Chapter Text
There was something off about the weather that Thursday morning.
The usual grey skies carried with it a more foreboding chill and the cobbled sidewalks of quaint and isolated Chartery seemed ever more narrow and ominous, the slick dampened streets twisting and turning like a metastasized tumour at peak angiogenesis. November was fast approaching, and disgruntled misanthropic commuters lined up along the decrepit underground railway, clutching their bags to their chests and keeping their eyes glued to the peeling legend haphazardly strewn across the ceiling of each interior tube.
To any regular commuter aboard the tube at that hour, nothing would have seemed particularly out of place.
But if one were to look closer, to glance backwards even for a fraction of a second longer than they usually would, they would have noticed the young lanky brunette at the back of the tube, her thin legs curled up on the peeling leather seat as she stared forebodingly out the dark grimy window.
But one does not indulge in such scrutiny in the midst of early November. After all, there is too much else to re-consider and re-evaluate in one’s own reclusive life.
The tube came to a sharp jolt sending Mollie Mayeson careening into the dusty seats in front of her. The girl lurched forward in surprise clutching the cold rails of the seat handles to keep herself balanced. Thankfully, the compartment had cleared significantly at this point in time and her sole witness stood against the window adjacent to her seat, his face shrouded by the town’s local newspaper, The Chartery Free Press . Mollie could see only the top of a thick black bowler hat behind the newspaper along with clean cut pinstriped trousers. He was rather short in stature, then again at five foot ten, most people were short in comparison to her. He didn’t even spare her a glance as she dusted herself off and grabbed her tan brown rucksack before stepping out of the dusty humid compartment.
The dingy apartment Mollie shared with her mother in the North end of town came into view as the trudged her way up the narrow street towards her apartment. The landing was complete with a rickety staircase and an out of use fire extinguisher, the broken glass pieces dusted to the corner of the yellowing wall of the landing, out of place and out of mind.
When Mollie entered her small apartment her nose was assaulted with the pungent scent of lit cigarettes and lingering lavender. It had seemed someone had attempted to mask the smell with a cheap scented lavender candle, a poor attempt really. A low sensual moan came from the room across from Mollie’s, followed by a series of gasps and heavy panting. Mollie narrowed her pale brown eyes and loudly placed her bag onto the chipped wooden counter that served dual purposes as a food prep and dining table.
Mollie couldn’t care if they had heard her or not, she was exhausted and irritable after her commute from the bakery back home. The sounds muted for only a moment before hasty shuffling and the sharp sound of a zipper could be heard. Mollie rolled her eyes. This wasn’t anything new for the girl. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew Mollie’s mother was a whore. Mollie just hoped that tonight would be one of those nights that she wouldn’t have to be witness to another one of her mother’s spectacles.
As Mollie poured herself a cool glass of water she noticed the television was on and muted as the late news channel droned on. Mollie glanced upward at the television where a big bolded headline read “LYON MONARCHY ACQUIRES OWNERSHIP OVER AUTO INDUSTRY.”
Mollie couldn’t stand the monarchy. And why shouldn’t she? The monarchy had unprecedented control and influence over not only political affairs across the country but with various governments in neighbouring vicinities. Each with the same intention to maximize their profits at the expense of the working class. Mollie watched the screen in grim silence as Sir Hartley Lyon stood on stage alongside his three sons and the royal palace guard. It was always such an ostentatious display when Hartley held events. The most expensive food, clothes, dining. Money that could be allocated to much more productive avenues in Mollie’s opinion.
Of course there was the odd protest here and there but nothing much ever came of them or of the participants. Some presumed they were paid off by the Lyons and higher government officials to stay quiet, others suggested that members were locked away in a bunker, and some even suggested they were secretly executed. Nonetheless, protest participation was a dangerous involvement and Mollie had no intention of associating with them.
She was allowed to internally despise the monarchy with no consequences…as long as she kept her true feelings confidential.
She watched as the camera panned over Hartley as he stood tall and ever so distinguished on an elaborate platform at the heart of the city’s affluent neighbourhood along the southern border. He wore a crisp slate grey suit tailored to his lean and tall figure. His hair was fawn coloured but peppered with a speckle of grey and neatly styled in a loose side parted wave. Mollie had always thought he seemed very young, almost too young to have 3 adult sons. He couldn’t be over fifty. When questioned about his age at press events, he always laughed off the question and managed to expertly avert giving a definitive answer. That was a skill in of itself.
