ghostsarereal | (no subject)

It's almost autumn, and it almost feels like it. It isn't quite, of course, there's still some warmth lingering in the air, the trees all still green, but the heavy heat of the summer has given way to something less oppressive, and Edith is glad for it. The fact that she finds it easier to dress for weather that's even a little bit cooler only plays a little part in that, though it's true that, even after two summers here, she can't quite adjust to how small some of the clothes here are, women walking around with far more skin bared than would ever have been considered decent back home. She's adjusted some, wearing shorter skirts and shorter sleeves and fewer layers, but she doubts she'll ever really be entirely comfortable with that particular aspect of living in the future.

Others, though, are beyond welcome. It's worth it, she thinks, to have a little more freedom, to be taken more seriously, and it isn't as if she had anything left for her back home anyway. Just an old, rotting house and the ghosts inside it, a place she can't imagine herself wanting to revisit. Here, she's built a life for herself; she has friends, she has Merry, she has an agent who thinks her work has promise. The latter two almost certainly would have been opportunities she'd never have back home.

She has Merry in mind as she makes her way around the flea market in the park, absently wondering if she should find something to bring back for her. Mostly, she's been looking at smaller trinkets and such, but she stops in front of a booth selling artwork, tucking a strand of her hair, hanging loose down her back, behind her ear. "These are beautiful," she says to the person behind the booth. "Did you do them?"

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"I can only imagine," Edith says, shaking her head slightly. She probably can't, at that, not least when she doesn't know anything about him or his family. Her father, she misses desperately, but that hardly seems quite the same when she's seen his dead body and knows just what happened to him. This doesn't strike her as such a situation, though she probably shouldn't be making any assumptions on that front, either. "And I suppose there's no way to see something like that coming, is there?"

I shake my head at that, by way of agreement. "No," I say. I couldn't have expected that I'd see Amber today, even if it's just her face on someone else. There's no way I could have imagined this, though there are days I think I see her disappearing around every corner. That's different. I know that's all me, some trick of faulty wiring in my brain. This, here, is something real.

I think of telling her that it's just been a long time, but I leave it at that. My family history has nothing to do with her.

"I'm Harley," I say instead. I need a name to give her, anything but Amber.

"I'm Edith," she replies, her small smile still a touch apologetic. Maybe it will help, clearly differentiating herself like that, or maybe it won't. Either way, she supposes it doesn't really make a difference for her, but she can't help feeling a little responsible for this, though she knows she couldn't have been. That's not the way this place works, and she doesn't have an explanation for how such things happen any more than anyone else she's met here. She supposes there probably isn't one, just a matter of chance, or something of the sort. That doesn't make it any easier. "I've... never had this happen before."

She seems apologetic, and I'm thankful for that, seizing hold of every little difference. Amber would never dress like that. She'd never feel bad for something like this. She never liked to take responsibility for her actions.

I shake my head. "I've seen people who look alike," I tell her, "but not this." Thalia looked so much like Effy, which I guess should have been stranger. But there was always something more about Effy, some indefinable spark that sets her apart. It never much seemed to matter. It occurs to me that if she feels bad, I should probably say something. "It's okay. It happens."

"I've only ever heard about it," Edith says. "Enough to know that it happens, but experiencing it is... something else." Even just being on the receiving end of it, as it were, that's the case. It must be all the more jarring to be the one finding someone who looks like a person they've known. She could apologize, but it isn't as if she could have known this would happen, or like she can help the way she looks. It's just an unpleasant coincidence, leaving her still a little uneasy, not quite comfortable.