forum Of Quills and Hearts (OxO) {Closed}

Started September 26, 2022 by @ScotchTapeWorm group

tune

The day was going swimmingly, at the very least when compared to some of the previous ones. Delilah still considered herself lucky for her situation. She was being taken care of, had close friends near her, and all things considered, her daily life wasn’t too interrupted. It didn’t make the hollowness go away, but all was well. At the current moment, the lady in question was somewhere in the gardens. Spread out on the grass, with a blanket and some fruit, with her ever present handmaidens nearby.

“Hm. I don’t know Alya. The blue is much more flattering with Kit’s eyes, the green one makes her look too much like a hedge. Or a person dressed as a flamboyant leaf.” Delilah ran her hand down a swatch of fabric, three laid out on the lawn, in different colors. A green, a blue, and a yellow. The yellow one was thrown away, pushed off under a bush.

Alya frowned, picking up the green piece, pulling it around Kit’s neck like a scarf, then stepped back, tilting her head.

“I have to disagree with you my Lady, the green brings out the darkness of her hair, the blue one makes her look pale and asphyxiated.” The two girls considered their options, taking dressing their friend very seriously.

The friend was having none of it. The fabric was for a dress Kit was making and she’d made the fatal mistake of asking for a second.. Or third opinion.

“You two are being ridiculous! Just choose a color-” Kit was cut off by Delilah practically tackling her, stuffing a strawberry in her mouth, which briefly made her demure. Having to now deal with the fruit, the maid was absorbed momentarily, letting the other two continue to bicker.

“Shh- Alya! Obviously blue is the best choice! Blue is perfect for Kit, it matches her personality!” Delilah snatched the green cloth from around Kit’s neck, sliding the blue one around instead.

“Grass stains wouldn’t show.”

“Wha-”

“It’s more practical!” Alya smiled sweetly, but her eyes were like those of a soldier. This was a battle she was prepared to win. At all costs.

“The green is tacky.”

“And the blue isn’t?”

“Blue matches the sky, and is far more eye-catching.” Championing blue hadn’t been Delilah’s intention. In truth, she thought that the green was nice as well, but the battle had begun and now she couldn’t afford to lose.

Alya was apparently ready for this counter-attack, as she parried immediately, all while continuing on fixing the hem of her skirt, which had caught on a rock earlier, making a small tear. “Kit is perfectly capable of being eye-catching without the help of a dress, the green is more muted and therefore calls attention better to her face!”

“Aha! So you admit the green is ‘muted’? But we all know that she loves brighter colors!” Delilah grinned, looking over at Kit for reinforcements, surely now the young girl would come to her aid, the handmaiden couldn’t stand boring colors! And.. didn’t see her where Kit had been standing a moment earlier.

The girl was instead, slowly inching her way underneath a bush, trying to retrieve the scrap of yellow fabric. Alya looked horrified, and Delilah stifled a laugh. Kit emerged from the hedge, covered in dirt, grinning wildly, and holding her prize aloft.
“You both lose! I’ve decided I want this color!”

The other maid was already on her feet, buzzing about and inspecting the damage on Kit’s dress, chiding her for being so messy.

Watching them, Delilah felt a deep warmth in her chest. These were her friends. People she’d grown up with and loved dearly, she sighed with contentment, laying on her back and staring up at the sky. Near identical to the shade of blue fabric. I bet I can still get Kit to choose that one-

A noise a bit to her left, interrupted the girl's moment of calm. The other two didn’t hear it, too busy in their own little world, Alya no doubt still subtly trying to push her dress color even while she tried to free Kit’s smock from dirt. Delilah stood slowly, turning to look at where the noise came from, and glimpsed the side of an amused face.

The girls had set up their blanket in the gardens, covered on three sides by high hedge walls, the roses not yet in bloom, but everything still smothered in green. The gardens were a bit of a maze, one central path that split off into individual alcoves, one with a fountain, another with rows of flowers, another with chairs and tables, maybe a hidden gazebo off to the side. Those nooks felt hidden off, but were, as said, just off the main path, next to another pocket just on the other side of the plant walls.

The face was peering down from the wall, likely standing on some kind of ladder on the other side. From where she was, Delilah could only glimpse sandy blonde hair and freckles, and a pair of shears in one hand, not in use. A gardener then, a young one. Still with a boyish face, at a guess she placed him somewhere in his early twenties, having not yet grown out of his gangly teenage years. The gardener was watching Kit and Alya with amusement, his task forgotten, when he looked down, meeting her eyes. He didn’t look surprised, just waved at her, then looked questioningly at her and then at the maids. A silent question. These yours?

Delilah raised an eyebrow, and made her hand a plane, tilting it back and forth. A little. The boy mouthed a laugh, covering his lips with his hand so as not to make a noise. He grinned impishly, waving her over, motioning around the wall. The lady glanced over her shoulder at her friends, still absorbed in what they were doing, then back up at the boy. She shouldn’t.. But curiosity was always one of her strong suites and self-control did not share a spot on that list. Stepping lightly, Delilah slipped onto the main path, doubling around to the area just behind where Kit and Alya were.

This portion of the garden was pure.. Well. Garden! With rows of carefully cultivated plants, in varying colors. It was mostly flowers, but it had a few arches that had leafy vines wrapped around, making dappled areas of shade. Looking around, it wasn’t hard to spot the blonde boy, he was on one of the gardeners' ladders. Easily adjustable to match the height of the wall, and of a light-weight, but sturdy wood, so they were easier to carry around. The boy looked at her and grinned, grabbing both sides of the ladder and sliding down. He waved at her, and Delilah took a moment to study the whole face, rather than just a profile.

The boy was taller than her by a whole head, with surprisingly delicate shoulders and hands for a gardener. He had the normal dress code for one of their servants who was working, the work shirt stained and the brown overalls covered in dirt and green smears from the plants. The blonde hair, which Delilah had at first thought had dirt in it, was actually mixed with brown strands, marking him as an Easterner, those people always had the most bizarre mix of hair, getting a mix of colors from both parents. A small nose and ears, and as he looked down at her, a lopsided grin.

“You three were making quite a lot of noise over there!” He had an amiable air about him, and Delilah couldn’t help but smile back. She didn’t get too much of a chance to talk to the help, at least not inside the house. Her father was a paranoid man.

“Yes, I suppose we were! I’m terribly sorry, did we interrupt your work?” Delilah motioned up at the clearly forgotten pruning shears and the boy shook his head.

“Aw, nah. Well, I guess you lot were a distraction, but I let it happen! Not often we see other people out here in the gardens, it’s usually just birds or murmurs.” The boy didn’t look the least bit afraid, not even a hint of hesitation in the way he spoke to her. It was a breath of fresh air, and Delilah felt a tiny thrill of excitement, having a conversation with a real person! Not someone hired to be around her- Gods.. She was sheltered wasn’t she?
“Tiernan!” What did he just call her? The boy stuck out his hand, smiling again. Oh. Delilah noticed when he did so, his eyes closed most of the way and- And- He had dimples.

“Delilah!” She held out her hand as well, and the two looked at each other for a moment, both confused. Tiernan had held out his hand for a hand shake, and she had held out her hand, waiting for him to take it. They both blinked. Delilah retracted her hand in embarrassment, holding up the other one to shield her face, waving at him.

“Ah! Sorry- I’m not used to- Oh, goodness-” She was interrupted by a laugh, as Tiernan grabbed her hand anyways, kissing it. She wanted to explode.

“No! I should apologize, you're from the city aren’t you?” Trying to keep her face from flushing too aggressively, Delilah registered the words after some delay. From the city? The confusion on her face must have shown, because Tiernan elaborated, cocking his head to the side, like a puppy.

“You’re a city maid right? With all the fancy manners and stuff?” Ohh- That cleared things up. She felt a tiny bit guilty now. He didn’t have any idea who he was talking to. Delilah nibbled on her lip, trying to convince herself that it was wrong to lie.

“I’m really sorry. It seems I’ve inadvertently misled you.” Now it was his turn to look confused.
“My full name is Delilah Alexandria Carmine. I’m not.. I mean..” Damnation! She couldn’t look up at him, why was speaking to people in person so hard? It shouldn’t be. The silence was palpable for a moment, and once it got unbearable, she risked a glance up at the Easterner. He looked a bit.. Surprised, but not shocked.

“You say that like I’m supposed to burst into flames afterwards!” Tiernan paused, eyes flicking down to his body, then back up to her. “…Am I supposed to be on fire?”

Delilah relaxed, she hadn’t even realized she’d been so tense before. She smiled, then did her best to put on a stern frown.
“Odd. That works every time! I’ll have to check in with my wizard friends.”

The boy laughed. That wasn’t too hard! She perked up, feeling a wave of relief. She could handle a simple conversation after all! Check that one off the list of basic skills. And with a start, Delilah realized she couldn’t hear Kit and Alya anymore. They’d probably noticed she’d gone by now. As if on queue, Alya's voice rose above the wall, calling her name. Tiernan heard it too, his head tipping to the side again, it seemed a habit for him.

“Sounds like they're looking for you. I probably shouldn’t keep you any longer Lady.” Delilah stopped nibbling on her lip, starting to head back towards the main path of the garden. She stopped at the entrance, spinning around and facing the gardener, a thought popping into her head.

“Tiernan? Do me a favor, will you?”

“Anything.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“..Within reason?”

“Shame- But.. Don’t tell anyone we were out here?” Delilah wrung her thin hands, a genuine frown of worry on her face now. It was a poorly kept secret that the girls would gather in the gardens. Everyone knew it, it just wasn’t considered polite to talk about it. A little misdemeanor that would be too much trouble to correct, so they just let it slide. Tiernan paused, and then put a finger to his lips, leaning forwards almost conspiratorially.
“Your secrets are safe with me.”

And with that, Delilah let herself leave, buzzing with the thrill of having a normal and not at all strange conversation. Her maids caught up to her quickly, and an easy excuse of ‘getting distracted by a noise’ was enough to placate them. Their little outing was about over anyways, Kit collected the blanket and Alya gathered up any leftover food and the three managed to make their way indoors with.. Minimal problems.

Delilah was walking backwards through the threshold, laughing at nothing and everything, when she bumped into something. Rather, someone would be a better term, and the laugh died in her throat. Looking up, it was just one of the servants, a man with thinning hair and a nervous attitude. He backed up quickly making apologies and then looked even more nervous, wringing his hands.He took in a deep breath, staring hard at the ground.

“My Lady. Your father has requested your presence in his study..?” Ah. That was why he was so nervous, Delilah drew her lips into a line.

“When?” One word. Terse. Spoken almost harshly. She regretted it immediately, the servant flinched at the tone. Her father liked men like him, afraid, easily kept in line. Weak.
That wasn’t an excuse to be harsh.

“..Now, if it’s amenable to my Lady?” It really wasn’t, but she couldn’t say that now could she? Delilah breathed out softly through her nose, trying to think what the Duke wanted.

