And I don't believe it but I guess it's true

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊⏱︎ ₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

𝔼𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕣𝕒 moved the chess pieces with deliberate grace, her slender fingers barely making a sound as they glided over the polished board. A knowing smile curved her lips as she heard the familiar rhythm of approaching footsteps-one light with hesitation, the other steady, confident, drawn inexorably toward her.

"Hello, Jake," she said, her voice smooth as silk, carrying the softness of mist rolling over a quiet moor. She lifted her gaze, her eyes clouded like a storm brewing just beneath the surface, ancient and unreadable. Then, with a shift of her attention, she turned to the man who had been hers in every lifetime worth remembering.

"Hello, my darling," she greeted, her voice dipped in the sweetness of affection.

Mr. Peregrine wasted no time. With the devotion of a knight kneeling before his queen, he took her hand, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing he had ever held. He brought her knuckles to his lips, lingering for a heartbeat too long, his midnight-blue hair catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. His eyes, dark and endlessly adoring, never left hers.

"Afternoon, my banshee," he murmured, his voice laced with mischief and worship alike.

Eliora's lips curled, amusement flickering in her ethereal gaze before she turned to Jake, studying him as if peering through the fabric of time itself.

"My, my," she mused, tilting her head ever so slightly. "He has grown."

The moment hung between them like an old melody, familiar yet enchanting every time it played. Mr. Peregrine had eyes only for her, his grip on her hand still firm, his thumb ghosting over her pale skin. Around them, the garden buzzed with life-the rustling of leaves, the laughter of children-but within their small world, there was only them.

Mr. Peregrine let out a slow, indulgent sigh, as though savouring the moment, before finally releasing Eliora's hand-but not before brushing his fingers along her wrist, as if reluctant to part from her touch. His love for her was something tangible, something that existed in the spaces between their words, in the way he watched her, as if even eternity wouldn't be long enough to admire her.

Eliora tilted her head ever so slightly, the soft silver strands of her hair catching in the breeze. "And how are you finding our peculiar little world, Jake?" she asked, her voice as smooth as dark velvet.

Jake, who had been transfixed by their exchange, snapped out of his trance. "It's... a lot to take in," he admitted, shifting slightly on his feet.

Mr. Peregrine chuckled, placing a hand on Jake's shoulder. "Ah, but discovery is the spice of life. Isn't that right, my love?"

Eliora's lips curved in amusement. "That depends. Is he handling it better than you did when you first arrived?" she teased, arching a delicate brow.

Mr. Peregrine scoffed dramatically. "Darling, please. I handled it with all the poise and elegance of a true gentleman."

"Mm," Eliora hummed, casting him a knowing glance. "If by 'poise and elegance' you mean demanding to see every written account of our existence before breakfast and then promptly fainting after seeing Millard remove his trousers... then yes, quite so."

Jake snorted, unable to hold back his laughter.

Mr. Peregrine sighed in mock despair, placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me, my dear."

Eliora smirked but said nothing. Instead, she stood gracefully, her movements so fluid and effortless that she looked like she might dissolve into the very air around her. She stepped closer to her husband, a mere breath away, and traced the lapel of his Victorian coat with a ghostly touch. "You were charmingly insufferable," she murmured, her voice just for him.

Mr. Peregrine's eyes darkened with something warm and boundless. "And yet, you fell madly in love with me," he whispered, catching her hand again and pressing a kiss to her palm this time, his lips lingering against her skin.

Eliora smiled, the expression soft and knowing. "That, my love, was inevitable."

Eliora cast a glance at the delicate silver watch fastened around her wrist, its hands ticking with an almost hypnotic precision. The faintest smile touched her lips as she murmured, "Well then, I'd better prepare supper. You two should wash up."

With an effortless grace, she rose from her seat, Mr. Peregrine already at her side, pulling out the chair for her as if it were the most natural thing in the world-because to him, it was. His devotion to her was woven into every gesture, every glance.

As she turned to leave, her pale fingers drifted to his cheek, a touch so fleeting yet so charged with unspoken sentiment that he instinctively leaned into it. For a moment, time itself seemed to pause, the weight of a thousand shared moments passing between them in silence.

Then, as though the spell had been broken, Eliora withdrew her hand and stepped away. But she did not simply walk-she moved as though untouched by the constraints of gravity, her silhouette gliding over the earth with an ethereal lightness. The hem of her dark gown trailed behind her like whispered shadows, and with each step, she seemed to dissolve into the golden dusk, a vision both haunting and beautiful.

Mr. Peregrine stood motionless for a breath longer, watching Eliora disappear into the soft glow of the setting sun. The way she moved-like a wraith woven from twilight and whispered dreams-held him entranced until Jake's hesitant voice pulled him back.

"Is she a..." Jake trailed off, uncertain, his gaze flickering between Mr. Peregrine and the fading silhouette of Eliora.

Mr. Peregrine finally turned, his sharp eyes twinkling with an unreadable emotion. "A banshee," he confirmed, his voice reverent, as though merely speaking of her held a weight of its own. "Yes, you know of the banshee's scream-an omen, a warning when death looms near. People claim to see them only for a fleeting moment, just before tragedy strikes." He paused, inhaling the crisp afternoon air. "But, you see, where Ymbrynes bend time to shelter their children, banshees are their guardians in another way. Their screams are not only warnings, but weapons-used to protect, to shield, and, if necessary... to destroy those who seek to harm the ones they love."

