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On a warm September afternoon, Cordelia was sitting on the porch of the Rosewell manor, her bright blue eyes staring blankly into the horizon. The memory of her mother came into her mind like a persistent dream, for she was not sure she existed anymore beyond Cordelia's imagination. Although could vaguely remember her face, she had a clear picture of her bright red hair, a shared trait which was valued for its rarity and the reason why she was married into the prestigious Rosewell family all those years ago.
Cordelia's last memory of her mother was from when she was no more than 10 years of age, when she found her body in the master bedroom, hanging from the chandelier by a twisted sheet. Her long, vibrant red hair covering her face.
"What a sinister escape" her father said, ordering a maid to deal with the aftermath of an unhappy marriage with no other means of escape.
A single tear rolled down Cordelia's pale cheek, yet it was not out of sadness for what her father had just told her. No, she believed her father's promise to wed her to his old friend was nothing more than a ludicrous idea. A poorly executed joke, nothing more and nothing less.
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Holding on to that hope proved to be fruitless, with Cordelia standing in front of the altar with her husband only two weeks after her discussion with her father.
Despite guests complimenting her dress, which was the only thing passed down by her mother, Cordelia's once blue eyes displayed a shade of grey on this supposedly joyous day, a blank stare and a fake smile shielding her from the reality of what her wedding night would be.
After the ceremony ended, her husband, a man a few years past half a centry old, grabbed her a bit too tightly on her arm and led her to their chamber, closing the door behind her.
"W-wait, I'm not ready yet!" said Cordelia in a panicked voice, slowly backing away from him and the door.
"That's not how it works, girl" laughed the man, approaching her slowly, in the same way a wolf chases a hare through the woods.
"Just-just a moment, sir" ushered the girl, hitting the bed in her attempt to escape him and falling against her will right onto it.
He went on top of her, pulling at her hair until it was undone and working his way to undoing her dress from her cleavage.
"I said WAIT!" yelled Cordelia as she tried to crawl out from under him, her hand looking for the book she remembered leaving on the nightstand the night before.
It was a bottle of red wine she found in the book's place, which she swiftly swung at the man's head, hard. The crackling sound of the bottle as it hit his head made the bride close her eyes, while the adrenaline running through her veins urged her to keep going, slamming the bottle into him again and again.
As she opened her eyes a few seconds, the deafening silence was broken by her shocked gasp, her body convulsing with fear. She stepped off and away from the bed, her once immaculate white dress smeared with blood and wine alike. The servants, alarmed by the loud noises that came from the room, barged into the large chamber only to find a frozen 17-year old girl holding a broken bottle, who only had an image that stained her vision: red.
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The months flew by and spring brought along transformation, although not precisely what Cordelia thought.
She was sitting by the window in her room at the Rosewell Mental Institute, absent-mindedly petting the cat perched on her lap while watching the wind blow away at the blossoming roses in the garden.
A figure appears, walking along the cobblestone path. A tall, rather thin man with chestnut hair and matching brown eyes was being pushed by two police officers towards the entrance of the asylum, his hands cuffed in front of him.
Yet he did not seem to protest whatsoever, merely following the orders of the police with a sad, tired look on his face. He lifted his head to get a better look at the Rosewell Institute sign and his gaze slipped towards the room above the sign to the right, where a redheaded woman was starting down at him.
His eyes found hers for a mere second and he held her gaze, trying to put on a confident look to appear less terrified than he actually was, being pushed into a building against his wishes. Cordelia's heart stopped for a moment, surprised by the man's boldness. There was a look in his eyes which she recognised in her own, as if his mind was wondering far, far away from the body, seemingly travelling into her past and future at the same time.
Cordelia Rosewell had as many rights as any other patient at the institution her father bought to house her, for she was considered too unstable to be left alone. Well, the first part was not true, since she was allowed to leave her room for a daily one-hour walk around the bare garden with white roses. She never liked them of this colour, so dull and lifeless, yet this was sadly not her choice to change them anymore.
"This is a different type of hell, a prison of it's own accord" she often thought, bored out of her mind in her large suite her father had arranged for his only child. He was gracious enough to allow a cat to live with her, believing it would calm her fragile and volcanic temperament. Cordelia liked Medusa's presence in her room, especially when the kitten would hiss at the nurses barging in her room unannounced. She was to live the rest of her days in this glass bubble, forever a disgrace to the Rosewell name, so she saw no point in trying to appeal to anyone around her any longer.
The very next morning, during the morning stroll through the garden, her supervising nurse distracted by a loud scream coming from the main building.