“Thank you.” Two words now, and very clearly a dismissal, and she hated herself in that moment. Why was she being so stern? Why treat a man just doing his job like he was the scum of the earth? Why-

Alya grabbed her hand, giving it a light squeeze. Then put her arm around Kit, leading her away. That was why. Most animals lash out when frightened. The man had vanished, slipping away the moment her attention was elsewhere. Delilah sighed, standing in the hallway by herself. She felt chilled, and she tried to rub the gooseflesh from her arms.

Her father awaited.

Slipping into the room again, Delilah was struck by how similar it looked from the last time she’d been inside the study. Papers still strewn everywhere, piles of books littering the room, notes and ledgers placed precariously on shelves. Even the book that had been thrown at her, still lay on its spot on the floor. The maids weren’t allowed in this room to clean. Her father claimed there were too many spies on staff. He made sure to make new openings periodically, so his enemies wouldn’t get suspicious.

The Duke sat at his desk, he rarely moved. Business was his lifeblood, and it seemed to pain him to be doing anything else. This time when he looked up, the girl wasn’t dismissed. The Duke finished whatever he was writing and sat up straight, looking her over. Then he leaned forwards, steepling his fingers in front of him, a gleam in his eyes. Delilah recognized that look. He was going to make her an offer.

“Good. You’re here. Stand over there.” She was waved over to the side of the desk, where she dutifully stood. She was looked over again, and the Duke softened slightly.
“You look just like your mother. I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times.” She had.

“You know what your mother was?” Dead. “Smart.”

Delilah felt a pinprick of confusion, where was he going with this? Her father wasn’t a man to reminisce for its own sake. He was trying to get at something.

“She was smart. She knew that she wouldn’t make it on her own.” Ah. “Something you have yet to learn, my dear. So, what did she do?” The girl was frozen, but she spoke anyways.

“She married you.”

“Correct. Think of what she could do in this world by herself! Nothing. She had practically no fortune, no name, and no skills to speak of.” The chill from before was nothing like now, Delilah could feel a chunk of ice slip into her veins, freezing her in place, numbing her. What could she say? The Duke’s argument was flawed, Delilah had a fortune, a name, and she was.. Moderately skilled in some things. Yet he made one good point, she still couldn’t do anything on her own. Her jaw clenched.

“I see you’re starting to get it. I want to make a deal with you, girl. Start seeing suitors again, I have a list prepared of names that would be adequate. In return, you can pick which one you like. Maybe a timid little milksop, someone you can control with little difficulty? Maybe an older man, you wouldn’t have to put up with him for long. Think on it.” The Duke looked pleased with himself, handing her a piece of parchment with two columns of names on it, which she silently took. Without looking at it, she already knew that the men were already wealthy, had a respectable title, or both. Her father never settled for mediocre.

Her silence was taken as assent, and she was dismissed with a wave.
Delilah returned to her room, deep in thought. Before she even opened the door, Delilah could hear a shriek of joy, followed by giggles. Despite everything, she smiled a bit, opening the door just a crack to peer in, Kit was on the floor, papers strewn about her and the biggest grin on her face that she’d ever seen. Opening the door all the ways, she placed her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow.
“Those wouldn’t happen to be.. My letters would they?” Kit looked unremorseful, grabbing one paper and holding it to her chest, sticking her tongue out at her mistress.

“Wrong. Those pieces of paper are yours. This! This is mine!” Kit held her letter to her chest, doing one of those happy wiggle movements people sometimes do, that is too complicated to put into words, but expresses pure joy.

Delilah smiled, crouching down to pick up the envelope, with its contents hastil stuffed back inside. It had a surprising weight. And she left Kit to her excitement, leaving briefly to find herself an empty room, one where she could place aside all her worries and fears and doubts, and just read.

She started the letters in the wrong order, and was briefly bamboozled by ‘My likely irritated reader’, so she had to go back and find the shorter piece of paper. It was so abrupt, she couldn’t help but snort. Then giggle, which prompted a full blown laugh. All the tension from the day gave way to hysterics, and the young lady doubled over, gasping for breath in between laughs. She had to wipe the tears from her eyes, before she’d reread a few lines and bust out in giggles again. She couldn’t help it! It was- It was so cheesy! Every time she got a letter it, for a moment, made her think of nothing else, erased the rest of the world until it was just her and the words. A palace of letters made for just herself. She blessed Franklyn for it, a million times over. It was an invaluable gift.

Her laughter disappeared quickly as she saw on the second letter the entire transcribed song of Camelot. She had thought she’d been funny with her last letter, a little quip, just a teeny jape if you will. She hadn’t expected to get this response! It suddenly occurred to Delilah that she might be, possibly, dealing with a dork. A tiny smile managed to worm its way onto her face again.

Still, he was a flatterer, and it was hard to tell genuine compliments from script but.. He felt genuine. And Delilah desperately wanted to believe that, she really did. She wanted to, because she had to. She fished out some of the coins from the envelope, cradling them in her hands. Then closed her fist around one. Her smile never quite vanishing, she’d completely forgotten it was there. It wasn’t until later, when she was thinking about what to say, that she noticed her jaw aching slightly, and she touched her lips. That had been happening a lot recently. The smile softened, the pen began to write.

My capricious correspondent,

Oh dear, I never expected my curse to be so well chosen, or so immediate in its effects. You seem to have dropped a few of your coins in my envelope, and now you’ll never get them back. (Thank you for the tokens, if I ever manage to travel I will be able to afford a whole loaf of bread or a vegetable, but since I never roam I suppose I just have to keep them near me forever and ever.) It’s a shame you can no longer write letters, and now I must make good on my threat to write to the horse instead. Dear Tabor, how is the weather where you are? I am well. How is the feed? Do they give you much hay?

Now, presuming your master has come back to his senses, recovering from his coinless countenance, clearly I must address the rest of the letter to him. Once everything is set to rights, I’m sure he can read it.

A skill I briefly wished I did not have with your past letter my friend! While I wanted to know how Camelot was, I was not expecting the whole travel guide to be included! I feel comforted in the fact that I will know exactly how the weather is, all year long and it does seem like quite the place. You are quite lucky to rule over such a land, it might almost make up for all the attempts on your life by the court! (Please no more transcribed songs, I had “Camelot” playing in my head on repeat even as I write.. I do admit it is rather fun to hum though.)

I wonder at your foretold disaster if we were to meet. Would it truly be that catastrophic? I firmly believe I already used up all the luck I will ever need by finding you, and your charm comes from the heart, not a quill. Though maybe hold onto that pen for the moment, we wouldn’t want to take any chances now would we! My butterflies are my gift to you, a bit of liveliness to brighten up the world, and hopefully in the wildest of colors we can manage to concoct.
Alya has decided to cut you off, before you expect even more of her. She wouldn’t want you reliant on her stray ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ , but she still does send her regards. She would never deprive you of her good favor. I wonder at what you did to Kit! She had been nothing but giggles and grins all day and so secretive. She will not tell me what is happening at all, but she keeps looking at a piece of paper and looking excited. As long as she is happy, I am happy. You’ve certainly entertained her. I trust it wasn’t anything too bad?

Ah- The puppies certainly brought the servant much.. Joy. His family rather enjoyed them too. As for the tarts, I must confess it is still a secret. Indulge me in a few theatrics if you will, the mystery makes things more appealing or so I’ve heard. I will not send more this time, but I might send something your way every once in a while, to keep you on your toes. Complacency is the death of creativity after all.

But creativity you never seem to lack. Are you a poet perchance? On top of your already numerous achievements that I listed forever ago. Or maybe a philosopher, as you surely combined the two into something that left me entirely speechless. I am unworthy of such verses, much more suited to one with a more sanguine temperament than I. Yet, would it be not fate that we converse? Lady Luck may be cruel, but she is fair, and every once in a while, she smiles upon us mortals. I do not know what I did to deserve such happiness, but I would not dare to spurn her gift. For that is what you are. You say your parents lock you away and I am sure that it is because they know what a treasure they have and fear that someone will spirit you away. I’m sure many are tempted to, because what else can you do in the face of such thoughtfulness? The flowers may grow for me, but for you they will bloom and flourish.

As for my own level of scoundrelous activities, I fear you are mistaken my good gentleman. I sent out the letters, but you were the one to respond, and a lady can never be in the wrong you see. It’s quite convenient actually, you can get away with all sorts of things if you’re clever. Really, how could you corrupt such a pure lady as myself! It’s unthinkable! Please continue. It’s highly entertaining.

My sleepwalking adventures are something to speak about indeed! I one woke up trapped in a closet, which was locked from the outside with no other entrance! I couldn’t escape until some cleaning staff came by and were baffled they couldn’t speak! Another time I awoke surrounded by faces, as I had quested all the way to the kitchen and had started making food. I had three pies done before the night was over and the cooks were highly amused. It was the incident that allowed me free access to the kitchen, since if I could do it in my sleep surely I could do it awake. Oddly enough my pies were never quite as good again.

Your choices of animal for the most part I must admit did not surprise me. We seem kindred spirits and the bird is an animal of freedom, something we crave. But- A fish? An interesting choice! A wise one as well, as upon reflection it has many hidden talents. What would it be like to explore the depths? We know so little about ocean-dwellers and the creatures that populate the water. There are precious few that are sentient and even less that wish to speak to humans peacefully. The stories of the great kraken, swallowing boats and changing the tide with its movements is a testament to the oceans terror Yet still, the ocean captivates us, calling to us in a way that we can not explain. A call of the void. As one poet so eloquently put it “I fear not the height of the cliff before me, I fear not the drop, nor the death that would await me. I fear that when I get to the edge, staring down into the void. That I would jump.” It’s a sentiment I always resonated with. Not out of any wish for physical harm of course! But standing on a balcony, there is always that ‘what if’? That tickles at the back of your mind. We would only fall for a moment, but what a moment it would be!
And how carried away I have gotten. I asked only what animal you would wish to be and I ended up waxing and waning about our human need for self-assured destruction. I apologize. A fish is a fine choice, it shows an insight I hadn’t before appreciated from my silly little question.

Perhaps I should be more mindful, since as you guessed I read a frightful amount. And I beg for a million apologies as I can simply not stand mystery novels! I do not know what it is about them that rub me the wrong way, they simply get under my skin and end up with me throwing a book at a wall! And then promptly apologizing to the book and the wall and skipping to the end to find out what happened! I can see why you would enjoy them, but they are not for me! I will not count it as a flaw on your part as I hope you will not count mine as one either. While I read what I can get my hands on, travel books, histories, fantastical stories, thrillers, and even the occasional mystery if I run dry of other words. But I always come back to books from my childhood, fairy tales with happily ever afters and dragons to slay. I tell anyone who asks that I adore histories and after a few dry facts about an empire that fell two hundred years ago halfway across the world and the agricultural shipping lines of an ancient battle most people leave it at that. But I feel a need to be truthful with you, for whatever reason. I like the stories we tell to children, for there is so much to learn from the simplest of things.

