Maryanne and Open
Maryanne wasn't as excited as most of the people were. Sure she got an amazing gift the year before, but it had so many emotions attached to it that it had taken her weeks to be able to believe that it was her cherished Cello enough to be able to play it. This year she had no idea what await her under the tree. If anything even did.
Still, just like the year before, she followed the tide of joy. The flow of holiday cheer. Even if it wasn't real. If it wasn't her own. It was nice still. To feel unconditional joy.
She watched others get their gifts. Smiling as their faces lit up. Harry got a cat. She couldn't help but grin at the irony that it was huge.
Her eyes caught on to another face here and there, before she decided it was time to brave the wrapping. To dare the boxes. She searched the tags quickly. Scanning the names. Stopping once she found an odd shaped, yet thick, one issued to her. Lifting it out of the den, she retreated back a bit.
She traced the shape. It was a book. That much was clear. Settling down in a tuft of snow. Not even registering whether or not it was cold. Or the wet was seeping through her jeans. Maryanne carefully removed the wrapping, confusion at the cover soon replaced with emotion that shook her.
On that front page was a picture of her, her grandmother, and Sean. On the farm. All with rare smiles on their faces. There had been no one there to take the picture that day. So it was one of the mysteries of the island.
Slowly she turned the page, expecting to see more like that only to find one of Jason and her. At the courthouse. She was robbed of her breath. It was like that page after page. Faces she knew. All of them. Everyone that had touched her life. Dead or alive. Daryl had a few pages dedicated to him, and their little family. The whole back was full of Clint and her sons.
From the Elves to the gods. From people at home to people on the train, to people on the island. as if ripped from her memories, they became photographs on a page. Maryanne didn't even feel the wet as tear after tear strolled down her face.