"Cordelia, stay" her nurse said as she sprinted back into the asylum, leaving the girl behind. How disrespectful, do I look like a dog to her? she thought, pouting and huffing deeply through her nose.
She turned her head towards a low humming coming from the bench on the side of the building by the white roses. The man from before, fidgeting with his fingers, was sitting there, whistling and humming a jolly tune Cordelia couldn't recognise.
"Howdy there! What's your name?" he asked, continuing the fidgeting but looking at her face, taking in as much detail as possible.
Perplexed by his boldness, Cordelia shot him down with a look. But the man did not seem to be bothered by her gesture as he curiously looked into her eyes, searching for something. He seemed to grasp her soul and understand her story better than herself, which made Cordelia snap out of her icy glare and stare blankly at him.
"Are you alright?" he asked in a gentle voice.
"Why wouldn't I be?" replied the girl quickly, straightening her back.
"I'm not sure, you seem a bit sad. Are you looking for somethin'? You keep looking over the fences. There is no escape you know" his fidgeting stopped and he leaned with his back against the wall.
The girl opened her mouth, yet no witty remark would come out. Instead, in a similar fashion as her cat Medusa, she slightly tilted her head to the side.
"My name is Cordelia. And you are wrong. There can always be an escape." she said.
"I'm Charlie." he replied.
"I did not ask." retorted Cordelia, doing her best to keep his gaze with a cold look that could freeze an ocean.
"Oh but it was only fair for you to know me too. Please, Cordelia, join me if you wish. I heard there was a patient that went over the garden wall. The guards're chasing him, so our nurses will be gone for quite a while." He patted the place next to him on the bench.
She weighed the options available, but did not seem to come up with a good reason to deny him. This was, after all, the first person who has bothered to learn her name since she was admitted, everyone else calling her Miss Rosewell.
The girl took a seat next to him on the bench, as far away from the man as possible.
After a minute of pure silence, the storm began.
"Why are you fidgeting so much? What did you do to end up here? How old are you? You don't seem insane." she started, not giving him a chance to answer one question before asking another.
"It's a habit I guess. I'm a hatter, had my own shop with my brother before... nevermind that, a story for another time. I'm 20. You don't seem mad yourself." he explained calmly.
"You don't know me" she tries to shut him down.
"I suppose not, yet I am rather good at sensing these sorts of things. You seem to be lonely, perhaps? Not a lot of friends at the asylum I take it?" he asked calmly.
"How...how DARE you assume that?! I am telling my father about this! As far as I'm concerned you are just a lunatic" she raised her voice and frowned, crossing her arms at her chest.
"It's alright, really. I don't know anyone here either. I would love to make a friend, if you would agree." he urged her, keeping a calm tone and a gentle smile on his face. Charlie turned to face her and extended his open palm upward in front of him.
"What is it exactly that you want from me?" she calmed down a bit, carefully watching his hand and readying herself to flee at a moment's notice.
"Someone to enjoy a cup of tea with in the afternoons. I'm also rather good at braiding hair, though." he smiled.
Not uttering a word, Cordelia extended her hand in return, her fingers barely brushing against his when he brought his lips to her knuckles for a split second.
The girl did not have time to react or process what had happened before her nurse returned and called out her name, urging her to come back into the asylum.
She stood up as if the kiss had burned her and stormed off from him, her pale cheek turning a deep shade of pink.
To make matters worse, the nurse asked:
"Made a new friend, Mrs. Rosewell?" a smirk creeping on her face.
Cordelia did not answer, being contempt to simply huff in dismissal while desperately trying to contain her blush.
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In a fortnight following their meeting, the Rosewell Institute received a visit from the government, after which a long list of changes was implemented to comply with the laws. Among these, the state required all patients to do one form of social activity or another, all controlled by the administration of what asylum doctors called "a sleeping aid"*, in the form of a syrup in the morning and evening tea.
With the patients having a calmer demeanor, some have taken dancing classes, others began reciting poetry or even playing the piano in the main hallway. Our Cordelia was not particularly interested in anything, yet she did enjoy tending to the roses in the garden to the delight of the hospital staff.
However, not the same can be said about Charlie O'Hare, whose only wish was to sit in his room and create hats. His nurses urged him to step outside to take in the fresh air of late spring and, seeing as he had little to no choice in the matter, Charlie would often work on his art on a bench in the courtyard while Cordelia was trimming the rose bushes without any haste whatsoever. She supposed this was better than reading a book in her room, yet gardening had a tendency to turn dull quickly.
"It is getting rather warm, is it not?" the girl asked, wiping her brow with a handkerchief embroidered with her initials.