Aha, I fear I am in a rambling mood perhaps. Whenever I write to you there are too many words to put on the page and I never seem to tire of ideas to say. Please do not think ill of me? I worry I will bore you with all the details and I fret dreadfully that you do this simply out of nicety. If you feel as if this ever becomes a burden, tell me immediately. Please. My heart would break to pain you.

Your bird sounds lovely and much more friendly than my own personal daemon. (The second I wrote this the Bird screeched, the thing is possessed I swear. She is a wonderful pet. If I say otherwise she knows-) Alak is a beautiful name for a falcon! The grandest of birds with the grandest of names. Is it onomatopoeic? Sounding it out makes it sound like the ‘click’ of a beak, it is wonderfully fun to say.

Now for my own news! Tucked into the end of the letter like yours. My father has decided to loosen a few of my restrictions, it is a mystery to me as to why. Perhaps he feels as if I get a taste of freedom I will be biting at the bit to earn more of it? But with a formal invitation and a chaperone I am allowed to attend events in society once more. So maybe it is a punishment rather than a blessing. I have been shut away for so long I am drowning in news and gossip to catch up on and I cling to our letters like a ship-wrecked sailor to a timber of floating wood. It is the only sane thing left in my world! I have had, currently, over three appointments, two invitations to dinner, and have been alerted that there is going to be seven balls in the next three months. Seven! Why?! What is your opinion on such things? You seem to dislike your clothes of state, so I have an inkling of an idea, but I would like to hear it from you. What do you do to save yourself while at an event? I would bring a book, but I think my father would have my head. Hiding in the curtains was my go to years back. They are shockingly soft and a good place to calm oneself, put yourself together, and be presentable again.

Drowning in news,

Delilah.

P.S. The drawing did not smudge terribly, Alya took the initiative to lacquer it before it could be damaged further.

Franklyn had sent off his last set of letters in a rather jovial mood. He hoped Kit had received her note from Jameson well, and that Delilah had enjoyed his little joke.
The following morning, he awoke with a dark cloud over his head that wouldn't go away.
The merchant's son found himself unable to get out of bed. His body felt empty, like he'd dumped all of his reserves of energy elsewhere and had nothing. He slept, woke up and felt awful, before falling back asleep.
There was a part of him that was glad he wasn't sick. When he was awake, he could tell he had no fever, no stomach illness of any kind, just… a malingering depressive state.
A perfectly normal occurrence in his life.
His mother came up to his room, eventually, to nudge him into being alive. She brought with her the latest journal and some papers from his father.
Franklyn was so foggy, he could barely think. He recognized what they were asking him to do, and tried to protest that he couldn't keep it all straight in his head just now, that at this moment was not the time for him to attempt business practices.
His mother was understanding about the whole thing. She left the things on his desk and went away.
His father, though…
15 minutes later, Franklyn sat at his desk, staring at pages with numbers and letters that seemed to swirl and mock him. He'd read the same page from the journal 5 times, and still didn't understand what he'd read.
He couldn't shake the cloud. He tried, with reading and drawing, the things he enjoyed, but his books jumbled and his drawings all looked like dark storm clouds, no matter what he attempted to draw.
He tried fire, manipulating it and playing with it, but the sudden urges to burn things and people were too strong, and he put the flame out quickly, trying to stop the intrusive dark thoughts from becoming reality.
He tried pacing, exercising, getting his blood pumping and making sure he was eating right, but the food tasted like ash in his mouth and sat like lead in his belly. The exercise just made him incredibly tired, and he was already so close to sleep at any given moment.
Jameson commented on it gently when Franklyn dragged himself down to get the mail that day. There was a letter from Delilah, and the mail man informed him that Kit had sent her own to him directly this time. That was cause for a smile, but it didn't last from the gate back to the house, no matter how much Franklyn tried to force it to stick around.
He didn't realize it had been a full 2 days, so wrapped up was his mind in the oppressive, heavy, dark cloud of sadness. The letter sat, unopened, largely because he knew he wouldn't even be able to read it.
Eventually, his sadness combined with a crushing sense of boredom, and he opened the letter in order to ease that last part. He'd tried to sleep, but had done so much of that the last 2 days, his mind wouldn't shut down, though it couldn't wake up either.
It took him hours to read and comprehend the incessantly bright letter, and by the time he was done, he was exhausted again. Enough to sleep this time.
When he awoke the next morning, the cloud was still present, but somehow he could tell it would stay overhead this time, rather than descending into his brain to become a thick fog. He re-read the letter, even managing to smile in a few places, and found himself finally having an urge to do something.
He wanted to write back.

Dear, dear writer,

I must start this submission with an apology, for both the wait and the invitably short length of this letter. I wonder if I sound like a broken record player to you, repeating the same phrases over and over, but I can promise you, Lady Carmine, that were it within my power to write more at this juncture, I would.
My coins have found a good home, no doubt, and I am glad for you to have them. Tabor has responded to all of your questions with a simple response: Neigh. Most enlightening, I'm sure.
I'm sorry about the entire transcribed song. That was an attempt at humor, which I can only assume has dismally failed. My mistake.
Regards to Alya, and a small nod, if you wouldn't mind to convey it. And nothing at all to Kit, else I fear I shall open the spigot wide open again. I am glad to hear that my endeavors to throw her off my own scent have worked, and I can assure you that you will know soon enough, if Kit is anything like she seems through her writing.
I am no poet, simply a man with a quill. I doodle. That is my only art, if it can be called that.
You are too kind in your estimations of my poor attempts with words, and I must protest that of the two of us, you provide more verbal joy than I.
I must again (third time this letter alone, my goodness) apologize for my intemperate claim that you, a lady of such high standing, should ever be in the wrong. What an oafish statement to make, though you must surely by now be expecting those from me.
Your sleepwalking adventures sound as if they could fill entire volumes, and I shall endeavor to plumb their depths at another time.
Soliloquies on the animal kingdom. I must say, that was rather unexpected, but most definitely a delight to read.
And here our friendship must end. A woman who spurns mystery novels is not a person with whom I would associate. (This is, of course, a joke. That you have associated with me for as long as you have is the true punchline.) Fairy tales seem to suit you, rather. Beautiful princesses locked away in towers seem particularly relevant.

Delilah, I could never think ill of you for daring to write to me. You have no ability to bore me and nicety is not a thing I'm good at, I'm told, so you needn't fear that my responses are simply that. I most certainly feel this is a burden, but only to you. To have no other outlet for your mind than an imbecile such as myself must be burdensome in the extreme. Thank you for your patience to that end.

I am overjoyed to hear of your impending half-freedom! I can relate to the feeling of being watched and corraled, but surely, to be watched while out is better than to be unseen while kept in?
I cannot, however, understand your shock that a well-spoken, intelligent, not to say beautiful, young lady such as yourself should have so many invites and so many people after you. You are the only person surprised by this development. Everyone around you understands exactly what is behind that.
As for me, surviving events is a matter of posture. If I can balance myself over my hips early in the engagement, I'm able to let my mind wander and not slump over in sleep. Add to that the long skill of learning to nod and make vacant eye contact, and I have spent many a dinner sitting straight, nodding and looking my guest in the eye, all the while letting my mind fly far away. That is my only advice to you, and it is dismal advice, I must say.
I am glad to hear that the drawing did not smudge. I've done something a bit different this time. An attempt to make up for this abysmal offering with other gifts.
May you find at least some measure of joy in being out and about, Lady Carmine.

Sincerely,
Franklyn

The usual envelope and resin, but the handwriting was noticeably worse, as if he were having to write very slowly, not out of precision, but out of exhaustion or weakness. The ink was also slightly smudged in places, as if he had not the energy to lift his arm off the page correctly. Enclosed, however, was a page with burn marks around the edges and across the middle. When held up to the light, a design could be seen in the charred paper. It was a princess looking out from a tower, holding an envelope out to a prince climbing the ivy growing up the sides of the tower. It had the same burn depth and size as he heart he'd sent, and was clearly done with his fingers.

And the Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere ; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

The book's pages crinkled as Delilah lowered it. She was standing just outside the large doors that signaled the entrance to her family estate. A small blue book nestled into the palm of her hand, she was trying out poetry and it seemed to match the mood of the day. A cloudless blue sky, a tiny breeze just enough to tug at clothes and weave its way through the grass, and she was heading out.

The book was to keep her amused as the stablehands were harnessing the horses, two pure brown mares, with their coats brushed to a shine. The engagement wasn’t anything serious, she was to have a chat with a minor noblewoman that was nearby. A young woman about Delilah's age, named Shelley Colleridge, her family owned land, a wild count, but all of their territory was wooded and some distance away. Really they were of no import, and had but a name and were well bred enough for her to associate with.

Despite it all, Delilah felt a buzzing excitement. She hadn’t been out in so long, it felt new and refreshing to see the world and the poetry gave her rose-tinted sight. The wait was anticipation, the trees were ‘wooded giants’, the birds a ‘chorus of song to fill the idle air’.

The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure; - But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan To catch the breezy air And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there.

With a coachmans help, she stepped into her vehicle. The padded interior was briefly filled with light, before the door shut and it darkened. The shades on the windows were thick, making the inside feel like the middle of twilight no matter the time of day. Mindful of her clothes, Delilah sat by the window, holding up a corner of the window shade to peer outside. She rested her head on the door, content to look outside at the world passing her by, at least until her arm would inevitably give out, and she had to wiggle herself in a way that had the shade rest on the crown of her head, so she could still rest and look out. It was highly uncomfortable, but she had no plans of moving.

If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature’s holy plan Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man?

The horses' hoofs drumming against the ground was a constant background noise, beating in time. The sun coming through the window warmed her face, and suffused her whole body with a feeling of warmth. So, despite her mind's protests, the girl's eyes slowly began to close, her mind seduced by the gentle swaying of the carriage. It took no time at all to drift off after her eyes closed, the thoughts behind her eyes giving way to nothing, and the horses moved on, walking with no great urgency.

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep …

An hour later, Delilah was still asleep, but the horses were no longer moving. The coachman dismounted from his seat, doing his usual rounds. Checking on the horses, who seemed content to stand still, pawing at the ground beneath them. Then look over the carriage, where in the corner of his eye he caught a flash of gold. The man snorted, walking up to the door and gently knocking on the frame. Silence.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and staring up at the sky, perhaps a prayer for strength. The coachman knocked louder this time and was rewarded with a startled noise from inside the carriage. The flash of gold disappeared, and Delilah sheepishly lifted the whole window shade, blinking owlishly at the man. She tried a grateful smile. He gave her a deadpan stare, then stepped back, opening the door for her, dutifully holding out a hand to help the lady down.

Still shaking off the weight of being asleep, Delilah took the man's hand, squinting against the sun. It seemed they had arrived at the Colleridge’s residence. The family was in town for the spring, so they were living in a house that was frequently rented by nobles who wanted a place to stay while their home shook off the last of winter's cold before returning to their personal estates. The house was a white-washed thing, but had an impressive size. The lands around it were barren, aside from the carefully manicured grass, daffodils and primroses beginning to peak up from the garden beds. A smile tugged at Delilah's lips, her thoughts still gathering themselves coherently.

