𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. The sun sent an army of light down to emphasize the beauty of the scenery around her, the trees standing silently like armored bark sentinels while flowers waved in the slight breeze in a stunning discord of color, dazzling the senses and eyes as beautiful arrays of greens and blues, yellows and purples nearly became overwhelming. The homely smell of pine drifted in the air and lingered like a charm, gently accompanied by the distant sounds of twittering birds gossiping in the tall trees.

As much as she would have liked to imagine it so, the hill she stood upon was nothing like the one in her imagination. Instead, it was a pitiful hump of a thing, disgracefully located in the middle of a path of trees as if nature was apologizing for its very being, doomed to sit among far prettier creations as if its unwilling existence was not punishment enough.

She stood as still as the trees upon the hill, not totally frozen, for just as their budded twigs moved as did her long red hair, a color she had despised for so long and had only recently begun to come to terms with. Her eyes closed, she could feel her braid loosen as the tousled ribbon became undone, and with a laugh as quiet and private as the moment itself, Alice shook her head furiously, allowing her hair to whip naturally in the breeze around her face. She took several deep breaths and finally allowed herself to properly take in the view, opening her eyes and letting out a sigh of content as she stared around her as if seeing everything for the first time.

The forest, of course, was not really a forest, she only imagined it to be, seeing as how the heart of London hardly allowed for such spaces without a factory or road of some kind. The comforts of her home was not far off and for that she was grateful, for it granted her the peace and quiet she so rarely got to enjoy, what with the hustle and bustle of the city and her family—albeit small, they could make quite a bit of noise. And yet she wouldn't give up any of it for the world.

It didn't take more than a glance to see the fields beyond the patch of trees, laid out like one of her mother's quilts, figures of varying ages sharing the same dark complexion bent over, tending to the crops. But instead of her usual magentas and cyans, it was the earthen colors of early spring—ploughed fields of brown and small pastures that are still dull, rather than reflecting the bright hue of new growth. It was too early for the blooming flowers she loved so dearly, but she knew the area so well her disappointment was dimmed by the image of her own garden, the sight of the tightly folded petals practically bursting to bloom never failing to bring a smile to her face. These stolen moments in nature were here treasure, sanctuary from the busy hubbub of her life and the city.

The faint noise of a bell snapped her back to reality, and it was with a fleeting sigh of disappointment that she bid farewell to the forest, turning on her heel and practically skipping back home where boring things like chores and shopping and responsibilities awaited her. But the thought of seeing her sister brightened her mood, having not seen her come home late from the theatre the night before, and Alice was dying to know how it went, in hopes it would give her the boost she needed to push past the writing slump she was currently in with her writing.

Her sister, Mabel, was quiet and gentle where Alice was boisterous, the shyer of the two and the pianist of the family. Despite being only a few years younger, Mabel seemed to be infused with quiet wisdom that she often gently bestowed upon Alice during rows, openly accepting her role as the peacemaker of their small family. The two girls may not have been as close as they both secretly wished—each had her own reasons for withdrawing; not that they would ever reveal them to the other—but their devotion to each other was stronger than either could have hoped for, despite being far more similar than they realized.

The sound of the bell echoed again, and Alice sped up her pace, doing her best not to step on any wildlife in her hurry. With each stride she took her mind became more clear, more resolute, as if the lessening physical distance between her and her responsibilities was far less than the chasm she imagined it to be. As the nascent sunlight caressed her skin, promising a bright and beautiful day, she cast aside memories she would rather forget aside, instead allowing the greenery of her surroundings to create better, happier memories—ones she could think back on and smile, rather than ones that sent a pang of regret in her chest.

When her house was in sight, she abruptly paused to briefly close her eyes and take in one last deep breath of dewy air before slowly making her way home. The light breeze ruffled her dress to the point where she had to giggle, her soul feeling free to leave her body and dance with the souls of the plants and animals around her, bringing back the wisdom of the earth to reside in her, perfectly at peace for the time being.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end, and that meant her walk had to as well. She dragged her feet up the worn porch stairs before pausing, smoothing back her hair and putting on a smile before grasping the door handle and opening the door, stepping inside to find her sister immersed in a lively show tune that could only have been inspired from last night's play. She stood riveted by the door until it finished, her hands suspended at her sides in the middle of taking off her coat as she too found herself lost in the music.

