Work Text:
Ione is flanked by familiar faces. There is Abigail to her left and Beverly to her right. Abigail's uncle and mentor are nowhere to be seen. "It's for the better" She'd said. Ione wishes she could hold her hand.
It was her blind romanticism, that had lead her to leave her home for a summer romance. But Abigail has roots here, better roots than Ione's ones tied to uncle Atlas. And yet. London is not Abigail's, she is but one of its people. It belongs to the woman in front of Ione.
Kneeling, she offers her gifts. Mother Thames smiles.