Daffy-down-dilly is come up to town, In her yellow petticoat And her green gown.

She bit back a giggle, biting down hard on her lower lip. She must have been filling her head with far too much fluff these days, she could barely walk two feet without idle thoughts popping up like weeds. But was the world not beautiful? Did not everything seem with fresh eyes seem a miracle? Her good mood did not need to be explained, for that would ruin the illusion. The mystery made the whole thing far more appealing and if she dug, and dug through her mind for an answer to the why, she wasn’t sure what she’d do with the information once she had it. The fox caught after the chase never seemed to have the same spark, the butterfly not quite so pretty once pinned down.

The lady's thoughts had become quite muddled by the time she reached the threshold of the house. Barely noticing the servant at the door, who had been sent to fetch her. Instead she walked into the house and just- Started looking around. Peeking into vases, staring at paintings, and generally not going where she was supposed to be. The servant looked lost and a bit frazzled, trying to, as politely as possible of course, get her attention so she could be led to the drawing room. And Delilah was doing her best to ignore them.
At least until she, still in the entrance, having not yet worked up the nerve to simply wander around in someone's house, turned to the help, apparently satisfied with her investigation of the antechamber, and looked at them point blank.

“Well? Are we going?” She said it with a slight smile, exasperating her new guide thoroughly. Still, they had a job to perform and they nodded, giving a quick bow. She couldn’t see their face, but could imagine what they were thinking. If a bow could be spiteful, they were trying their best to do it. She was led on through the house, into a room with massive windows on the sides, giving off a view of the sparse yard. A table, a few couches, and some other decorations. Her host sat on one of the couches, sitting up and smiling politely when the door opened.

Delilah returned the smile, seating herself opposite of Ms. Colleridge. The table had drinks, and bites of things to eat, but after a quick glance, her stomach turned and she knew she wouldn’t be having any. A shame, some of the things looked rather well put together. Delilah drew her lips into a line, sighing out softly through her nose, staying silent for a moment. When the silence continued to stretch on, she looked up, noting her host's uncomfortable expression. The girl had mouse brown hair and a worried look about her, and she kept shifting her weight, looking like she wanted to speak, but daren’t to. Delilah raised an eyebrow, quizzical.

Shelley took that as an invitation and jumped on it. “..Do you not like the food?” Her voice was adorable, almost a whisper, but with a gentle cadence to it. Delilah melted, her smile becoming warmer.

“Oh, no, it is lovely. I just.. Ate before I left. I couldn’t possibly impose on you more than I have.” It was a bold lie and they both knew it, it was far too early to have a full meal, and they both knew she wasn’t imposing. Delilah outranked her by a country mile, Ms. Colleridge likely had sent the invitation out of politeness, never expecting it to be returned. The girl shifted again, but some muscles relaxed in her shoulders. Poor thing looked terrified.

“Oh.. Well I’m glad.”

…Silence again. Delilah was more than content to sit there for a half hour in total silence, just seeing a new human being was enough to make her feel more socialized than she had in the past months. Shelley seemed to have a different opinion. She fidgeted, ran her hands along her dress, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles, pulled at strands of her hair. She was never still, and Delilah couldn’t help but wonder if it was nerves, or she was just like this. More choleric than phlegmatic. She finally poured herself some tea, taking a small sip for politeness sake.

She then watched in amusement as the girl followed her movements exactly, shadowing her. Pouring some tea, sipping, and then grimacing. Delilah hadn’t put in any sugar, since she didn’t plan to drink the cup. And the girl had dutifully followed the same recipe, even if she looked longingly at the sugar bowl. She decided to try at some conversation, since Shelley looked like she was about to explode any second.

“Do you not like sugar, dear?” Delilah was channeling her inner Arya, going for a sweet voice, but amused eyes.

“Um- Do you?” Oh gods above give her strength.

“Sometimes?”

“Oh.”

Again, silence fell over them. It didn’t feel awkward to Delilah, though maybe someone else would beg to differ. She was just happy to be out of the house, with a new face. It was lovely! Maybe she should make more of an effort to engage in conversation, but she didn’t feel the need to. She took another sip of her unsweetened tea. The girl across from her made a face, but did the same.

“..Why did you decide to come?” Delilah looked over in surprise, startled by the direct question. It took her a moment to think about it, but there really only was one answer.

“I wanted to.”

“Oh.”

She cleared her throat and for Shelley’s sake put a spoonful of sugar in her tea, it was raw, and Delilah took a moment to stir it in, trying not to smile as she heard the girl do the same. She took the opportunity to inspect her face, aside from the mouse brown hair, she had deep brown eyes and a girlish face. She looked several years her junior, not the same age. She was really adorable, Delilah clinked her spoon against her cup thoughtfully. This had been a wonderful visit, but the girl was still a stranger, and Delilah could feel herself getting more drained.

Setting the cup on the table, she stood, gaining all of Ms. Colleridge’s attention.

“This has been lovely! But I think it’s time I left.” She gave her best smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“But- You only just arrived! Minutes ago-” Shelley said, rising as well, she looked even more nervous, almost on the verge of panic. As white as a sheet and trembling. Delilah frowned, why would she be scared? She’d had a lovely time. She’d go home and tell Arya and KIt about this and likely they’d know what was wrong with her. Likely she was just missing something. Perhaps it had just been a stressful week for the poor mouse.

“Yes, I’ve taken up more than enough of your time. I can not impose on you any more, like I said.” This had been going so well, why would it fall apart now? Delilah frowned again, her brows twitching just slightly together. Shelley seemed near to tears, but nodded fretfully, which Delilah took as her queue to go.

The poor girl followed her to the door, wringing her hands the whole way, and Delilah decided it wasn’t in good taste to comment on it. Maybe she’d recommend her a physician? Would that be going too far?

“Have I offended you in some way?” Delilah turned from the door, the same servant busy opening it for her.

“No?”

“Oh.”

Where would she get that idea? Delilah frowned for the third time, puzzled. Perhaps she should have spoken more, but Shelley was a complete stranger, what would they talk about? Maybe she would send her a letter, it was so much easier to talk that way, with no tricky complications like breathing or eye contact. They weren’t friends, if they were they could speak easily. That was how it worked.
Shelley continued following her all the way to her carriage, looking more nervous than ever before. Delilah smiled fondly, it was like being followed by a loyal puppy. It was becoming endearing. As the coachman stepped out, he looked startled that she was back so soon and even more surprised to see the young lady of the house trailing behind his mistress. He hurried to open the door.

Gathering up her skirts to get into the vehicle, Delilah could hear Shelley trying again to speak, and she turned to smile at the girl.

“Perhaps I’ll see you again, I’ll try to return your invitation as soon as possible. Understood?” She said it softly, trying not to frighten the girl anymore, like speaking to a spooked horse. Shelley nodded twice, opening her mouth to speak and then closing it.

With the coachmans help, Delilah found herself in the carriage again, and she retrieved her poetry book from the seat, happily opening it a crack, racking her brain for her lost page number. Moments before the door closed, she heard a squeak.

“Wait- Um. There’s- A party being held by a friend of mine! It’s nearby and- ..Many from the area are being invited?”

“Interesting.” ..It was somewhere in the forties, she was sure.. Forty-three? Or six? Shelley wilted a bit.

“You’re invited if you want to come.. It’s in a week's time.” Her voice kept trailing off, getting quieter and quieter, until it was nothing and the girl was left staring at the ground. Delilah mulled it over in her head, conscious of the poor coachman, unsure of whether to shut the door or open it, so he kept it at an awkward half angle.

“Why not.” The door closed, but Delilah caught a glimpse of a surprised face. She hoped that would make Shelley stop shaking. She really didn’t want to go, but if it was local-ish, then it shouldn’t be too unbearable, and she owed it to the nervous thing. Maybe she’d get an invitation in the mail.. That would be exciting! She opened her book again, flipping through to find her page. Forty-three after all.

My dearest reader,

I accept the apology easily, and with good cheer. I must admit with some partiality that if you were a broken record I would not have much cause for complaint, for I could listen with great pleasure on every repeat. No matter the length of your letters, I treasure every one of them. Even just a word from you would be a reassurance and I would take it more gladly than anything else in this life.

As for Tabor, I am appalled that there is no weather!! No feed and no hay? Neigh indeed! He has been most enlightening! To answer all my questions with one word. I think both of us could learn from his taciturnity, he got directly to the point. But verbosity is not a flaw in my opinion. It pads out our letters most admirably.

The song, while a surprise, and like I begged last time, please no more, did make me smile. Perhaps that was your goal? If not, I still thank you. The smile has been stuck on my face since, I take it down and look away for a moment and it returns to me. I’ll forget about it for a while and then catch a snippet of music in my head and it makes me think of you. But many things have been doing that lately. I’ll look at a wall and smile, thinking of our conversation, flowers prompt full scale musings, and even inconspicuous coins make me curiously contemplate our correspondence. You’ve managed to invade my thoughts and speech. I apologize if your ears have been burning or you have been sneezing an unusual amount. I take full responsibility.

You were correct about Kit, by the way. She had admirable restraint for the first two hours. She seemed fit to explode, she’d start speaking and then cover her mouth quickly, fidget for a minute or two and then let slip something else. It took Alya and I a grand total of ten minutes to wheedle her secret out of her. Quite a clever plan if I may say! I’ll try to keep her content with her distraction, but she seems capable of doing that herself.

If I may say, you seemed more down on yourself than ever in your last letter, my dear friend. While both of us are always scrambling over ourselves to apologize for every perceived flaw, by my count there were nearly 12 examples of you either apologizing or making less of yourself than you are rightfully due. That is, where I could read the words, I won’t start criticizing your handwriting, but this seemed to be a partial struggle for you? If you feel unwell, please take all the time you need to recover. I hate seeing you berate yourself repeatedly. I feel each blow as if they were directed at me, and you have no need for humility. Your achievements speak for themselves, as we have said at length by now.

And if confidence is hard to come by, ‘head up, shoulders back, smile’. And no one will know the difference. Intuition tells me both of us are unfortunately talented in this deceptive skill. So I’ll forbear any more on the subject.

I regret to learn that our friendship ends here. I was so enjoying our little chats, and where I will find the light in my life now that you- Oh? What's this? A joke? Impossible- Thank you for indulging me in my childish tastes! For your sake, I will be open to the idea of reading more sleuthing stories, but only at your suggestion. If a book has earned your regard, should I not give it half a chance?

And again! The berating and ridicule of yourself! I admit reading some parts of your letter I wished you to be in front of me, so I could shake you with some violence. Where do you get ideas like this? Or who gives you such thoughts? Though if you wish them no harm, perhaps don’t tell me. Still, your reassurances are heartening to me and I will endeavor to remain interesting. A true challenge when compared to what you must do, I’m sure. I’m told my patience is.. Lacking. As much as my self-control. You’re someone I can speak my mind to freely, and are already as dear to me as some of my closet conspirators. I doubt I could ever say with words just..the line trails off here, a couple of words are scratched out, re-done, then scratched out again. Thank you. I wish sometimes you could see my soul, so everything would be easily conveyed. And as much as I’d like to catch just a glimpse of yours, I think afterwards the world would look dull forevermore in comparison. Perhaps even then, it would be worth it.