She didn't want to startle her sister, so she made a show of opening the door and closing it again, grinning when Mabel turned around on the chair—used in place of a piano bench—and blushed. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," she replied cheekily, pulling off her boots and setting them aside before making her way over to her sister, running a hand through her much more acceptable auburn hair, "Did you compose that?"

"I wish," Mabel said wistfully with a twinge of disappointment, leaning into her sister's touch, gently running a finger over the stained keys, "It's from the theatre from yesterday, I kept all the music in my head and tried to play it, but it doesn't sound quite right."

Alice suppressed a smile, even though her sister couldn't see her face. "It sounded lovely, I promise. Why didn't you play it when you got home last night, while it was still fresh in your mind? Surely that would have made things easier."

The younger girl hesitated before sitting up, tilting her head back to look up at Alice, biting her tongue. "I didn't know if you were asleep then, your light was out and I didn't want to wake you. You know what Mother says about staying up too late, even if it's for one of your stories."

Alice allowed herself to smile this time, leaning down and gently pressing a kiss to her sister's forehead, patting her head affectionately. "I wouldn't mind waking up to your music, Mabel. In fact, I'd probably think it was a dream." She pretended to dance on her way to the stairs, imitating the stance of ballerinas she had read about in books, earning a giggle. "If you ever see me asleep and dancing to the tune of the music, you'll know what caused it."

"What a sight that would be," Mabel observed, schooching off the chair and reaching for a neatly written grocery list, handing it to Alice, "These are the things Mother said to get during your shopping, she might be a little late to supper tonight, she said she had some business to take care of."

The rest of her sister's words trailed off, not due to her not saying anything, but because Alice couldn't help but not pay attention after she heard their mother would not be home at her usual time, leaving her with an opportunity she fully intended to take advantage of. If Mabel noticed anything unusual in her sister's demeanor, she didn't show it, used to the older girl's tendency to space out when inspiration struck at even the strangest of times, instead turning back to her piano and humming softly under her breath.

Alice took the stairs two at a time—yet again glad for her mother's absence, as she surely would have scolded her for acting so unladylike—and hurriedly walked into the room she shared with Mabel, striding over to her dresser and digging through the pile of clothing to find the stack of papers she had so carefully copied her most recent story onto, carefully removing it and shutting the drawer, leaving everything exactly as she found it.

She quickly glanced around the room to see if she had forgotten anything, before turning back to the papers in her hands. A small sigh of excitement and relief escaped her lips, and she raced down the stairs, past Mabel at her piano, until she nearly collided with the door, only remembering to grab money and the basket she would place the shopping in at the last minute, tugging on her shoes and pressing the papers inside her coat before dashing out, calling out a hurried goodbye to her sister before slamming and the door and making her way to the heart of the city.

Before she knew it, she was sprinting down the streets of London, having pulled up her skirts and going as fast as she could simply for the joy of it—she couldn't have looked less like a lady in the moment if she tried, and she was glad for it. It seemed only like a moment later when she found herself facing the publication building she had for so long hoped to enter, staring up at the polished sign before taking a deep breath and pushing through the revolving doors. A few paces later found her standing in a dimly lit hallway, hesitating as she reached for the slightly creased papers inside her coat, smoothing them out and clutching them in her hands, now more nervous than she thought she would be.

She allowed herself a moment to exhale, then braced herself like a boxer about to go into the ring, placing her hand on the doorknob and opening it into a disorderly room, full of men that didn't spare a second glance at the young woman nervously standing in the doorway, taking in the smoking and conversation and casual environment, walking through the desks in search of one in particular.

Alice cleared her throat as she came to the one she was looking for, waiting for the grey-whiskered man to look up from his work to acknowledge her presence. "Excuse me?"

The man raised his eyes but did not answer, and she felt a lump form in her throat. "I was looking for the Worcester Journal office...I wish to see Mr. Humphreys?"

When the man still did not answer, only continued to stare silently, she thrusted the papers in his direction. "Um, a friend of mine wanted me to offer a story—by her, she wrote it. She'd be glad to write more if this is to your liking."

He extended his large, rough hand and took the manuscript, turning the pages over and glancing through them. "Not her first attempt, I take it?"

"No, sir," Alice said, resisting the urge to bite her fingernails and instead settled with worrying her hands, taking a seat in front of him, her tone rising ever so slightly as she mentioned her accomplishments. "She has sold to The Daily Courant and The Observer, and got a prize for a story in The Illustrated not too long ago."

