Work Text:
March 1875
Anne woke up, shivering in the cold morning air filtering through the window into the dorm room. She pulled her thin blanket closer around her in an attempt to conserve more heat. Around the room, she could hear the sniffles and sighs of the other girls in various stages of waking up. Yawning, she pushed herself upright and blinked in the sudden brightness. The sun reflected off of her lions mane of hair, made more tangled by a fitful night's sleep. Birthdays were supposed to be exciting, yet Anne had been up all night dreading it. Would it be made a big deal of? Birthdays were rarely an extravagant event here, but Anne felt like the shift into a double digit age deserved some sort of celebration. Especially since now she got her soulmate mark. On the other hand, perhaps it was best she remained as in the shadows here as possible.
Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Anne decided she should just rip the band aid off and discover where her soulmate mark was. A large part of her was convinced she wouldn't find one anywhere; no one would ever love her, would they? If not even her parents wanted her, who would choose to spend time with her? Particularly because of her bright red hair. After a moment's deliberation, Anne couldn't bear the suspense, placed her feet firmly on the floor and set off towards the small mirror in the bathroom. With every step she took, she examined whatever parts of her body she could see: nothing on her feet, legs, arms, hands. Surely hands was the most likely place to get a mark? A handshake perhaps? But nothing. As Anne approached the mirror she had accepted her fate of being an old unmarried woman living alone in a small shack, just her and her imagination. As much as she loved her imaginary friends, she would rather have liked to have at least one other person with her. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted her shack to have kids running screaming around it.
By the time Anne reached the mirror she was too afraid to look, in case her worst fears were confirmed and she couldn't find anything. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. 1. 2. 3. She opened her eyes, scanning her face for anything, even the slightest mark. Her eyes were soon drawn to her hair, her constant foe. But something seemed different today. She looked closer and realised that on one side of her hair, the ends looked as if it had been dipped in ink. Was that her mark? Or some cruel prank played on her by the other girls? She dipped her hair in the bucket of water and scrubbed. The black mark didn't move. Anne looked in the mirror again, unsure of what to think. Even if her hair was made worse than before, she took comfort in the fact that, somewhere out there, there was somebody who loved Anne, even if they didn't know it yet.
Spring 1876
Anne had been living at Green Gables for a few weeks now, and she was settling in nicely. She loved going to school, and loved even more the freedom of having nice friends to talk to, unlike the heathens that lived back at the orphanage. She shuddered to think of it now, so she rarely did. She focused on the simple pleasures of life; the White Way of Delight, the Lake of Shining Waters, the Snow Queen... It really was like living in a dream. She had bruises up and down her arm from the amount of times she had to pinch herself, just to make sure her imagination hasn't finally completely run off with her. And every time, she finds herself still here.
This morning Anne was running late - she'd overslept and it had just put her in a bad mood. She scraped her hair into its usual plaits, the end of her right one still stained black by her soulmate mark. She'd grown to love it over the last year, but at the same time she wished she could just hurry up and grow up so she could meet her soulmate. Although why a fully grown man would grab her by the hair she's not sure. Grabbing her slate and school books she runs down the stairs, hoping Marilla will have prepared breakfast so she could grab it before going to meet Diana.
The morning flew by in a whirl of arithmetics and geography. At break time that boy Gilbert had been trying to get Anne's attention and offer her an apple, but she was under strict instructions not to talk to him and frankly she had no interest in such a know-it-all as him. Just because he was three years older he thought he knew everything. Anne sat down to her desk again and pulled out her book of poetry, trying desperately to ignore the fact that he was furiously trying to catch her eye. She was reading studiously through the poems as Mr Philips finally stopped talking to Josie Pye and went up to the blackboard to prepare for the lesson ahead. Gilbert threw paper at Anne but still she ignored him. She would not allow him to distract her. If she wanted to make something of herself, she needed to study hard. But Gilbert Blythe seemed to have a personal vendetta against Anne learning so, glancing briefly at Mr Philips to check he was still facing the board, he sneaked out of his seat and came to crouch down next to Anne's text.
"Anne... hey Anne," he whispered, apple in hand. Poison apple. She continued reading, hoping that if she avoided eye contact long enough he'd get the message.
"Anne please talk to me," he said again, slightly louder this time. Out of the corner of her eye, Anne could see he was losing patience. Good. Maybe he'd go and sit back in his seat like he was supposed to.
"Hey carrots!" he said, louder again, and emphasised his point by grabbing Anne's plait and yanking down, hard. The hair pulling Anne could just about stand, but carrots? He crossed a line there. Anne grabbed her slate in one hand, stood up, swung round and slammed her slate over his head with a satisfying crack.
"I'm not TALKING to you!" she yelled as the pieces of her slate scattered across the floor. She took a few deep breaths and noticed that Gilbert, despite everything, was smiling. Why was he smiling?
"My mark just disappeared," he muttered, twisting his palm round to show her. Surely not, she thought. She grabbed her plait and examined the end of it. Nothing. It's as if it had washed out.
"That must be faulty. No way," Anne said, shaking her head. Mr Philips had come to dole out god knows what kind of punishment, but Anne's head was swirling: she really did have a soulmate. But it was Gilbert Blythe.