wasn’t going to be theirs. He should have been there when her body was pulled apart to deliver her and most of all he should have been there to mourn her loss.

If he had been there everything would have been different. Nola just knew it in her gut. If Lucas had been there these last few months everything would have been fine. The feeling inside of her stirred as she demonized the man and the ugly face of vengeance surfaced. Yes, this was his fault. He didn’t deserve to live and breathe the same air her daughter never had the chance to.

“What do you need, Nola?” She could hear Jisel’s soft words next to her as the tears began to fall from her eyes.

“I need him dead”

Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

Re: The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » September 4th, 2022, 5:11 pm

The strike of a match. A plume of smoke. The euphoria of a silent mind. A privilege that could be purchased for ten silver if you knew which doors to knock on.

“Nola”, the word was but an echo in her ear, a sound that bounced off of the vast caverns of her psyche. No, she didn’t want to come back, not yet. Not now.

“NOLA!” The name came again and she shrunk against it, turning away and coiling into a ball against the pillows and thread bare cushions. She was sinking back, a weightless figure in an endless sea of black shimmering water.

The abrupt and sharp pain across her face was felt before she heard the slap. Nola’s eyes shot open and the dim light in the room flooded her senses. She squinted against it as though it were the sun and began to scream.

“What the fuck!” She flailed and tried to get away but a massive hand gripped her by the back of the neck and dragged her to her feet.

“One of the girls said they saw you here, but I didn’t want to believe it.”, the gruff male voice growled down at her. Franklin was a tall man, easily six foot and four inches and built like a brick wall. His long orange hair and shabby orange beard moved like fire as he rounded on her in anger, “This is where you’ve been this whole time!?”

His hand gripped tighter on her nape, “I’ve barely been gone a day, stop overreacting”, she said in a raspy and dry voice. Her mouth was like a desert, her eyes burned and all she wanted to do was sink back into that silent and forgiving sea.

“It’s been three weeks, Nola. You’ve been missing for nearly a month”, Frankly dragged her towards the stairs as she fought back with all of her might, clawing at his hand and kicking feebly against his shins.

“Why do you give a fuck now, Franklin?”, she yelled at him, her head bowed under the weight of his hand as he dragged her. “Jisel told me the rest of that story you know, she told me how you didn’t even want me. That you were going to send me to the Bluebird orphan’s asylum! Why start caring now!” Her words flew at him like daggers; she knew how to hurt him and if it meant he’d let her go and leave her to her devices she didn’t care.

Franklin dropped her, the sudden force of her own weight bringing her to her knees. Nola gasped as the pain of the wood floor jammed into her boney legs flooded her body. She was thin, her hair was stringy and her complexion pale and peaked. Weeks of flooding her body with poison had taken its toll on her.

“You don’t mean that”, Franklin said looking down at the rabid creature addiction had turned his daughter into, “This is the drugs talking”.

“I mean every word of it Franklin, if it hadn’t been for Jisel and the girls I’d be another statistic aging out of the Bluebird. I’d probably have come knocking on your door looking for a job working on my back-” Nola’s tirade was cut short as the back of Franklin’s hand came across her mouth. She toppled over onto her side and winced, the taste of blood filling her mouth.

“Enough of this! You’re coming home with me and you’re going to dry out.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you!”

“Tough shit girl, my daughter is in there somewhere and I’ll be damned if I leave her to rot in the basement of a cheap drug den.”

Franklin’s hand was on the back of her neck again peeling her off of the floor. Blood dripped from her mouth and flew in spittle as she continued to swear and rage at her father. The sunlight of the upper story burned her eyes and assaulted her senses as they ascended the stairs.

The shop proprietor and his assistant took in the sight of Franklin dragging Nola and quickly busied themselves behind the counter. Franklin held Nola at arms length as she continued to struggle against him, blood streaming down her chin and neck.

“Do you know who I am?”, he asked the pair of men, their eyes growing wide as they nodded in unison.

“Y-you’re Franklin Witlock”, the owner said, the expression of terror on his face said everything.

“That’s right and this is my daughter”, Franklin nodded to his left not even casting a glance at Nola who was now more placid having worn herself out, “If I find out you’ve served her again I will burn this flop house to foundation. Do you understand?”

