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our lady of the underground
act i , fruit of the vine
prologue , a greek tragedy

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        THE LAMPS WERE burning low on Monmouth Street, nearly six hours had elapsed since they'd first been lit and whilst at first they burned brightly, now they merely cast a faint glow over the cobbled stone street.

The lamplighters would to return at dawn to extinguish their flames, only to find them already put out by the cold air — it seemed what had faired well in the summer months had not been made to last those dark, dark winter nights.

By the hour of four — the hour that was fast approaching now — the street would soon be bathed in a crisp darkness, as would its neighbours, waiting painstakingly to be lit by the cool winter sun should it dare reveal itself from behind the thick smog that coated the city of London even in the daylight hours.

   However, it did have a certain sense of tranquility at this hour — that is, were you familiar with it.

The winding back alleys, uneven pavements and lingering shadows were more than enough to frighten any trespassing newcomers, locking them in a labyrinth of cobbled stoned streets where they were bound to fall into the wrong company — many were lucky to escape with their lives, much less their wallets. But to the creatures of the underworld, at this hour, the world became theirs for the taking.

Amid the silence of the nights, when the sound of distant footsteps and howls of the wind fell on familiar ears, the listeners would feel a strange mixture of calmness and excitement. For the hustle and bustle of promenaders and merchants had long left the streets, and like a breath of fresh air, dusk had fallen.

   Aside from the dying lamplight, there was one other small source of light to be found on Monmouth Street at such a late hour.

Halfway down the road, away from the centre of the seven dials, tucked away slightly off the main street, winding into the small avenue of Neal's Yard, a public house stood. Sloping in stature as many of the ageing structures of the old town did, a large iron sign hung over the doorway, two keys crossing over one another, The Cross Keys.

   Its doors were closed and bolted from within, but warm light still managed to spill out in the small gaps between the large oak doors and the ageing door frame, illuminating that small corner of the world.

From beyond its doors, light was not the only thing that spilled onto Monmouth Street, the sounds of booming laughter, the tinkling of glasses and passionate voices could also be heard from the party of eight people that resided within.

     "What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"

   Alexander Darcy recited his lines as he stood from his table of companions — lines he had not said but eights hours previously upon the stage of Drury Lane. The warm light of the roaring fire glinted off his sandy hair as he turned, fixing his gaze upon the young girl of nearly seventeen, who flushed at the sudden address.

   Amelia Finch looked helplessly around her at Alexander's melodramatic recitation, only to be met with the encouragement of their companions. The redness of her young cheeks still lingered as a girlish giggle escaped her lips and she, too, rose to her feet.

     "Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?" She replied, eyes narrowing, overcome with character as the lines fell from her lips in manner replicating the actress she had been studying these many weeks. "Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come here in her presence."

      "Then is courtesy a turncoat!" Alexander replied, a large grin spreading across his lips at the girl's good humour. "But it is certain I am loved of all ladies—"

   An enthusiastic whoop from the table interrupted his performance. Alexander turned and fixed his gaze on the wide grin of Joseph Steele — the public house's own landlord, who was sipping on a glass of whiskey as he spectated the performance, his interjection earning resounding laughter from the fellow seated occupants.

      "Of all the ladies!" Alexander repeated, earning an even greater applause from his audience before continuing. "Only you, excepted; and I would I could find in my heart that I had a hard heart, for truly I love none."

      "A dear happiness to women." Amelia retorted, her pink cheeks slowly fading, though her manner still a little stilted as she navigated the dialogue. "They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at crowd than a swear he loves me."

      "God keep your Ladyship still in that mind, so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face." The older mused as he circled the young girl.

      "Scratching could not make it worse an 'twere such face as yours were." The girl bit back, causing Alexander to put a hand to his heart, in a rather melodramatic action, a choice no doubt informed by the many pints of ale he had consumed since their arrival.

   His action earning a rumble of laughter from the table. Elias Sykes, with his dark eyes no so subtly fixed on the actor portraying Benedick, raised his own glass to his lips, stomaching more and more alcohol, praying it would numb the pain that accompanied every time the lead caught his eye and hastily looked away.

      "Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher." Alexander replied, shaking his gaze from Sykes.

      "A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours."

   A delicate chuckle emerged from another occupier of the table at the bard's wit. Meg St Clair sat crossed legged on the bench, seated not far from Sykes — Amelia had been between them until she had risen to accompany Alexander in his exploits. Meg had noted how her eyes had glisten at the sudden attention of the male lead — oh, how soon she would learn not to place her sweet heart in his hands.

   Her auburn hair rested gently upon her shoulders having been released from a tight coiffeur upon their arrival, and her blue eyes looked down at her lap, fixating on the needle in her hand as she expertly weaved it through the fabric of Don Pedro's over-shirt. The tear that stretched down the seam was formerly her excuse to not accompany the rest of the company to the pub, however after a lot of pestering the girl's resolve had melted — but that didn't mean the work didn't still need to be done.

      "I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer, but keep your way, i' God's name, I have done."

   The gentle sound of the pouring of liquid accompanied Alexander's former line, as Dudley Mayhew poured himself and Joseph Steele another glass from the bottle of whiskey that sat between them on the tabletop. The older man watched contently as he spectated one of his finer actors and one of his most promising proteges flaunt themselves across the flagstone floor.