But still- In lighter news! I was invited to some.. Party I believe? A gathering at the very least. I had tea with a Ms. Colleridge and she was a lovely host. Do you know them? Her father is a wild count, but her brother lives in town, I believe he’s traveling about with a few of his friends? Anyways! She invited me to.. Something, with some of the families in the area. In theory it should be charming, but I’ll keep your tips in the back of my mind. It’s not something I would have attended a few years prior, but I felt I owed it to my host. She’s an adorable girl. Ah, but all of this is empty gossip and not a drop of anything interesting to be found. I’ll aspire to do better.

Here, a question! Do you dance? Do you enjoy it? I admit the idea of you dancing brought me some amusement as I still haven’t the faintest idea what you look like. You’ll have to remain a strawman in my mind until further notice. I would bet my fortune that you have beautiful eyes. I haven’t danced in almost two years now, at least not formally. Sometimes my maids get infected with my own kind of whimsey and we can waltz in an empty room for as long as the spirit takes us. It is great fun, but when you are partnered with a complete stranger, it is odd. Something so intimate and yet so foreign. I don’t know how quite to put it, but it is a feeling not unwelcome, though not fully embraced.

Do you have any plans for the near future? I am burning with curiosity, any new adventures planned? Taking a rest at home? Books to read or people to see? Ah- Feel free to ignore any or all of these questions, they pry far too much. But.. I received your last drawing. The details absolutely took my breath away and I admit with some embarrassment now, that when I first saw it I was afraid to touch it. Like some holy relic of a time past. Still now, I both can’t bear to look at it, but can not allow it to leave my sight. It’s beautiful. I can’t even begin to repay you. For everything. I found a kindred soul and I would do just about anything to make you happy. Let me know if I may ever be of service. (Having re-read this letter before sending it off, scouring for misplaced commas or spelling errors, I think I must put the caveat. Within reason, I know you to be a gentleman, but I am more worried with the fact that I do this to limit you and not myself. If you had asked me to burn all of my hair off or- I know not what, I think.. I would have done it.)

All my love (and then some),

Delilah

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With a slightly shaking hand, Delilah put the pen down, scanning her lines several times. She wasn’t quite sure what had come over her, the words spilled out onto the paper with barely any conscious thought from herself. Some of the lines made her pause, her eyes widening. She couldn’t send this! What was she thinking? This was too forward- Why was it FORWARD? Delilah folded her hands in her lap, biting down on her lip hard, nearly breaking the skin in her concentration. She couldn’t send this-

With the envelope sealed, the wax dried, Delilah handed the letter to Alya with some apprehension. In her head she was trying to justify it, the letter wasn’t that different from the others she had sent. It just felt different. Probably only to herself. Besides, she was only matching Franklyns tone, he had put in countless compliments, couldn’t she? The letter was out of her hands now, what could she do? Just wait. And worry. And wonder.

My dearest writer,

Your most recent letter, I must admit, has lifted my spirits in a way very little else ever has. I say that now, so that I may open this letter with a deeply heartfelt thanks. To know that I have in any way been a help or an encouragement to you… Purpose brings joy.

And now, to the proper writing of the letter.
The Merry Band of Critters send their hellos, in neighings, barkings, and screechings. Tales of your adventures have tickled their ears and made their time in the stable, the kennel and the cage, less dull.

To hear that my song scribing has made you smile, Lady Carmine, makes it worthwhile. In fact, my invasion of your thoughts, though accidental, is neither unwelcome, nor unrequited. You have taken up a permanent residence of your own inside my head. Rent-free, I might add. You are a squatter, and one I am loathe to evict. It is my hope that you will enjoy your stay as much as I do.
Ah, Kit. Jameson has had a particular spring in his step, and I wondered if it was fruit of all of my best-laid-plans. To hear that she seems to taken with him makes me smile. He is quite the man, and a lady could do worse than indulging in his company.

You seem to have caught me, milady. When I last wrote you, I was indeed down on myself more than usual. When the clouds will not go away, they permeate every part of me, and I can no more buck their influence than Tabor can buck me while bridled and saddled. They even affect my ability to move, to write, and that is my explanation for my handwriting. It is normally abysmal, but you seem willing to put yourself through the exercise of decoding it, for which I am incredibly grateful. The scrawl worsens when I am down, and I count myself lucky that you could even decipher the last letter.
I will say that I have rested as much as I am to be allowed to rest, and am feeling much better. I must also admit, though I fear the paper will burst into flame from the heat of my blush, that your recent letter and the particular tone of it had no small part in helping me feel better. The clouds dissipate when there is such sunshine about. Thank you for that.

I must protest at your shock over my joke. I think myself very funny, and am appalled to learn that you don't agree. This shall have to change.
How do you find a princess? Follow the footprince!
When is a princess strong enough to move a castle? Only when she's playing chess, of course.
See? Hilarity.

And taking the tone once again back to more serious things… Delilah, I too wish at times that we could stand face to face. Less so you could violently shake me, and more so that you could see the sincerity with which I give you your reassurances. To protect the mostly-innocent, I'll not say names, but know that your hypothetical defense of me does as much good as if you had actually landed the blows.
As for expressing exactly what you mean… I find myself in the same situation. You have become more dear to me than I perhaps should have allowed, but… the damage is done, and I have no desire to undo it. Have no fear that your communication is inadequate, for if I have caught your meaning correctly, even a fraction of what you're endeavoring to say would be more than enough to sustain me.

An invitation! How exciting! I do hope this is more fun than you're expecting. I do, in fact, know the Coleridges, and they are kind people, if a bit timid. The entire family seems on edge at all times, as if in constant fear of some hidden failure. Their youngest duaghter seems a nice girl, and would benefit from your friendship. You must wait till after the party to write me again, so that you can tell me how it went.
Here, an answer! Or two, actually, as you have tacitly asked a second question. Do I dance, and what do I look like? Well, to the first, yes, I dance, but not particularly gracefully. I have learned to dance in those situations where it would be expected of me. I enjoy it to a certain degree, and feel fairly certain that with a partner I was comfortable with, it would be an enjoyable activity.
And to the second. I hate to tear down your strawman, but… well, I have needed to do a self-portrait again for a while now. The last one I did, I was much younger. I hope it will either make you smile, or make you laugh, at the very least. Some details, which cannot be conveyed in black and white: my eyes are hazel, and my hair, a mahogany brown. I am of average height and weight, and am entirely uninteresting to look at. Perhaps the strawman would be better for your imaginations, but. Here I am.

Now, to answer your other queries, and make some of my own. My plans for the near future include time out in the forests, hunting larger game. Ruir will get his exercise, as will Alak. Both help me zero in on the prey during the tracking, and while killing is not a delight, the tracking process and the exhilaration of the hunt is enjoyable.
I am currently reading a new book. It is entitled 'Salvage', and it details the adventures of a man who is most superhuman. In a dpearture from my usual mystery book, it is definitively an action book, with fight scenes and chase scenes and danger around every corner. There is romance as well, mixed in amongst the other dangers.
For my own query: What would you next like a drawing of? I am most gratified to learn of the impact of my most recent offering. I enjoy drawing, and am often more able to convey my thoughts through that medium than through words.
And as for thanking me for correspondance companionship… Milady, I must protest that it is you who have been the greatest benefit to me. As for being of service, all I would ask is that you continue in your indulgence of me. You say 'within reason', fearing your own lack of willpower or my unseemly requests, but I must assure you, Lady Carmine, that the joy of your friendship is more than I could ever dare to ask for. I should never ask for such an act as the burning of your hair, which I can only assume is lovely. Indeed, speaking of not knowing what each other look like, I must assume that your external beauty matches the internal loveliness which you have exhibited to me. Indeed, if you are only half as pretty on the outside as you are on the inside, then you must most certianly be a gorgeous lady. All that to say, you have nothing to fear from my requests, except the ongoing consumption of your time in letter writing.
I must say that your ending has left me a bit flustered. Let me be clear: I am not offended, I am not bothered. I am, however, having trouble controlling my blush every time I think that someone such as you should close a letter to me with the phrase 'All my love'. That simple assurance, on its own, has done more to buoy my soul, than many things others have tried as cures.
Know that whatever affections you may have for me are returned.

From my heart to yours,

Franklyn.

This letter had been written carefully and neatly. The sections where his feelings were more apparent, however, were more sloppy, as if his hand had been trembling. The letter had its usual resin, and the envelope had a heart drawn on it instead of a rose. Enclosed was another drawing, this one of a smiling face. The hair was done in a stylish quiff, thick and slightly curly. The nose was small and slightly upturned. The lips were full, and curved into a smile that was simultaneously playful and genuine. The wide round eyes seemed almost too large for the face. They seemed to be looking directly into the soul of whoever looked into them, and carried a gentleness and intelligence that should have been hard to communicate in a drawing. The face was free of blemishes or skin issues, and was portrayed with a fair complexion. This one was signed, simply ~Me.

Franklyn had come out of the deepest, darkest part of his funk in order to write the last letter, but his days were still somewhat dreary. However, the little cloud of depression that had been floating over Franklyn's head and threatening to cause another episode had disappeared entirely with the most recent letter from Delilah. Jameson had delivered it as normal, and everything had been the same as usual, until he began reading.
And suddenly, nothing was the same at all. At All.
She was expressing thoughts and feelings that Franklyn had been trying to force himself not to feel, but… the young lady exuded such sunshine into his life, he'd found himself more and more basking in the warmth of her expressions.
His heart began to speed, just a bit. Then his lungs were coming up short of air. Then his face was too warm as the blood rushed to it. And finally, by the end, his hands were shaking as he read the letter.

All my love, (and then some)…

He caught himself staring at the closing, and running his fingers over the dried ink, almost reverently. His cheeks began to hurt, and he realized that a huge smile had split his face.
The cloud was gone, his heart was light, and he couldn't shake the smile.
He didn't know how to respond right away, so he went back to work. He'd been working steadily, but suddenly, his numbers clicked into place and his bookkeeping went by more quickly than usual.
As he worked, some small part of his brain was analyzing how he felt, and he realized he was feeling two things.
The first? Joy. He was happy. Someone had made him feel loved in a way that was new for him, and he felt like his heart might beat out of his chest if he thought about it too much. He had been harboring strong feelings for Delilah for a few weeks, but had shoved them down, way out of sight, knowing full well it would never, could never, go anywhere. He had refused to think about what he might be feeling, what she might be inspiring in him, but here it was, out in the open, and only because she had brought it up. She had mentioned it, because she too felt what he was feeling. His mind was drawn to a song everytime he let it wander.

I saved every letter you wrote me
From the moment I read them
I knew you were mine…

You and your words flooded my senses
Your sentences left me defenseless
You built me palaces out of paragraphs
You built cathedrals…

And indeed, she'd taken up residence in his heart. She'd claimed real estate in his mind, and he couldn't build enough walls to keep her out, even if he wanted to.