The shopkeeper and his assistant both nodded rapidly.

“Say it”

“I understand”, the pair echoed together.

“Good.” The towering man looked between them, “ It would also be in your best interest to tell the other dens of iniquities in the area the same thing, because if she comes home high I’ll just assume it was you”, Franklin’s low voice came out as a growl and he turned to leave, dragging Nola along with him.

Franklin had asked Jisel to prepare a room for their arrival. It was the smallest in the three story bar and brothel and it didn’t even have a window. A mattress was laid in one corner, a bucket in the other. Upon arriving home Franklin had unceremoniously deposited Nola into this room and locked the door.

The days passed and inside the small space Nola screamed, thrashed and yelled every nasty thing she could think of through the door. Her skin felt like it was on fire and she dug at herself leaving bloody wounds across her arms and legs. The thoughts she had been hiding from came flooding back to her. Her painful labor, the small bundle of cloth laid onto the pyre and the gaping chasm left in her soul.

Nola gripped at her chest as she crumpled to the floor and screamed. The feeling of loss and grief coming back to her was like a sucking chest wound. She could handle the withdrawal, but having to face reality was something she wasn’t prepared for.

Outside the door Jisel stood constant vigil, a sweet woman with graying flax colored hair and soft brown eyes. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” she asked Franklin, her face filled with worry and Nola raged on.

“It’s the only thing to do. She’s better off dead than a strung out junkie”, Franklin said bitterly.

Inside Nola could hear them talking. She'd much rather be dead.

Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

Re: The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » September 17th, 2022, 9:26 pm

Days dragged on into weeks and Nola was finally given a conditional release from the room’s confindes. Though she wasn’t to leave the Wharf Rat, she wasn’t even allowed past its second story. So, she walked, listlessly through the halls, up the stairs and back down again in a loop. Sometimes she’d stop and listen at the door while the girls worked, tapping her fingers or dragging her nails against the door. By the time anyone opened them, she’d be gone, up the stairs and back around on her loop.

Franklin had started tending the bar again, a position he hadn’t occupied in years. He usually spent the open hours in his office, but these days he preferred a vantage point that allowed him to keep tabs on his daughter. The stairs to the second story exited directly in front of the old oak bar and if she were to tread down them she’d have to get through him to leave.

She’d tried her hand at it of course, she didn’t think anyone was surprised. The day after being released from her room she’d attempted to sneak out through the bar and out the back door. She had earned herself four more days in the small room for it, but what were boundaries if not things to be pushed? So for now, she behaved for her captors and walked aimlessly through the halls.

The chemical dependency had begun to wane but her desire to mute her thoughts and memories remained as strong as ever. She tried to sleep as often as she could, she valued those moments of unconsciousness and the peace that they brought her. Nola’s waking moments were not as pleasant, sadly. She still had the hole in her soul that made the waking world appear hollow and distant while she existed in it.

Nola paused at the end of the hall, this is where she would usually turn around to walk the path once more. But as she stood there she noticed a large mirror hanging upon the wall. Had this always been here? No, she would have remembered it; someone must have hung it recently.

The mirror was oblong and framed in ornately carved wood, painted in gold. Nola’s eyes traced the frame of the mirror before focusing on her reflection. The woman that stood there bore a resemblance to Nola Witlock, but she wasn’t her. Her face was hollow and gaunt, her eyes sunken and her black hair hung in stringy clusters around her head. She leaned closer to the reflection, studying what she saw closely.

“Who are you? Have we met before?” Her mouth contorted into a crooked grin as she spoke to the reflection. The mirror didn’t show her, this was someone else, someone new who she was going to have to become acquainted with.

Nola continued to study the reflection, her lip curling up into a sneer. She missed who she was a year ago; carefree and unlaidened with grief. This new person was but an echo of her former self; weak and pathetic. Her hand clenched into a fist, the skin pulling around her knuckles tauntly. She lifted her fist in preparation to strike the mirror but a voice from the story below pulled her attention elsewhere.

“I’m just asking that you talk to her”, Nola recognized Franklin’s voice and turned to walk back down the hall, following her usual path to the second story and crouched next to the stairs that lead to the first floor.

