The fire was warm, golden, dancing against stone walls in Rebecca's little cottage. Flames crackled through the silence, now and then a wood log sent a small hiss into dark, its sparks spiralling up.
And carried from beneath through walls of windows, smoke with pine clinging to the air, with the comforting scents of old books and herbs.
Scarlett sat in the old leather antique armchair opposite Rebecca. This woman had about her some quality almost earthy, whose voice was so warm as the rain is warm and whose sharp insight pegged Scarlett to some emotional reality in the wild uncertainties that engulfed her ever since she came back to Hawthorne.
The firelight illuminated Rebecca's face, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of moonlight. Her eyes, deep and knowing, glimmered as they focused on Scarlett.
"I can feel it in you, child," Rebecca said, her voice low and steady. "The questions. The unease. You're looking for answers."
Scarlett took a deep breath, her fingers clenching the mug tightly. "I am," she said. "But every answer leads to more questions. More shadows."
Rebecca nodded steadily. "Shadows are always there when the truth is buried too deeply. But shadows can be confronted, Scarlett. They lose their power when brought into the light."
Scarlett gazed down into her tea, where the steam curled up. "About the family secrets? About the town?" she asked hesitantly.
Rebecca paused a moment, her eyes settling on the flames for one swift second before she moved them back to Scarlett's face.
"I have known enough," she said quietly. " It has always borne its own burdens in this town."
Scarlett's throat felt tight. She gulped hard, trying to clear her voice. "Do you know why he left? Why he went without a word? On account of the secrets?"
Rebecca reached out to the teapot again but filled only her cup on this second occasion. Back against her chair, a scene out of an opera preceded anything resembling a reply," To find peace after being broken? ".
Secrets are deadly, Scarlett. They collect inside your head like rotting fruit growing on in silence. And as hard-headed as the best, your father was well-resourced with reasons where necessary - not merely the vain reason of self-appreciation. Hawthorne eats whole people up unless allowed.
Scarlett's chest compressed a little more. She thought of her father: the missing, the silent, and the unsatisfied questions.
"But what if the secrets aren't family legacy? What if they concern the Collective? The rumors in the woods?" Scarlett stammered, her voice cracked. Rebecca raised an eyebrow, letting her cup set on the nightstand. "They live in shadows, in fog, in whispers.". They just kinda sit over there, tugging on the thread of their power through the life here. Dad, everything really tied up with it in ways that baffle me too much for me to really try and explain.
But know that any time she digs into those dark secrets, she risks losing herself in. Scarlett listened intently to her words, glancing at Elizabeth. "But what if I can't stop?" she said. "What if I need to? Maybe healing it's just the only option in."
Rebecca's eyes softened, and she settled back in her chair, her hands resting in her lap. "Healing doesn't come without confrontation, Scarlett. But understanding is not the same as embracing pain without caution. Some truths will tear at you. Some will make you question everything you believe about yourself, your family, your home. That is the danger of the shadows. But you have the strength to find your way through."
Scarlett felt a prick of tears at the corners of her eyes. She could not help thinking that what Rebecca was saying was the word both reassuring and ominous-at the same time: an offering of hope but silent warning.
"I do not know how to find my way," Scarlett said in confession, her voice shaking.
Now Rebecca leaned forward a little, her voice softer still, almost as if she were sharing a secret with the fire.
You trust yourself first, child, she said. And trust your heart. Sometimes the answers aren't in the whispers or the shadows but in the quiet moments, in the instincts that lead you toward truth. Look within, Scarlett, and listen. The answers you seek will come when you're ready.
Scarlett sat before the fire, plunged into thought, questions, fears, doubts. The warmth of flames was pleasant, but barely enough to hold at bay the shivering coldness of doubts that were being imbedded into her brain. "Scarlett spoke barely audible".
Rebecca's gaze was thoughtful as she considered her response. "Yes," she said final Peace is not the absence of shadows it's learning how to move through them."
Scarlett closed her eyes, and flickering flames danced behind her lids. It had shifted just a little, though she wasn't sure if it were enough to silence the clawing questions.
"Thanks," she whispered, not even loud enough to really be heard.
She was soft-smiling Rebecca. "You are welcome, child. The ride ahead would be a testing one, in ways beyond your imagining yet. Trust yourself, and you will see your way."
They sat there for what felt like an eternity, the fire crackling and the tea warm between them. Shadows danced along the walls, and Scarlett felt she was sitting at the very edge of the unknown, the faint sound of whispers and footsteps always just beyond the firelight. Maybe she could find her way through after all.