There was, however, a shadow over this bright, shining spot in his soul. The second emotion he was feeling, was fear. Fear and guilt, because he had lied to her. From the beginning, he had lied to Delilah about who he was and what his life was like. And the fear of her finding the truth and realizing she loathed him…
Well. it was more than he could bear now. Which meant he had to keep up the deception. He had to keep the facade in place, to keep her sweet affections.
But some part of him desperately wanted to be real with her. Wanted to be honest, and see, test, if her sentiments would hold.
And so, after a day, when he sat down to write back, he was honest. He shared his heart, as much as he dared, and reassured her that her daring in sharing her feelings was not wasted.
He had a moment of decision when he chose to send her his face. Should he draw his own face, or send someone better looking? He started to draw someone else's face, a more striking, handsome, rugged face, than his soft and frail visage. But halfway through, the thought struck him that Delilah may look at this face with affection, and, well… he couldn't send someone else's face to receive that.

So he sent his own. His own real face.

He couldn't keep his hands from shaking during certain parts of the letter, but every bit of it was heartfelt. He sent it off, and Jameson cut him a look when Franklyn had flashed a huge smile at him. He didn't explain, but scurried back up the walk to the house and up the stairs to his room. He stayed there all night, smiling to himself and re-reading the letter from Delilah.

All my love…

The next morning, his mother knocked on the door. "Franklyn?"
He nearly bounced out of bed as he went to answer. "Good morning, Mother."
She smiled at him, just a bit. "Glad to see you're feeling well today. I hope it stays that way."
Franklyn smiled widely at her. "I'm in a good spot just now." He squeezed her hand as she reached forward to hand him something.
"Good! Well, then I'm sure you'll be glad to receive this. It's an invitation to a party tomorrow. It's at the Coleridges' place."

Oh no…

Franklyn did his best to keep his face from faltering, but his mother must have caught the flinch. "Now, I know they have their funny little ways, but your father does a lot of business with Lord Coleridge, so you're going. No arguments." She smiled and returned the squeeze to his hand. "I'm so glad you're feeling up to it."
"O-of course, mother." he managed to say, and smiled at her again. "Well, now that I'm up, I'd better get to work."
She nodded and turned to head back downstairs. As soon as she was gone, Franklyn closed the door and sank into his chair.

This is a disaster…

He picked up the letter and re-read it, and this time, when he got to that closing, that delightful, sweet, lovely closing…

All he could feel was dread.

Ever since the moment the letter had left her hands, to Alya's, Delilah had been acting strangely. The smile that had been so ever present on her face had vanished amidst the sea of anxiety that now engulfed her. What had she been thinking?? A letter like that to a man she hadn't even met! She didn't even know what he looked like for gods sake? This was the first letter she'd written without any oversight from her two maids, and this is what she did. Before, every snippet of music and every glance at a coin had made that infectious little smile worm onto her face, as she played with her heart shaped charm, with its precious drawing inside. Now, the same thing still happened, the smile would sneak it's way there, and then almost in horror, her hands would rise to her lips and it would vanish just as quickly as it came, replaced by anxiety, swirling dark inside her light eyes.

It clawed at her, inescapable and bubbling, fear, and guilt and worry and a secret little spark of guilty joy, the thrill of the unknown, the.. Consequence free feeling of it all. It was forbidden and dangerous and wrong, but she was doing it anyways. Why? That question nagged at her, pulling more deeply at her thoughts than anything else. Why had she done it? Why had she sent it? Why had she thought of it at all?

But all these worries were pale shades compared to the one that loomed over her head. What would Franklyn think of it? She didn't think the letter was anything too inappropriate, some declarations of friendship some flattering compliments that she genuinely meant, a few more compliments. To be honest the line she was most worried about was her forwardness of saying that she would do anything for him, that could be interpreted so many ways and-

Delilah stopped short.

Oh god.

Her last line-

It echoed gently in her head "All my love (and then some)," she could almost remember penning it, an absent little flourish in line with her previous send offs. Oh god. She'd used it a hundred times sending letters to Kit's family, a handful with a friend of hers overseas, and even occasionally to a few noblewomen she wrote to infrequently, but never to Franklyn.

OH god. That wasn't what she meant-

In her haste to give her letter to Alya, to get the thing sent before she lost her nerve, Delilah hadn't thought anything of it, it was a cute thing to say to friends, why bother explaining it? Even in her mind, she hesitated when she said friend, her heart skipping a beat. She'd stopped pacing around the room, going as white as a sheet, her hands were trembling and she couldn't stop them. She swore in that moment she'd stopped breathing, and a heavy weight began to bear down on her shoulders, she stared hard at the wall, trying not to think of anything anymore. Before the reasonable little voice began to pipe up in the back of her mind.

He could think of it the same way you do! Franklyn's been nothing but level-headed and reasonable before. Why should now be any different? He'll probably make some joke about it in his next letter and you'll just be a fool for worrying over it. The little voice was persuasive, but nothing could quell the tempest of anxiety in her gut.

A chatter at the door alerted her of Kit and Alya's presence, long before the mild knock came. It was lunchtime She wanted to puke.

It was a herculean effort to move herself into a chair, her knee bouncing restlessly as her two maids entered, Kit carrying a tray with some kind of food on it. The smell was revolting. Delilah physically recoiled, her stomach lurching in protest. Alya noticed it first, her pretty face marred by a deep frown and she seemed to go through a mental checklist of what could be wrong, and came up blank. Kit noticed slower than her counterpart, placing the food down on a table, smiling slightly.

"Lunch, my Lady? It's.. Er- Some kinds of fruit and a piece of bread. I know you haven't been-" Kit cut off abruptly, noticing Delilah's pallor and trembling hands. She quickly shoved them under her legs, one of them that just would not stop bouncing. She forced a smile, trying to smooth over her anxiety, as least in show.

"I-I'm." A quaver in her voice, she wanted to strangle herself. She cleared her throat and started again, color returning to her face, she was being ridiculous. All this fear for her what if's and what then's. She was scaring her maids, she needed to be stronger than she was. What would happen, would happen. She couldn't change it now. It would all be fine. Her mind screamed at her.

"I'm alright, I just had a dizzy spell. And I've been just a smidgen under the weather recently, no need to worry." She spoke soothingly, putting on her best show, shoving all her fear into a little corner of her mind, clamping it down into a little box. She could deal with it later. It worked. Delilah's health was a peculiar beast, so it didn't take much convincing her maids that that was all it was. Still, she spotted Alya's dark eyes look at her with worry, and Kit wrung her hands at least twice.

She refused the food, though it's smell had returned to normal, just fruit and bread, her stomach had twisted itself into too many knots to accept anything. Kit picked at it instead, curiously inspecting each piece before eating it, refusing anything with a slight bruise on it. A smile was managed, and soon everything was okay again, it didn't matter. The girls chatted back and forth for a bit, preparing for the Coleridge's little party, what she should wear, how her hair would be done up jewelry, things of no importance, but deeply comforting. She'd almost managed to forget her anxiety, when both Kit and Alya shared a look. Kit started, clearing her throat with barely concealed excitement.

"Oh, did I tell you? Jim wrote me another letter! He's such a sweetheart-" Delilah went blank for a moment, her thoughts plunged back down into the deep well of anxiety, she must have made some kind of noise of protest, because Kit trailed off from describing her letter, blinking owlishly. Then she grinned.

"Oh, I'm sorry! What am I doing going on about my letter, when yours arrived today! Alya, quick, quick, give it to her!" Kit spoke with a flutter of cloth and had gestures, grinning massively and waving at Alya to hurry. The other maid smiled indulgently, unearthing a letter from a pocket in her dress, handing it to Delilah with an apologetic expression.

"I was going to hold off until you asked, but since Kit is so insistent.. Here you are my Lady." Delilah stared at the letter, before snatching it with one hand, biting down so hard on her lip that the skin split open, filling her mouth with a metallic taste. Her eyes skimmed over the paper, as if trying to see the letter through it, before her eyes landed on the seal. The beautiful, customary rose was gone, replaced with a heart. Her own sank deep into her chest, and began beating so fast and so loudly she felt like she was dying. She couldn't hear anything.
Finally, she broke. All of her pent up anxiety from the days waiting gushed out into hysterical laughter, a high, unpleasant, stream of laughter. Her maids stared at her with concern, but she couldn't stop, it had to come out. Her laugh was one of desperation, and when it died out, Delilah took the letter and fled from the room. Barricading herself in an office was the only safe thing to do. To get away, away, away. Though the thing she was running from was so firmly clutched in her hand that it wrinkled. Her heartbeat hadn't slowed down at all, she was dying, she had to be.

In her panic, Delilah had fled into an ill-used room of the house. Very patchy light, a low ceiling, but a writing desk covered in dust, leaned against a wall. A couch, some other furniture covered in fabric to protect against dust, dull papered walls. She tried locking the door, but it needed a key. Breathing in a gasp, still hysterical and shaking, she took the couch and pushed, straining her arms. She pushed the couch against the door, which lodged itself underneath the handle, no one would be getting in.

Finally, blessedly, alone, with just her, her thoughts, and the letter. The last time she'd savored that feelings, now she was terrified. Why wasn't her heartbeat slowing down? So many emotions swirled in her stomach she couldn't tell them apart, it all felt like anxiety to her. Sitting, trembling at the desk, she stared hard at the letter, then opened it.

At first, Delilah stared uncomprehendingly at the letter, the words swam in front of her eyes, making a confused jumbled mess of everything. She didn't know what to do with the words or how to piece them together into sentences. She took a deep breath, pressing the paper flat on the table. The start. She had to begin at the start. It was a comforting and familiar action, it grounded her there, losing herself in the words in a way no novel or story could capture her, the letters had a peculiar effect like that. She read the first line once, twice, not yet understanding but soaking in the familiar handwriting, the smudgy way Franklyn wrote his letters. Delilah would have recognized it anywhere, even if she couldn't read the words.

It brought a smile to her face, and she tried not to wipe it away, her eyes scanning the first few paragraphs with a small puff of relief. It was just Franklyn, her steady, usual Franklyn. With his honeyed words and amusing anecdotes, she'd been a fool for nothing at all. Everything was alright, nothing was shifted. Still, her heartbeat was unusually fast wasn't it?

Reading with renewed vigor, Delilah's smile came back in full force, a buoying feeling of gratitude came over her, nearly as delirious as the hysterics had been. She leaned back in her chair, eyes raised heavenward, ignoring the little pricking feeling in her heart like the pinch of fabric on a corner of skin. Letting out a hazy laugh, she couldn't help but reflect on the last line she'd read. Kit and Jameson? She had noticed Kit being bubblier than usual, a sort of contented look in her eyes, a spring in her step. How had she described it? It just seems like the air is brighter now?