“What exactly do you want me to tell her?” Nola heard the female voice and leaned in closer to try to pick it out.

“Look, Bonnie, I’ve never asked you for anything when it came to Nola, but please-” Franklin was cut off abruptly by the woman who made a low hissing noise.

“And why would I owe you anything when it comes to -your- daughter?”

Nola held her breath as she listened to the conversation. Bonnie Blood had been a friend of Franklin’s long before Nola’s existence, a family friend with long black hair suspiciously close to Nola’s. Bonnie had always flitted in and out of Franklin’s life, stopping in to stay for days or weeks at a time before heading out again for an unspecified duration. Sometimes it would be months, sometimes years, this time it had been nearly seven months.

“You don’t owe me anything”, She could hear Franklin’s voice change, it was softer as though he were trying to talk to a startled animal he feared might run, “But she looks up to you, and I think you could really help her right now. She’s not been the same since. .”, Franklin trailed off, not even a man as strong as he was could bring himself to say it.

From her place, perched at the top of the stairs Nola let out an involuntary growl at the mention. She could hear the floorboards creak as those below shifted their weight at the noise.

“I think she can hear you.” The female voice said with a hint of amusement. “I always tried to tell you Frankie, there are no secrets in homes with children.”

Nola could hear the steps approaching her but she made no attempt to hide, instead she stood to her full height and waited for the woman. Bonnie came up the stairs, she was a tall woman, about the same height as Nola with an athletic body earned through years of sailing, tanned skin from long days in the sun and black hair sprinkled with silver. She had to be in her early forties now but to Nola she looked amazing.

The women’s eyes met and Nola’s couldn’t help but give her a weak smile. She had been drawn to Bonnie since the first time she’d come back to the Wharf Rat when Nola was seven, dragging her four year old son Lucien Silvercrest in tow. Jisel had raised her and for all intents and purposes was her mother, but deep down she had always hoped it was Bonnie who had dropped her off on the steps of the brothel all those years ago.

“Your Pa thinks it would be good if we had a chat”, Bonnie said and motioned to the stairs. The pair sat at the top of them and their feet came to rest two steps below. Bonnie looked over and much to Nola’s relief she didn’t read an ounce of pity in her eyes. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time with things.”

“I’m fine, Bonnie”, Nola looked away from the woman and focused on the step just out of her reach.

“Oh you are? You could have fooled me, because you look like shit, girl”

Nola grimaced at her words but chuckled nonetheless, “I’m trying a new style”.

Bonnie dug into a pocket in her heavy coat and produced a curved metal flask, offering it to the woman at her right. “You should try something else”, Bonnie said bluntly.

Pursing her lips, Nola took the flask and drank deeply from it. The cheap whiskey burned her throat but she didn’t care. She hissed as she finished the contents of the container and returned it empty to Bonnie.

“I did and now Franklin has me on house arrest.” Nola motioned around to the hallway to emphasize.

“I wasn’t talking about drugs”, Bonnie shook the empty flash and stowed it back away with a slight frown, “There are other ways to channel your frustrations. I find that a pipe or a gun helps”.

“Oh yeah? I’m not sure a reckless crime spree is exactly what I need right now.”

“I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about finding this boy that got you into trouble and left you to fend for yourself. I’m talking about teaching him the last lesson he’ll ever learn.” Bonnie said the words casually as though this were the logical solution.

She looked at Bonnie out of the corner of her eye, not turning her head to face her. She wasn’t sure how she had known Nola wanted to kill him, but she appreciated her support regardless.

“I don’t even know where to find him.”

“That’s part of the fun, you get to go find him.”

Nola’s brow furrowed as the image of Lucus came before her mind. She once felt what she thought was love for the man, now all she experienced was resentment when she conjured his likeness. These last months she had been running from her emotions and filling the void with whatever she could; afraid to feel them in any true depth. Perhaps Bonnie was right, she needed something to focus on, she already knew Lucus was to blame, she just needed to bring him to her justice.

“Where do I start?” Nola asked, her eyes still unfocused and staring forward.

“You start with a shower. I don’t mean to twist the knife but, you smell like shit, too”. Bonnie balanced herself on her hands and leaned back with a grin plastered over her face.

