𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 (1) || 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘴 𝘓𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘯

𝐈. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

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"There's no shame in it." Arthur had reassured her, as she stood a still as a boulder, wearily facing the chain-linked fence that separated her from the house she had grown up in.

Edith Finch breathed a cool, crisp breath. The air from the swamp like bog ahead of her still smelled the same. Murky, stuffy, but oddly pleasing after the first few whiffs.

His hand left her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'll just be at the car if you need anything, Edith."

She wanted to thank him, Mr Weasley was such a kind man, much like his wife, but the air was doing enough to near close up her throat.

Edith swallowed, nodding to herself.

Arthur laced his hands behind his back, and turned on his heel, ambling towards the light blue Ford Anglia that he had parked only a few meters down the road.

Edith palmed the key around her neck, fingers tapping agaisnt the metal that had warmed from the contact of her skin, having been buried under a jacket and a scarf for the majority of the drive on the way here.

A jumble of nerves danced inside her chest, their footprints leaving marks on her ribcage, littering thoughts tied her stomach together, a feeling of uncomfort sweating her palms, a heat seeping through the knitted material of her worn, but well loved, gloves.

Edith released another breath... and another.

Finally finding an area within herself where she could will her legs to move, she started towards the rusting, chain-link fence, a portion of its mesh curved in the direction of the house ahead, telling Edith that she wasn't the first to have attempted a vault over the only fence guarding the silent property.

In a gentle grasp, the wand slid down from her sleeve, settling in her palm, fingers wrapped around the wood.

Edith pointed the wand towards the gate, a whisper of an incantation leaving her lips.

"Alohomora."

The gate clicked, a latch popping up above the keyhole.

Tucking her wand back within her sleeve, Edith reached a hand towards the knob of the gate, not flinching at the chill of the metal against her fingers. A glance at the large, bright yellow and black sign on eye-level beside her, told Edith that the information was incorrect, she knew the gate had never been powered, and so, had never been electrified.

The gate let out an almighty creak, wailing in protest as the hinges moved for quite possibly the first time in nearly eight years.

Edith slipped inside, squeezing herself between the gate and the post to do no more damage to the already suffering hinges behind her.

Looking ahead, there was nothing in her way now. The path to the house was clear, easy to walk down in mere minutes, and yet, Edith allowed herself to become lost inside the image that was stapled to the power line post that craned over her.

She strolled towards it, the words printed in ink already having been printed into her brain as she was growing up.

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