Her courage safely recovered, Delilah determined to read more of the letter, it was quite lengthy today, and she was curious what her dear friend had to tell her. She read on, a small frown worming its way onto her face as she did so, he was less down on himself this time, but his melancholy bothered her it-

She giggled at the jokes nervously, reading them several times. Delilah wanted to stay there, she didn't want to move on to serious matters. She wanted to stay curled up in that nice safe space where everything was good not serious. That was scary, those were real feelings, this was a real man on the other end of the paper. Her eyes skipped over the lines, but she couldn't help but see snippets and a feeling not unlike being dumped in ice water flooded her.

She read on, who gave a hell about the Coleridge's?? Wait- No, the daughter was adorable. Scratch that. She latched onto the sentence. You must wait till after the party to write me again, so that you can tell me how it went. Time. She had breathing space. A gasp of air. Two days until she had to think of what to say. The whole letter was giving her physical reactions, now she couldn't breath, now her heart was racing, now she was happy, now she was anxious, but she couldn't stop. Delilah took in the description of himself with a particular interest, the words lodging themselves in her head, trying to piece together what he looked like.

The rest was of no particular interest to her, a smile for the animals, a raised eyebrow for the book, even a touched feeling that he was willing to draw for her. The last hooked her, and for a breath, flashing moment she had an image of an animal with a heart balanced gently between its teeth. She felt her face slowly heat up and she placed a cool hand against her cheek, having to physically stand up and walk away from the desk, fanning her face. It didn't last long, she was back at the desk, then walking away again, repeating, forcing herself to read sentence by sentence this way. She felt like she must be bright red at this point and even her hands were doing little to quench it. She buried her face in her hands, making a squeaking noise at From my heart to yours, peaking at the words from gaps in her fingers. Closing her eyes the words followed her and Delilah felt like she might faint, the air was so thin and hot in here-

Her emotions were in such a turmoil that the girl didn't know what she was feeling anymore. Light-headed? Definitely. Anxious? Absolutely. Happy? Maybe? But more than anything, she felt wave after wave of guilt.

This was her fault, she'd been careless, completely and utterly thoughtless. And look at the results! She'd led one of her dearest friends on, had fed him false- False hope. That didn't stop her from re-reading the lines over and over and over and over again. Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no- It wasn't supposed to go like this! Delilah wanted to cry, to rage, to throw something, to sob, to scream, to jump up and down and squeal, to rush and share with Kit and Alya- Oh no-

Suddenly brought to her senses, she glanced from the letter to the door. She couldn't let them see this. Not now, and not ever. They'd be so ashamed of her, so disappointed, so thoroughly disgusted by what she'd done they'd never look at her the same way again. She'd misled an innocent man, made him believe she was something special, something other than a hollow pathetic shell of a person. The shell was fine to love, people loved the face and the smiles and the nods. But no one liked the hollow, they couldn't, they shouldn't. It was wrong and she was wrong for making him do it, she was disgusting. A horrible, horrible person and she'd misled all of them, but she was too selfish to do anything about it. To make them leave. She couldn't-

Her breathing had grown shallow and rapid again, she grabbed the envelope, fumbling with it and it fell to the ground. Delilah scrambled on her hands and knees to find it, grasping it like a drowning man grabs at a plank of wood. And gently fluttering out of the envelope was another piece of paper. She wanted to sob, but grabbed it anyways, turning it around to come eye to eye with a face. Pulling her hand back as if burned, Delilah let out a little shriek of terror, too far down her rabbit hole of fear and emotions to be rational. The picture fell back to the floor, face-up, and she stared at it, inspecting the lines of the face, the upturned nose, and the eyes- She couldn't look at them long, her guilt redoubled, making her stomach curl into knots until she was clutching her stomach desperately.
The eyes were kind. They looked at her and were kind, it didn't know what it was looking at.
She couldn't- She couldn't- Couldn't- Couldn't do this. So she didn't. She turned her brain off, and didn't think.

Carefully and with precision Delilah picked up the picture and letter, stuffing it in a pocket, moved the couch, and went back to her room. Told Kit and Alya she was tired, and went to sleep at lunchtime.

Franklyn spent the day oscillating and wavering and making resolutions and discarding them. His mother's insistence he attend the party meant that he and Delilah would be in the same place, which meant danger.
He sat back down and read her letter with a sense of impending doom, spurred by all the lies he'd told. If she truly cared for him, and if she was as sweet as her letters had lead him to believe, then… this would be a crushing betrayal of her trust.

He resolved not to go. He couldn't do this to her.

But then, as he sat there, trying to think how to explain his way out of it, he remembered that his mother had said his father was part of why he had to go, which meant he wouldn't be able to get out of it. On top of that… some part of him was still basking in the sunshine. And he rater wanted to indulge that little part of him. Go meet her and pay his compliments in person, see if she was willing to return that, see if they could carry conversation in person as well as they did on paper…

He resolved to go. He could do this.

But then the realization of his position would come crashing back down. She thought he was nobility. She thought he was heir to a major title and lands. She thought he was a man of means, with animals already and adventures under his belt. There would be no sunshine to bask in if she found out he was a spineless, sickly, book-balancing dreamer. What redeeming qualities had she ever praised that were actually his?

He was suddenly too sick in his heart and his stomach to go anywhere.

But… there was still the rigid insistence of his parents that he go. And if he refused, or got sick… he might be forced to go anyway, to save his father's business interests. In which case, he would be under duress and scrutiny, and his parents would almost definitely find out about the letters, and boy, what a mess that would be. He had no choice.

He resolved to go. Again.

And this waffling continued. He tried to do book work, but he couldn't focus on anything very long before his heart was hammering in his chest, reminding him loudly of his predicament.
It was exhausting, and he went to bed early, under the guise of wanting to get a good night's sleep to be rested for tomorrow. In reality, he was hoping sleep would swallow him whole.

He tossed and turned most of the night.

……………………………………………..

When the sun rose, he got up, feeling groggy and ill-rested. He sat and watched the sunrise, trying to inspire feelings of enjoyment, but all that came was a deep terror.
The party was a lunch affair. So Franklyn bathed and got ready fairly early. He should eat something beforehand, but his stomach was definitely too tied in knots.
Some part of him wanted to go and just hide at the party, looking like a ragamuffin, and not stand out, keep his head down, but… There was still some small voice, deep down in his chest, that kept repeating All my love (and then some)…

So he put in the work. Made sure his hair was styled perfectly, coifed and slicked but not oily-looking. 'Soft and touchable' was the phrase Jameson used when they joked about such things. Polished his shoes, made sure his red tunic was entirely free of wrinkles, picked the blue trousers that fit him in a careful way and made his legs not look like the frail sticks they were. Made sure his nails were clean, no ink stains, no burn marks. Polished his belt and the buckle, and he was ready. His stomach growled accusatorily as he looked himself over in the mirror, but there was no chance he was putting food in it now. From the neck down, he looked relaxed and put together.
His face was pale, and if he had to say, he'd have called the look in his eyes 'haunted.'
A knock at his door startled him, and he glanced over at the clock to realize it was time to get going. He opened the door, and his mother gave him a bright smile.
"Oh, you look so nice." She stepped into the room, and frowned slightly at his expression. "Franklyn, you're white as a sheet. Feeling sick?" she asked sympathetically. The question wasn't wrong, so he just nodded slowly.
"Not really feeling up to a party, but… when do I ever…"
His mother gave him a sad expression, before patting his shoulder. "It's only a few hours, you can do it. Now let's go." She turned and headed downstairs. Franklyn took a deep breath and followed her.

Outside, a a small hansom was waiting. Franklyn stepped up into the cab and glanced back at his mother.
"Now, remember that your father does a lot of business with these people, which means you likely do too. Try not to-… well. Just behave yourself."
"I will, mother." he said quietly. She flashed him a smile that seemed to reflect his own nerves, before stepping back and glancing at the driver.
There was a loud snap of reins, and they were off.

……………………………………………

The Colleridges' place wasn't more than 10 minutes ride from the Berg's, so Franklyn didn't have to wait long. When they pulled up to the front stairway, he noted that there were only 2 other hansoms sitting off in a field designated for exactly that purpose. He recognized one of them, but the other was unfamiliar to him.
He stepped down and walked up the steps, before ringing the bell. His hansom driver took off, and for a moment, Franklyn was alone. He took a deep breath, trying to steel his nerves.
Just smile.

A servant opened the door, and the game was on.

He was ushered in, through the antechamber, and into the drawing room. A couple of the big windows were actually doors, currently open out onto the large terrace, with steps down into the backyard. There were padded chairs on the terrace, shaded from the sun by rafters overgrown with ivy overhead. The drawing room furniture had been rearranged so that it all rather faced the open doors, creating one large space.
Franklyn looked around, worried, and was grateful that he recognized every face but one.
Shelley Colleridge was over in the corner with young Samuel Vonnifer. He was a just slightly older than Franklyn, and had been nothing but a merchant's son, until his sister had married the Duke of Conningsgrove. His family had gained status, but Samuel hadn't let it go to his head. He was a nife guy.
In the center of the room, snacking daintily, Samuel's younger sister Eliana was standing with another young lady, whim Franklyn didn't recognize. He had a surge of worry, but after watching her behavior for a moment, something settled in his chest.

It wasn't Delilah.

It couldn't be. This girl was giggly and vapid and dressed… appropriately, but just barely. The girl in his letters didn't fit this girl, and besides, she was too young. Eliana was barely 16, and this girl looked to be a younger friend. He sighed, both in relief and in disappointment.
I guess I wait.
Shelley and Samuel noticed him shortly thereafter, motioned him over to join their conversation. He didn't mean to, but he set his back to the door, and despite all his misgivings, he played the game very well. Besides, Samuel was entertaining to listen to, the way he joked and told stories and poked fun at all the nobles he was surrounded by in his new life.
He found himself flinching everytime the bell rang and another party guest entered, but if he turned to look every time, his paranoia would show.
So he forced himself to wait. To stand and smile, and laugh at the appropriate time, and crack jokes right back, and tell the odd story, and just…
Wait.

Delilah woke up eventually from her midday nap, much to her dismay. Her maids seemed to almost sense her distress, letting their mistress sleep until she woke up naturally. So it was that Delilah was awake at the first peek of light from the window, the rosy fingers of dawn just grasping the edge of the horizon. She'd slept most of the day, which was both a relief and a terror, there was no way she could have faced the questioning of her friends. The young lady sat up in bed, the cloth rustling under her hands as she moved, turning her head to look outside. She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them, her whole body felt heavy and dull and she just wanted to sit for a while…

But.. There was no time to fall into a week-long stupor, she had responsibilities and promises to fulfill. So with stiff movements, she swung her legs out of bed, letting them dangle there limply for a while. Bracing herself, she pushed with her arms, just barely forcing herself to her feet, which were unsteady and wobbly from all her running yesterday. A few wobbles later and she was tying the sash of a nightgown around herself and the sun had risen a few more inches, creeping upwards in the sky.

With the morning come, Delilah felt.. Dull, but calmer. Mostly exhausted from the gauntlet of emotions she'd run herself through, feeling the same sense of hollowness that came after crying for extended periods of time. The release of pent up emotions was good, it blanketed anything she felt in a thick fog of carefully cultivated apathy. Perhaps it was just the morning fog of sleeping at the wrong time and waking up at the wrong hours. Delilah stood by the window, watching the sun rise further up the sky. Losing herself to her thoughts before anyone else woke up, before she had to do anything or be anyone.