Small beads of sweat were gathering at his temples, no doubt from the fire roaring behind him, he'd discarded his hat and coat upon entering The Cross Keys and was mentally cursing himself for wearing so many layers despite the harsh winter wind that echoed beyond the door. Yet, the lingering buzz from the smoky spirit and the stimulating conversation of his good company aided his discomfort largely, bringing a smile to his face.

   However, such a smile was quick to falter as a long silence overcame them. The concluding of Beatrice and Benedick's duologue hung on the lips of the starry-eyed girl, who was looking blankly upon her scene partner, her eyes slowly widening in humiliation as her final line faded further and further away.

   At least, that was until an elegant clearing of the throat and a voice smooth as honey spilled into the silence of the room, prompting the young girl with a few short words.

      "You always end with—"

      "A jade's trick!" Amelia cried, her gaze faltering quickly from her saviour and back to Alexander, a wide grin stretching across her face as she concluded their scene. "I know you of old."

      "Ha!" The male lead cried triumphantly as he whisked the young girl into his arms, spinning her around in glee as the applause from their spectators descended upon the pair.

      "Bravo!" Dudley applauded, words slightly muffled by the cigar he had just placed between his lips. "Darling Amelia, mark my words you'll be selling out theatres quicker than Persephone Drake in a few years."

      "Oh, I could never hope to do such a thing!" The young girl gushed as Alexander planted her back on the ground, her gaze looking between the older man and the elegant actress who was chuckling amiably at Dudley's compliment.

   Persephone Drake swilled the blood red liquid in her glass, as she straightened in her seat where she had been contently curled, arm linked around that of her elder sister, who regarded the entire situation with an amused expression.

      "Alas, sweet Amelia, I daresay you shall." The actress replied, her voice commanding the room as she spoke, every one of their companions couldn't help but to fix their gaze upon her — even Meg glanced up from her repairs to look on the woman. "I have learned to no contradict Dudley in such affairs as these, for he has great instinct and you have great promise."

   The girl flushed red once more as she sank back into her seat between Meg and Sykes, muttering a silent thank you as she did so, her earnest gaze regarding the blonde with a sense of awestruck gratitude.

   Alexander Darcy strode around to the other side of the table, and unceremoniously threw himself into the seat beside Persephone, humming lightly to himself as he rested his head upon her shoulder, reaching out for the bottle of red wine — one of many that had been filling their glasses throughout the night.

      "And there I was thinking it was the name Alexander Darcy that filled the seats of our humble theatre." He mused, with a wicked smirk as he looked upon his great friend.

   A soft chuckle left her lips as she took a small sip of the wine.

      "My dear Alex, what on earth gave you that impression?"

   He spared her another wicked grin, before planting a firm kiss on her cheek and rising once more to his feet, moving along the table to converse with Dudley and, no doubt, try and bribe a cigar from him.

   Free from the weight of her friend, and sensing a lull in conversation, Persephone let out a small sigh and allowed herself to fall back into her seat, cradling her wine as she curled once more into the side of Ariadne, who shuffled a little, trying to better accommodate the comfort of her younger sister.

   Ariadne conversed with Sykes across the table, Persephone smiled at the rumbling of laughter that spilled from her sister's lips. With her head resting lightly against Ariadne's chest, she could feel the origin of the melodic sound of shaking through her sister's rib cage. Absent-mindedly, Ariadne had begun stroking her younger sister's hair, a soothing habit she had maintained ever since their shared youth.

   Persephone was content, then and there. She often claimed to be content in most places, she viewed being disgruntled by things a waste of time, after all it wasn't as if she could dare to hope for more than she already had.

There were certain little luxuries that came with her lifestyle that she found she could quite content her — she found applause particularly gratifying, empty compliments from various suitors would sometimes suffice, but Ariadne would always been her main source of contentment, her constant, her home.

   And then and there, as her sister stroked her hair, it didn't matter that she had found success and repute, they could have been penniless and destitute — and they had been — she vowed for nothing and no one would ever contest the love she had for her Ariadne.

   No one. For she had no else within which to place her love.

That wasn't the same case for Ariadne, she had Joseph. Persephone liked him — she really did. Did she consider him worthy of her sister? No. But no one was worthy of her; the actress sometimes even debated her own worthiness when it came to loving such a soul.

      Sharing her love was difficult, painful at times, Persephone sometimes wanted to spite her, wishing she could find that kind of same love so that maybe her sister would know how she felt. Ariadne had chastised her; for that was no real reason to long for love. But it was the only reason Persephone had.

      She took a sip of her wine, relishing in the numbing sensation that washed over her tongue and seared through her mind, hoping the grape would rid her of the current thoughts that plagued it.

      Alas it did not.

      As Persephone's piercing eyes stared into the white hot flames of the fire, she took another sip of wine. She knew the cards she had been dealt, and she was content.

    After all, she was a creature of the underworld, she could not be afforded to love.

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖘!
welcome to my new hyper-
fixation, aka the first time i
have sat down and written
in about three / four months

also if ANYONE wants to make
a new cover for this, your
girl would be eternally grateful

hope you enjoyed !! x