She was waiting for a reaction from him as it was a special day, which meant that the nurses allowed her to have a slice of strawberry cake. But sweet, innocent Charlie couldn't possibly have guessed what day it was unfortunately.
"Indeed" came his swift reply, too focused on the task at hand. "The sun is burning quite a lot today, should we go back inside?"
"That depends. You promised to braid my hair a little while ago, did you not?" Cordelia mentioned as she put down the gardening scissors.
"That I did. I have some ribbons in my room if you'd follow me." the man stood up, already gathering his tools.
"Just grab them and meet me in my room." she said.
"I'm afraid that would be a bit tricky since the women's side is off-limits for visitors. Besides, I have a big collection of ribbons of all colours and I'd like you to choose which one you want most." he calmly suggested with a gentle, small smile across his face. What would she think about his hat collection? he pondered.
"Very well." sighed Cordelia, picking up the book she left earlier on the bench just in case she could escape her task for a few minutes.
The two made their way towards Charlie's quarters through the emergency staircase, which had not been used since the institute reopened under the Rosewell name.
Charlie's room was seemingly tidy, unfinished hats and loose materials colourfully decorating the modest furniture in a manner knew only by him.
"Oh, sorry about that! It can get quite messy around here. But here are the ribbons." he said as he quickly pulled a carton box from underneath his bed and opened it in front of Cordelia.
"They're probably not as great in quality as you are used to, the better ones burned down along with-" he started.
"These will do" she picked up two simple, ribbons made from pearly white silk.
"Very well then. Shall we get started?" he asked, placing a cushion on the floor for her.
Cordelia sat down, opening the romance novel she brought along with her to resume the story, which she sadly had to pause earlier. And right when the two main characters reached an inn, only to be told there was one bed left.
As she became fascinated in the steamy scenes that followed in the book, Charlie worked with gentle hands to section and braid her long, voluminous red curls. He tried multiple styles to see which would fit best and, in the end, settled for two simple braids, securing each with the beautiful ribbons chosen by Cordelia. Then, he placed a small, delicate hat made especially for her from dried straws braided by him with a red cotton strip to contrast her pale complexion. A light blue fabric was surrounding the upper part of the hat, the very same shade as her eyes.
"What are you-" she turned around and closed the book, startled.
"Happy Birthday, Cordelia! I thought you might like a little somewhere to protect you from the heat when you work the rose garden!" he beamed with joy, a bright smile on his face.
Once again, Cordelia was left without words, staring surprised into his big, brown eyes. She got up slowly to be on the same level as him.
In a fraction of a second, he gave her a peck on the cheek, seemingly startled himself.
"Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry! I don't know what has gotten into me, I was just so excited to give you the hat, I didn't stop to consider anything! Oh dear, you don't like it. I should have made the strip white or is it the material you are not fond of? Ahh, I am such a fool!" he began mumbling.
Cordelia grabbed him by the collar and brought her lips crashing down on his to cease his nonsense. She used a bit too much force and accidentally crashed her teeth into his, making her pull away just a bit before going for another try, this time a bit more gently.
"I love it."
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Spring came and went, as did autumn, the cold and dark winter setting in, bringing along wind and rain, short spurs of sunlight making it hard to believe the sun has ever been more than an illusion.
Cordelia and Charlie now specialised in sneaking into each other's rooms, spending most of their time together to enjoy reading and sewing hats together in good company.
They spent some nights over in one of their rooms, fighting the nightmares one after the other, for they were always easier to bear when they could fall asleep into the other's warm, firm embrace.
On a normal night, they were sitting on the floor in Cordelia's suite, staring at the ceiling while Charlie was going on and on about the state of the world.
"I just don't understand how the government doesn't care about us at all and it's more curious how they convinced everyone else that they do." he ended his talk.
She was silent for a solid minute, simply staring at the flower wallpaper.
"We need to escape." she said with a cold tone, as she often does.
"Right? But I'm not sure how much we can do from here, you know?" he mentioned, also gazing at the ceiling.
"That's not what I meant." clarified the girl.
"You know we can't do that. I mean, how would we even go? Run away? The guards'll be on top of us." he turns his head to face her with a sad and sympathetic look.
"Charlie." she also turned towards him.
He swore he saw her eyes turned green for a second, but Charlie understood her determined look. She had a plan.
"Well, at least tell me how I can help, Cordelia dear." he sighed deeply, a small smile creeping on his face. He trusts her implicitly, as her tendency to overthink was sure to see them through it.
And escape they did. At all costs.