DANDELION. GREEK MYTHOLOGY

01

Chapter One

Dandelion

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LONG gone was the chattering inside the tiny pub in the outskirts of London, and she'd been sitting by the entrance for so long that even the spiders had grown fond of her presence.

Her jet black hair brushed against the tinted glass as she gazed at the crowded street outside. She could feel the shivering cold sweeping under the door and crawling at her skin. Absentmindedly, she clutched her wool scarf. The room was dimly lit and reeked of spilled booze; she'd much prefer the chill of the crisp snow over the bitter coffee in her hand.

She took a sip of the dark liquid, her digits tracing the sloppy handwriting in the scattered sheets her fiery eyes skimmed over.

"It's gett'n quite late, I need ter close soon. Shouldn't yous be go'n back, love?"

Mr. Higgings had harbored a certain fatherly instinct towards her. If she'd have adverted her gaze from the cramped table, she would surely have noticed his softened features, the slight downwards pull of his lips.

It was a good thing Rose paid him no attention; she took offense in pity.

"Can't." She responded, turning the page.

His frown deepened and he took the chair opposite hers, plopping down ungracefully. "Dis is ridiculous, Miss. Yer must wed already, flee from that family."

A pair of amber eyes at last adverted from the ink, her back straightening as they met his rugged complexion and grayed hair.

She cleared her throat. "You needn't worry. I've never done anything that I did not wish to do."

Her tone held finality, a contrast to the ever-calm demeanor that seemed natural to her character. The old man didn't appear the least put off by such. He leaned forward, taking the empty mug in his blistered hands.

"Thar's this bloke. Can't be a day over t'airty. 'e's asked me about the pretty gal that seats by the window. He means yer, Miss Astor."

She couldn't fight the amiable smile playing in her tinted lips. "Isn't the gentleman a tad old for me, still?"

"Ah, but 'e's quite 'andsome, if I may say. An' wealthy as well."

"I've pledged not to marry for any reason other than love."

Her statement lingered above them. A curious affirmation so out of place in the context of her life.

Later, when she finally left his establishment and stepped back into the tranquil and frosty street, she couldn't help but wonder - by those rules, would she ever be someone's wife?

* * *

She wasn't quite sure how it had happened.

Where had it gone wrong?

As she stared ahead, pitch black sky darkening the shores of an eerie river, the conclusion washed over her like ice cold water, a breeze of tired self pity in which she would be wallowing over for eternity. Tall rocks the color of the night; stationary, expressionless, pale figures and a cliff, hiding the horizon - a sad palette of undefined, blurred edges.

She boarded a long boat, lit torches wrapped around the tough wood of its edges. An old man, whose head had been hanging low, caught her eyes, trapping them in a momentary, confusing exchange.

Flickering behind her eyelids in a flash, she recalled the fast ramming of her heart against her rib-cage, the harsh sound of a single bullet being shoved on the revolver. A high-pitched laugh resounding in her ears.

Where had it gone wrong?

Her mind traveled further behind; the man, now making his way towards her, seemed impatient, unsettled, urgent.

My sister's wedding.