Denial

The sun has almost risen before she is aware of hands gently wrapping around her arms and guiding her to stand. O'Brien and Mary flank either side of her and walk her out of the room. She stopped talking to Sybil hours ago, her thoughts drying up along with her tears, until all that was left was numbing silence. Her weariness cloaks her in gossamer and everything is seen through a haze. She is vaguely aware of being led into her room, of Mary holding her as O'Brien unties the binds of her dressing gown, of Robert's dressing room door whooshing open and Mary shaking her head before he pauses and then retreats again.

The feel of the bed behind her knees causes her body to instinctively recline and she gets tucked in as though she were a child. Mary's feather light kiss to her forehead sends her off to dreams as her exhausted body and mind shut down.

Cora spends the next few days going through life's motions. She shows up in body to where she is expected, whether that be the drawing room or the library or the dining room. Meals are a dark affair. Robert eats without speaking, Mary and Edith pepper the oppressive silence with jags of nervous chatter, Violet interjects with her usual comments and Cora pushes her food around and every so often a forkful makes it up to her mouth. Her mind is miles and decades away, usually, recalling moments with Sybil, memories so vivid she is dazed when her attention is brought back to the table, unsure where reality lies.

More often she finds herself in the nursery, cooing and rocking Sybbie. She closes her eyes and inhales her sweet baby scent and her body aches, the way it always did just after each of her children were born, a mother's primal need to feel her newborn close. It doesn't take much for her to pretend it is twenty-four years earlier and that she is singing lullabies to a different baby. She cannot stop herself from looking down at Sybbie's face and mirroring the thoughts she had when holding her Sybil, imagining the future that had laid before her daughter, all the hopes and dreams she had for her. They look so much alike it's painful in its rightness. The only jolt to her revelries is Tom's presence instead of Robert's but it is still better than sitting in her room, thinking...

The funeral brings her out of the clouds of denial, the finality of saying goodbye too much to ignore. For a moment, she feels her insides breaking apart, becoming untethered when Violet leans down and kisses her more gently than the older woman has ever done. Her mind and her heart are not ready for the emotions teaming to be unleashed. She knows that it isn't over. It has barely just begun.