Nola couldn’t help but laugh, she knew Bonnie had a point; she was still in the same clothes Franklin had found her in at the flop house. Talking to Bonnie was always easy, she didn’t ask a lot of questions, she didn’t have expectations of her and she always seemed to know the right thing to say.

“Then you stop wallowing and you do something. I can’t say I’m not disappointed to come back here to find you’ve let some boy ruin your life” Bonnie’s words cut across her and Nola physically winced against them, “You’re better than this, Magnolia.”

Bonnie was one of the few people who used her full name, and she always pulled it out at the best moments to drive her point home.

“It’s his fault she died.” Nola said through clenched teeth.

“Of course it is.” Bonnie agreed with her instantly, a look of zealous righteousness across her face, “It’s his fault and you need to be the one to tell him. How dare he exist out there, breathing the air she wasn’t allowed to.”

The words struck her like stones thrown into the ocean, and found their home inside of her mind. Bonnie was right, she was letting him do this to her. She let him leave, she let him stay away and now she was letting him live his life without sharing the pain she felt. She needed to make him understand one way or another.

“I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kill him, Bonnie.”, It was as if the words somehow instilled her with a new purpose that replaced her need to hide away from herself and the pain she felt.

Bonnie smiled and gave her a nod. She knew the woman was genuine in her suggestion and she wasn’t sure if it was her approval or her own desires that drove her more towards this goal.

Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

Re: The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » June 6th, 2023, 3:20 am

Nola had been waiting, patiently even, for the last few days for someone to let her through that fucking door. The Apothecaries were no help, and all suggestions to see the Overseer led her to an empty office. She just needed to get through that door and see him to prove that he wasn’t dead. Lucien Silvercrest couldn’t be dead.

She sat with her arms and legs crossed, waiting for the doctors and patients to clear out. She’d been having a one-sided staring contest with the guard recently posted outside the door for over an hour. She could win her over if she could just hold out a bit longer; Nola was very charming when she wanted to be. Her eyes ticked over to the door, and she clenched her jaw tightly. Days and no one had tried to help her.

Fuck them.

The last doctor was finally clearing out, Constantine, of all people. He’d tried to get her to talk with him, but all she needed him to do was leave. He didn’t believe her anyways, he didn’t think Lucien would wake back up, but she knew he would, and she would prove it to him. After a brief exchange, Connie left; finally, it was her chance.

Earlier in the day, she’d stolen the guard's bullets from her pocket while pretending to try the door, and so she felt cocky when she approached her this time.

“Hey, do you have a key to this door?” Nola asked her, for probably the twentieth time that day.

“Mind your business and move along, civilian.”

“But like, if I didn’t want to use the key, would you have one? Like, in your pocket or something?”

The guard scowled back at her. She’d been testing this woman’s patience all day, and she had to admit she was impressed by her ability to tolerate bullshit.

“Hey, do you want to see a magic trick?” Nola asked her, though before the guard could respond, Nola had her rifle out of her hands and held it high above her head.

The guard stood on her toes and tried to reach for the gun before pulling out a thin dagger and brandishing it at Nola’s face.

“Fuck, I should have checked your belt huh? Why don’t you just run along and find some help, huh? This has to be really embarrassing.”

“How about you and I go for a walk?” The guard motioned to the door with the dagger, and Nola sighed.

“You know, I really hope this just knocks you out. .” She said as she unslung her mace from her back and cracked the woman in the head.

The guard crumpled like a sack of bricks onto the ground, and eagerly Nola stepped over her. She tossed a bomb she’d pilfered from Gryhun at the base of the door, and when the explosion from that didn’t fully open the door, she used her hammer to fight the rest of the way in. The room was small, and while she’d expected it to be empty the whole time she sat across from it, there on the floor was a wrapped body.

Nola could see his signature silver hair poking out of the wrappings and knew it was him. She didn’t have long to reflect or take inventory of her emotions. She knew people would be close behind following the sound of the explosion. Quickly she lifted him over her shoulder and, at a brisk jaunt, made her way to the horses.

“Two for the price of one Caley!” She said, tossing the woman a few silver coins.

