Mourning and Memories

Beatrix Potter is a world famous writer. She is most famously known for the Tale of Peter Rabbit. After the publication of her stories Beatrix has reached her peak in life, but it all happened with the help of Norman Warne, a strapping young gentleman who captures the heart of the young writer. Together they build multiple universes that enchant children all over the world. Three years after they meet, Norman proposes to Beatrix, but tragedy struck. Two weeks after their engagement Norman dies from a blood disease that no one, not even Norman, knew about. This story follows Beatrix through her grief and heartache for the loss of her lover. And on the way, we see flashbacks to the times they spent together.

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1. Melancholy Mornings

  And then I realize,

 Even though you are gone,  

 A part of you will always remain  

 Inside of me.      

 As long as the memories                  

 Don't fade                                                                                                                                       

 Like the sun behind the fog                                                                  

 On a cloudy day.                                                                                                   

   -A.J.

 

 

The wind pounded upon the window where Beatrix Potter stood, staring out. The Mistral swept up empty bottles, papers, and rubbish. It blew wildly without relenting, almost defiantly.  Rain poured down, soaking passer by. Beatrix watched as people struggled to keep hold of their brollies, while some who didn't have one tried to shield themselves from the downpour with newspapers, handbags, and other such items, but to no avail. The sky was a dull gray and was covered by dark, angry clouds. They seemed to scowl as they unleashed their wrath upon the town. Beatrix thought wryly how the weather emulated her mood. She looked down at her black dress and ran the fabric through her fingers. She never liked the color black.  It always gave her a sense of foreboding. That's why her drawings and stories were always so colorful. She again looked at the fancy lace that covered her dress. Norman didn't like black either, she thought. Norman. The name that used to bring her joy and a sense of anticipation now only brought tears to her eyes. How she missed him. His smile that could light up any room, his eyes that always had this kind of twinkle in them, and how he always smelled like; ink, paper, and cologne. She missed the way he would chuckle when nervous, his humor and wild imagination, especially because most men she was used to being surrounded by were always prim, austere, and pompous. But what she missed most of all was the way he would make her feel like she was always at home. Like she was wanted. He didn't judge her or underestimate her because she was a woman. He didn't look his nose down at her or reproach her for her choices like most did. He made her feel important and in a way, special.  He loved her. And she loved him. But Death could not be held. He seized his soul and left behind an empty body. But even though they may have been torn physically, Death could not stop her from loving him. From yearning for him. Missing him. Norman Warne would always be apart of her writing. And apart of her life. 

 

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