Mollie watched him now as he stood on the stage and zeroed in on his eyes. They were dark, they seemed almost black on the television and something about them sent a chill down Mollie’s spine. Although he wore an award winning smile, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and seemed plastered and rehearsed, much like this entire ceremony.
His sons stood parallel to him on the stage in a line, each dressed in dark tailored suits and each slightly taller than their father who stood at a cool 6”2.
It was hard to avoid hearing about the Lyon sons in the city. They were the talk of the monarchy within the media and their photos, although always reviewed by the monarchy itself prior to public release, were plastered everywhere from large banners downtown, to the walls of young fantasy-indulged girls. It was almost cult-like how people followed them and Mollie couldn’t quite understand the obsession.
The photos were primarily of Hartley Lyon’s older two sons, James and Rowan. James was 32 and in a fit position to take over the royal duties of his father when he passed. Mollie doubted that would ever happen as Hartley didn’t look much older than his eldest and seemed to thrive in the public eye both as a royal and as an entrepreneur.
James showed a stark resemblance to his father with thick chestnut locks neatly combed into a side part and angular features reminiscent of Hartley. There was no mistaking him for anyone other than a Lyon. His eyes however were light brown and his nose thinner and more defined. His physique and charming looks made him almost as popular as his father around town. He wore a lazy crooked smile on his face that gave him a slightly cynical appearance. Although his physical features allowed him a certain degree of popularity amongst the general public, he didn’t quite have the same warm reception shown to him at most events like his father did.
The second one was the skinniest and slightly shorter than his monstrosity of a brother. He stood directly between James and his father. His dark hair seemed shinier and he wore thin glasses over his slender nose. He too had physically appealing features like his father and brothers but with a more regal aspect to it. He was an academic and spent most of his time within the palace indulging in research and “novel innovations” as his father put it. He shared the same light brown eyes as his elder brother and stood tall on the stage, his face apprehensive.
When Mollie turned her eyes to the last brother she felt her insides churn. He certainly had a reputation.
Micah Lyon stood at the end of the stage his hands stiffly in his blazer pocket and an annoyed expression on his face. He had a more boyish look than his brothers and a pale complexion that contrasted sharply with his siblings, who all inherited a more sunkissed complexion. To compliment his pale skin were waves of loose dark caramel coloured brown hair with streaks of gold that fell across his smooth forehead. His nose was straight and sculpted and complimented by pink bow lips framed by deep dimples and sharp features. If it weren’t for the height and sculpted nose, Mollie would never have assumed he was a Lyon. But the most defining feature of the youngest Lyon were his eyes. He was staring a little past the camera at something in the distance, a frown still etched on his face but his eyes were light, pale, almost translucent in the camera and Mollie couldn’t quite tell if they were icy blue or light green.
The youngest Lyon was far from active within the media unlike his older two brothers and Mollie wondered whether that was a personal choice or not. He always seemed irritated or unsatisfied at these events, the odd time he did appear, and his father remained tight lipped about him. In fact, Mollie was surprised Micah Lyon was in attendance and figured the event must have been grand to have demanded his presence.
The camera zoomed back to Hartley where he began speaking into the microphone positioned on the podium. Mollie could practically hear his voice through the muted television as he spoke at the event. In fact she couldn’t forget it. He had one of those deep baritone voices that radiated professionalism and authority. It was an apt trait considering his position of power.
The door opened with a creak and her mother appeared before her in the dim lighting carefully tying the thin robe she had carelessly thrown over herself only moments before.
Mollie could practically smell the stench of sex that emanated around them from the kitchen and she glued her eyes to the table unpacking the goods she had brought back from work earlier that day.
The man behind her mother was shrouded in the darkness of her apartment but from a quick glance out of her peripheral vision Mollie noted that he was tall. Very tall, well over 6 feet and muscular. He was an absolute unit. He swiftly left without a second glance throwing a thick stack of wads onto the same table in front of Mollie, once again washing her in the scent of their love.