Jake swallowed, the weight of Mr. Peregrine's words sinking in. His mind reeled back to the night his grandfather died-the cold wind, the whisper of death curling around him like unseen fingers. And the scream. He had heard it-raw, piercing, filled with anguish and power. A banshee's wail. His grandfather had been marked, but had the scream been meant to save him, or merely to warn him?

Before he could process it further, Mr. Peregrine straightened, his demeanor shifting. "Well, let's continue," he said, already striding forward.

Jake followed, his thoughts still tangled in the past, until they reached Emma standing beneath a great oak tree, gripping a length of rope and looking upwards with quiet determination.

"You know Emma, of course," Mr. Peregrine said with an easy smile. "And I do believe that's everyone."

Jake frowned slightly, something tugging at the edges of his memory. "Didn't Bronwyn have a brother?" he asked.

A flicker of something-grief, perhaps-passed through Mr. Peregrine's expression, so quick it might have been imagined. But when he spoke, his voice was composed, almost too careful.

"Yes," he said, "Victor's upstairs."

There was something final in those words, something that told Jake he wouldn't be seeing Victor today.

Before he could press further, Mr. Peregrine's sharp gaze darted around the yard, scanning for something-or someone. "Wait, where did Enoch and Olive go?"

Emma turned toward them, her golden hair catching the light like spun fire. "Heaven knows," she sighed. "Enoch's been off sulking ever since we brought Jake back."

Mr. Peregrine nodded, but before he could respond, Fiona came running toward them, her small hands clenched into fists. "Mr. Peregrine!" she exclaimed, breathless. "There's a policeman at the door-he says it's about the pub!"

Mr. Peregrine's expression darkened as he turned sharply to Emma, fixing her with a gaze that could have cut glass. "We'll discuss this later, Emma," he said, his voice edged with quiet authority.

Emma sighed, shifting on her feet, but Jake stepped forward before she could speak. "It wasn't their fault," he said quickly, his voice sincere. "Honestly, they were just trying to help."

Mr. Peregrine looked at him, studying him with quiet scrutiny. Then, ever so slightly, his gaze softened. He flicked his eyes toward Emma, catching the small, approving smile she cast in Jake's direction, before letting out a thoughtful hum.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the house, his coat billowing behind him like the wings of a great midnight bird.

𓅪

Eliora hummed softly as she moved around the kitchen, the warm light casting gentle shadows across the stone walls. The smell of vegetables sautéing in butter filled the air, mingling with the scent of fresh bread baking in the oven. She worked quickly, yet gracefully, her hands moving with practiced ease as she prepared the evening meal.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her-a warm, familiar weight pressing against her. Before she could say anything, arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her gently into the solid chest of Mr. Peregrine. She smiled, resting back into him, her hands still busy with the preparations. His breath was warm against her neck, and she could feel the soft rustle of his hair against her skin as he leaned in, his head resting on her shoulder.

"Another one?" she asked quietly, her voice light but tinged with knowing amusement. She hadn't needed to ask-she knew well enough that he had been out dealing with someone. It wasn't the first time this week that a situation had escalated beyond persuasion, and she understood his line of work. Her fingers paused in their motions, her heart beating steadily beneath the weight of his presence. The soft rustle of his clothes as he shifted was the only sound for a moment.

A soft, almost imperceptible nod came from him, and Eliora couldn't help but chuckle. His head gave the smallest of sighs, a resigned but affectionate sound.

"You really should try harder to talk them down," she teased, her voice warm with fondness.

He didn't say anything at first, but she could feel the subtle shift in his posture, like he was considering her words. She smiled to herself, continuing with her tasks, but there was no denying the underlying tenderness that had come to define their quiet moments together. Despite the harshness of his work, moments like this were theirs-gentle, private, filled with shared understanding.

She turned her head slightly to glance at him, her lips curling into a soft smile. "How bad was it this time?"

His grip around her waist tightened slightly, a silent reassurance that it hadn't been anything too tragic. "Not bad," he muttered, though she could hear the hint of regret in his voice. "He didn't listen... sometimes they don't."

Eliora's expression softened, a silent understanding passing between them. She reached up, lightly placing her hand over his where it rested on her waist, gently stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "I wish they would, but you know... sometimes they just won't."

He let out a small, breathy chuckle at that, his chin resting gently against her shoulder. She could feel the slight tension in his muscles ease as he took in the calm of the room-the laughter of the children, the warmth of the kitchen, and the soft rhythm of her humming. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the world, an unspoken understanding wrapping around them like a quiet cocoon.

"You're the best," he murmured, his voice hushed and tender. "You know that, right?"

Eliora couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and melodic as she tilted her head back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "I think you might be a little biased."

His lips quirked into a small, fond smile, his eyes soft with affection. "Maybe. But it's true. I don't know how you do it all."

Eliora leaned back into him once more, her chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of her breath. "I do it because I have you." Her voice was low but full of meaning. "I can't imagine it any other way."

"Well," Eliora said with a light sigh, as she reached up to touch his hand once more. "I suppose if you have to get your hands dirty, I'll just have to clean up the mess, won't I?" Her words were teasing, but there was an edge of affection in her tone.

His laugh was soft, but it rumbled through his chest in a way that made her heart flutter. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, his lips brushing against the back of her neck, sending a small shiver down her spine.

Eliora smiled, feeling content and safe in his embrace, the noise of the world outside fading away as they stood together in their little bubble of peace, the perfect contrast to the chaos he often found himself in.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊⏱︎ ₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By: SilverMist707

I hope you enjoyed it <3