The horse rental woman frowned across at her and uttered, “Sorry, I don’t make change,” as she sent Nola and the body of Lucien Silvercrest along their way.

Nola.Witlock
Posts: 8
Character: Nola Witlock

Re: The Legacy of Nola Witlock

Post by Nola.Witlock » June 11th, 2023, 6:54 pm

The sun was beginning to crest over the horizon when Nola finally stopped to rest somewhere in the north. She’d found an old camp with a ring of rocks for a fire pit and a few logs laid out as benches. She propped Lucien’s wrapped body against the log in a sitting position, though he’d quickly slumped against it. Nola started a fire in the pit and breathed deeply in the cool morning air.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she said across to the body, “Been a long time since we’ve spent one-on-one time together.”

The crackling of the fire filled the silence, and Nola’s head tipped up to the sky. Lucien would be a better conversationalist when he woke back up, but it was nice to spend this time with him. When was the last time they’d interacted? Weeks ago? Months ago? Time was a tricky thing for her; sometimes, days felt like minutes, and months like days.

“You remember that time a bit ago by the bank in Prea?” she said with a soft sigh, “You were telling me how much like Bonnie I looked and how similar we were. I’d never heard you say anything like that before.”

Nola’s eyes drifted over to the wrapped body and then again to the rising sun. “You told me that she’d kept a pressed magnolia and busted your lip open when she caught you with it, and you broke it.” Nola chuckled and shook her head. “That woman sure had a temper; fire ran through her veins.”

Her eyes cast down to her hand, and her fingers flexed outward and back into fists. Nola knew that she, too, had a temper and an impulsive streak. Things that she’d always liked about herself due to the parallel it played to her prospective mother. She’d grown up with Bonnie coming and going, flitting in and out of her and her father’s life like a fickle tide. She had heard them argue about her, but she’d never heard anyone admit that she was Bonnie’s daughter.

Her attention returned to Lucien’s body, and her jaw set angrily. “Why did she choose you?” she spat angrily across at him, “What made her want to waste her time raising you? I would have been ten times the daughter to her than you were a son!” Her voice raised until she was yelling, her cheeks flushed with anger, and her teeth bared.

A branch snapped in the distance behind her, and she got to her feet, taking her hammer in her hand. She scanned the horizon, the sky was getting lighter now, but it wasn’t enough to illuminate the forest around them. Finding nothing, she turned back to the fire, and when she did, she no longer saw the wrapped body on the ground but instead the likeness of Lucien sitting on the log bench, his hands outstretched to be warmed by the fire.

Nola wasn’t startled as she settled back onto her seat; her visions had been getting worse for some time and often were accompanied by demanding and intrusive voices. Though, for all of the strife it brought her, this time, it wasn’t unwelcome.

Lucien looked younger, with stubble on his face, and dressed in tattered work clothes. His blue eyes lifted to her, and he smiled. Wordlessly she stared back at him, silent tears rolling from her eyes. The two of them had always been at odds, always competing for the love of a woman who seemed to have a finite amount of it. The dynamic had created a tense relationship, but she loved him, and she was sure that he loved her.

“She left me, Charlotte left me, Lucas, too, and now you,” Nola said in a forced voice, her throat closing with emotion.

“She left you with Franklin because she loved you, Magnolia. She wanted better for you.” The figment of Lucien spoke back to her softly, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

Nola didn’t know if that were true; she’d been left on the steps of the Wharf Rat, and only five years later did Bonnie come back with a two-year-old Lucien. But none of it mattered anymore; there was no point in arguing it; everything was done.

Nola took a sharp breath and looked across at Lucien; he seemed calm and content, nothing like he was the last few times she’d seen him. She pressed a smile, and he returned it. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words she wanted to say were stuck in her throat. She wanted to tell him how important he’d been to her, how she would never have been the same person without him, but she couldn’t muster it.

The figment of Lucien pressed an empathetic look across at her and simply said, “I know.”

The two of them sat wordlessly in each other's company until the sun had fully risen and the image of Lucien in life was dispelled by its rays. Nola took a moment to compose herself and collected the body of her half-brother, heaving him over her shoulder to continue her search for the best place to leave him to wake.

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