Mollie had also caught the swift scent of something more earthy. Patchouli, Mollie thought bitterly. She had smelled that scent before, by snooty affluent customers at the bakery she owned.
Being surrounded in a baker’s environment since she was three, Mollie had a heightened and profound sense of smell. As a toddler she would spend a great deal of time opening spices within the kitchens in the back rooms sniffing her way through cinnamons, nutmegs, and cardamom as she waited for her grandparents to finish with their clients.
Life had seemed so easy back then.
Her mother stood wordlessly near the door, the thin gown doing little to hide her plump breasts and exposed legs. Her mother was a tiny fragile black woman with thick dark ringlets that framed her diamond shaped face. She was pretty, very pretty, which is part of the reason she was able to continue doing what she did for extra cash now and again despite her age.
These men preferred the young ones, but her mother had a way with men, she could convince even the most stubborn man that a night spent with her would surpass even their wildest dreams.
Mollie had left it at that, she didn’t need to know the details.
After the unknown visitor had left, her mother scuttled to her side in a huff flipping through the cash on the table, swiping the bills one by one in a hurry between her sweaty swarthy fingers.
“This is enough to pay for the lighting and water for the next two months!” her mother said excitedly her dark eyes sparkling with delight.
Mollie stared back at her mother wordlessly as she scuttled to the back window of their apartment and stuffed the money inside the window seat chaise.
“We would have had enough regardless,” Mollie said tonelessly her fingers leaving imprints in the fresh bread she had brought back with her for dinner. Mollie heard the sharp exhale from her mother and grimaced internally. She shouldn’t have voiced her thoughts.
“Don’t be ungrateful Mollie Mayeson.”
The fluctuation in her mother’s tone always tensed Mollie and she knew she was walking on eggshells when that tone seeped into her mother’s voice.
“I birthed and breastfed you into this world. Don’t you forget that.” Mollie could see her mother shaking near the window. Her mother’s figure trembling as she turned her gaze onto her daughter.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry Mum,” Mollie said quietly.
“I-“
“I appreciate everything you do for me.”
Her mother suddenly stopped trembling and a familiar look of blankness crossed her face. Her eyes turned glassy and Mollie knew in these moments, that her mother was no longer with her in the present. She was far away in the own recesses of her mind, a lost figure amongst her colourful and chaotic past life.
Mollie found it best to let her be in these moments as she finished plating their modest dinner.
“You look like him you know,” her mother said quietly prompting a sharp glance from the girl at the table.
This was new.
Her mother never mentioned her father. Ever. And god forbid Mollie ever ask her mother to talk about him. Mollie had done that only once before as a child and the events that followed prevented her from ever repeating that mistake.
All Mollie had to go off on, was that he was white, and this too Mollie deduced by herself. Mollie had a deeply bronzed complexion, a caramel tone with a light spray of freckles across her round face. Her eyes were a pale brown and her lashes and eyebrows naturally thick in nature. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown and wavy, a stark contrast to her mother’s tight black ringlets but with the same thickness and texture.
Mollie knew her mother was ill, mentally and physically, but not only were the treatment fees too expensive, her mother was a stubborn woman. She refused to address any one of her myriad of problems. Mollie could only do so much for her.
Mollie remained quiet, letting her mother drown in her troubled and turbulent thoughts.
“He was tall like you,” she mused. Her knees knocking against one another slightly.
If the situation hadn’t been so grim Mollie may have found her mother’s stance highly comical. But the look in her mother’s eyes and the desperation in her tone made her stomach flop and her skin grow cold.
“And with those same eyes. Those pale brown orbs.”
Her mother lurched forward suddenly grabbing the ashtray full of used cigarettes and flinging it to the ground in one rapid movement.
Mollie flinched at the sound of the crystal shattering but released a silent sigh of relief when she saw the light return to her mother’s eyes. Almost instantaneously, her mother slid gracefully into the stool across from her daughter in one fluid motion and proceeded to pull the ragged tattered sleeves of her gown up towards her elbows .
Her mother picked up some bread and a butter knife in her slender fingers and gave Mollie a tender smile.
“How was your day at work sweetheart?”