The man, Mr. Humphreys, spoke without looking up from the papers. "A prize, eh?"

Her excitement quickly dwindled at the man's tone, bordering on mocking, answering weakly, "Yes."

He looked up from reading to take in Alice's appearance, raising an eyebrow at an ink smudge on her face that she was unaware of, averting her eyes as he continued to flip through the story, pen in hand. It has only been a few moments, but she could feel her heart breaking as he gleefully crossed out entire pages, making notes, almost on the verge of tears when he finally spoke.

"We'll take it."

Alice looked up, reinvigorated at his answer. "You will?"

"With alterations," Mr. Humphreys added, handing her back the manuscript and putting his cigar back in his mouth, "It's much too long."

She looked through the story she had spent so long writing and revising and perfectly, her stomach twisting at page after page with her work crossed out, examining the notes in between her words. "You've cut—I took care to describe my scenery as much as I could, so the reader would feel as though they were really there."

"The descriptions are much too long, too flowery. Things like that don't sell nowadays," he said dismissively, propping his legs upon his desk, adding pointedly, "Perhaps mention that to your "friend"."

Alice looked again through her completely altered story, wondering if selling it was worth it, bristling at the black ink slashed through scenes she was most proud of. "And what do you—that is, what is the compensation—"

Mr. Humphreys interrupted her, as if used to amateur writers dropping by his desk and selling their works. "We pay twenty-five to thirty for this sort of thing. We'll pay twenty for that."

She nodded, more to herself at first than anything, then looking up and meeting the gentleman's eyes, and nodding again.. "You can have it. Make the edits."

They exchanged, Alice handing over her manuscript and Mr. Humphreys placing the money in her hand, business done. She could tell she was supposed to leave now, but something held her back, standing up in her spot. "Should I tell my—my friend, then, that you'll take another if she wrote one better than this?"

"We'll look at it," he replied, fingering the cigar in his mouth before continuing, "Tell her to make it short and spicy. And if the main character's a girl, make sure she's married by the end." He dipped the pen in a bottle of ink before adding casually, "Or dead, it doesn't matter."

The way he mentioned it so casually made her pause, unsure if she heard correctly. "Excuse me?"

But Mr. Humphreys had moved on, either unaware of the impact of his words or if he simply didn't care, moving to write on the title page of the manuscript, the pen poised above the page. "What name would your friend like to put to the story?"

The corners of her mouth lifted, for this was a question she had been waiting to answer for a long time. "Forsythia Begone, if you please."

He gave her an odd look and considered her answer, shrugging his shoulders before writing. "Just as she likes, of course."

Alice waited until he finished writing, blowing slightly on the ink to make it dry more quickly, watching him slap the papers on the far corner of his desk, extending her hand to him and shaking it firmly. "Good day, sir."

Her feet guided her out of the publishing office, out of the building, out onto the streets without her noticing, her mood lifting as she imagined her story printing in the paper for all of London to see. She smiled, mentally patting herself on the back as she made her way to the market, the list of shopping forgotten in favor of blissfully losing herself to the possibilities of the future—a future that was hers to choose, to control. One that was both within reach and unrealistically out of her hands at the exact same time.

But the present was far less interesting than her fantasies and her errands, so she turned her attention back to her daydreams, only half-paying attention to everyone and everything around her—something she had been advised against time and time again. This time, though, she had a reason. A reason that made her feel even more giddy and excited than normal. It was only a matter of time, she told herself, before her wildest dreams came true.

She couldn't wait.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

This chapter was so ambiguous and telling at the same time, we love that

So for obvious reasons (aka there isn't an Enola Holmes movie following this story line and therefore I'll be writing the plot myself rather than relying on a film to provide one) the next several chapters will focus on Enola and the mystery itself, introducing Alice when the time comes and she actually becomes relevant. I wrote this chapter and debated posting it or drafting it permanently because honestly it felt awkward to go from a prologue to a chapter in Alice's perspective to ones that exclude her entirely so let me know what you guys think

So yeah, Alice won't be showing up until chapter 8 (as of posting this I have up until chapter 5 prewritten) but I hope y'all will still stick around, Enola is just as important and these chapters are gonna be super important to the plot and the mystery (read: they have everything to do with them)

Thanks for reading!