Her sense of calm gave her a resignation and clarity that she didn't have yesterday, stealing her resolve. A clean reset would be necessary, she supposed, to prevent any further damage. No more letters, maybe a brief note of apology to Franklyn, maybe even an explanation. He deserved that much. The thought made her stomach twist. How could she do that? To him especially? Maybe an excuse could be better? Maybe.. Maybe she was getting married and couldn't send letters to him anymore? No- That was far too drastic, even in pretend, and so easily deniable through rumor. A sudden illness? Plausible, but she'd already told him she rarely got ill, and it wouldn't mean she wouldn't eventually recover and speak again.

Delilah sighed softly, raising her hands to her face, staring at them. What a predicament, though the grave was dug by her own hands. Still, she had today, there was the Colleridge's party to attend to. She wasn't sure she had the energy for it, but she had to go. She'd made a promise. Besides, it would be a breath of fresh air from all the emotions of the past few days. A day for pomp and politics, it almost made her smile. She could push everything from her mind until then. Pack it all up and think of it later.

So she watched the sunrise, watched as the vibrant reds and oranges faded into blue. When the door opened, it was time for the day to begin. She shivered at an unfelt chill, clutching the nightgown closer to her body. The usual routine was followed, her hair washed and dried, styled into ringlets and then brushed out to give it gentle waves. Delilah barely registered the hands that laid out her clothes, or the person who gently applied touches of makeup to her face, hiding the deep bags, emphasizing her almond shaped eyes, hints of blush. This was routine after all, dressed and brushed and placed just so, the perfect doll.

Delilah wasn’t even allowed to dress herself, not that she could if she wanted to, with all the complexities of the dresses and outfits, it was impossible to do by oneself. Her dress was simple by her fathers standards, but was fitting enough to go to some country luncheon gathering. A deep, dark blue thing with sleeves that fell off the shoulder, leaving them bare and preventing her from raising her arms above her head. Pulled taught at the waist by clever seams that had become the latest fashion, giving the illusion of a thin waist with less of a need for a corset. Support was still needed on the inside, the whalebone still pressing into the lower chest and stomach. But it was an interesting improvement.

The dress flared out from there in several pleats, down to almost the floor. The waist, sleeves and trim all were in this near see-through pale lace, and it wasn’t ridiculously puffy, which was also nice. All things considered, it was a lovely dress, and the accompanying gloves and jewelry were kept simple. Small silver earrings and short, dark blue gloves, with matching lace on the wrists. The now wavy gold hair was done even more simply, two dutch braids tied back, letting the rest of the hair fall naturally. A hat to take off inside was also customary. The final touch was a black shawl that came barely to the shoulder blades,and clasped together with a silver brooch, it too would be taken off inside, but it would be uncouth to come without one.

Delilah paused at the mirror, running her hands down the length of the dress, the feeling of the material muffled by her gloves. It was a satisfactory effect, she concluded after a long moment, nodding her thanks to the woman who had helped her get dressed, as well as dismissing her. Smoothing the dress again, Delilah felt her spirits lift. It was nice to get out of the house, to see friends and acquaintances, to be able to dress up in nice clothes, and in a ride pulled by horses. Again, she was struck by her luck, and the ever present prick of guilt followed for her gripes and moans about her life.

She couldn’t tell if her coachman was the same as last time when he offered his hand to her, but she gratefully took the help all the same. No book accompanied her this time, but a person, a solemn looking dark haired woman of later age. Her chaperone and her fathers eyes. The older woman was stately and dressed in muted colors, not saying a word to her charge the entire trip. Nothing needed to be said, they both knew why she was here. It encouraged Delilah to straighten her spine, raising her chin just a bit, though it felt rather like baring her slender neck to a lion, instead of a gesture of defiance.

……………………………

Parking wasn’t much of an issue, like Shelley had said it was a local gathering, so many let their drivers return home with the horses, to pick them up at a designated time. The Duke of Eastershire’s estates were a further drive than most had to make, so her timing was a bit.. Imprecise. Still, an hour’s ride was an agreeable length, especially since the roads had just been repaved with new cobblestone for most of the trip, the main road was receiving more traffic in the area, so more tax funds could be allocated to infrastructure. Or- So Delilah had read anyways.

Needing once again assistance with exiting the vehicle, at least without breaking her neck, Delilah alighted on the grass, grasping her dress tightly to lift up the hem and protect it from grass stains or the lace catching on something. It was expensive stuff, Chantilly lace, imported most likely, or an impressive forgery bought for the same exorbitant price. Her mind kept catching itself on details like that, little facts or figures read from ledgers or textbooks, Delilah idly mused that it must be a new distraction her mind had thought up for itself, to avoid thinking of anything else. How quaint. Standing out in the field, only a stone's throw from the house, the young lady could faintly hear the chatter of the people milling outside. It was a brief, but important reminder that the game was on. She needed to look the part.

Servants came quickly to her assistance at the door, giving her directions and a guide to the gathering. Taking the brief pause to unclasp her shawl, handing it to a doorman, she straightened her shoulders, taking care that her lips seemed to smile even when closed, keeping her spine straight. Years of etiquette had taught her that it came as easily as breathing to the daughter of a Duke.
Swiftly being ushered through the antechamber, Delilah’s first thought of the drawing room wasn’t of the people, but the smell of fresh air permeating through the room, sunlight streaming in through the opened window doors. She blinked at the pleasant surprise, seeing people wandering through the gardens, tables set up outdoors and indoors, it was a delightfully set up room. It was also very apparent that she wasn’t the first to arrive, not by a country mile. One might say she was late, if it wasn’t for the distance traveled.

Delilah smiled back at those smiling at her arrival, even managing a small wave to a one in the distance, but all the faces were unfamiliar. This wasn’t the type of gathering she’d normally attend, even when she’d had more freedoms and no chaperone trailing silently behind her. Delilah started scanning the room for Shelley and saw her in a small group of other young folks. Several with their backs turned to the door, all well dressed, but there were two faces she recognized. Shelley Colleridge and Samuel Vonnifer, who she vaguely knew from familial connections, but had never met in person. He seemed maybe the only person close to her in rank, which was amusing.

Her smile widened, becoming more genuine as Shelley perked up, noticing her new arrival, the mousy girl looked excited and a tad surprised. Internally, Delilah grimaced, she hated being late, as if that were the reason for the young Colleridge’s shock. Still, Shelley was waving her over, so she decided to oblige.

She had nothing to wait for after all.

Franklyn had arrived earlier than he'd realized, and the party didn't get well and under way for another half hour. The arrivals came in so quickly, the bell seemed like it was on some kind of constant timer, chiming regularly to announce some new person entering the room. Despite his facade of calm and fun, it set Franklyn's nerves on edge.
However, every new appearance was one more person who wasn't Delilah. Most of this group, he knew, and the few he didn't were announced or introduced.
A further 15 minutes passed, without the bell ringing, and something happened in his chest. Part of him began to believe she wasn't going to show up, and he didn't know how to feel about that.
Sad? Relieved? Tricked? Free?

…..Or perhaps all of the above…

He began to relax, sagging into a sort of acceptance that today would not be the day he died from the look on her face, nor was it the day he learned what her face looked like. He joined the conversation a bit more earnestly, laughing like a man with a weight off his shoulders.
Then the bell rang, one more time, and Franklyn felt the worry creeping up his back. He still had his back to the door, so he wasn't sure who it was.
It could be anybody. There are a lot of guests here, and nothing says it has to be Delilah, anybody could be turning up fashionably late, it's acceptable and totally norm-

"Lady Carmine!"

Shelley's excited exclamation of happiness and surprise sent a rock sinking to the bottom of Franklyn's stomach. He felt his color drain again, and covered his face, pretending to laugh at the story Samuel had been in the middle of.

If there was ever a time for the floor to open up and swallow me whole, now would be great…

There was a small noise of fabric shuffling, and the sudden sensation of someone standing next to him. Franklyn kept his head down, but only for a moment.

"Why, Lady Delilah Carmine! Shelley didn't mention she'd invited you." Samuel sounded genuinely delighted to see her. "I'm glad you've joined us. This is indeed a party now." A mischievous tone in his voice made Shelley giggle, though she sounded suddenly nervous.

Franklyn realized he was still covering his face, and knew it must look odd. You're in enough trouble, no need to act odd… He lifted his head and glanced over, quickly, as if to acknowledge her presence.

His breath caught in his chest, and for a tiny eternity, one moment stretched into eons, she was all he could think of.

…She's… gorgeous…

Delilah's smile grew tenfold at the sound of Shelley's voice, it was just so adorable. She immediately felt better about the whole gathering, this should be delightful after all.

Still, she had to keep her decorum as she walked over to the group of young folks, Samuel seemed to be the ringleader, paving the way with some kind of story, the others giving rapt attention. Delilah slipped into an opening in the circle, right next to a youth with hair that ever so slightly curled, who seemed extremely amused by the story. On her right was another face she couldn't recognize, but smiled at politely as well.

"Why, Lady Delilah Carmine! Shelley didn't mention she'd invited you." Samuel addressed her directly. "I'm glad you've joined us. This is indeed a party now."

Delilah gave a light laugh, waving a hand dismissively.
"Oh, Miss Colleridge was kind enough to slip me an invitation quite last minute! She's a dear friend of mine." A bit of an exaggeration, but it couldn't hurt to be courteous. She reached her hand out across the group to grasp Shelley's hand, giving it a squeeze then dropping it, the girl beamed back at her.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come at all! Oh, but I'm glad you're here now!" Shelley still looked nervous, but it didn't seem to be Delilah's fault this time.

Glancing to her right, Delilah still couldn't recognize any of the faces, no names popped into her mind, so she smiled blankly at them all.

"I admit I feel a bit out of my element, the only two I know are you and Sir Vonnifer here, and I don't believe we've yet met face to face. Perhaps some introductions-" Delilah finally looked to her left, and felt all the air leave her lungs in a mass exodus.

She knew those eyes

All the sound and light in the room was gone, and Delilah forgot how to breath. The noise dulled to a droning, playing vaguely in the back of her mind, as her brain struggled to catch up with what her eyes were telling her. The slightly curly hair, full lips, and massive, startled eyes. This was-

"Franklyn Berg!" Someone spoke, she didn't know who. Delilah tore her eyes away, looking as lost as she felt. What- Was this happening? The other faces were still smiling. Why were they smiling? Didn't they know the world was ending? Everything seemed to be in slow motion, the light sluggish the sounds too slow to hear, was she shaking? She couldn't tell. Delilah swallowed thickly, her mouth had gone dry, was her heartbeat speeding up? What was happening? This was a dream right? Or was it more of a nightmare? She couldn't tell.

She knew those eyes. And to her horror, they seemed to know her as well.

Time had stopped to a crawl, her head felt like it was going to explode. Delilah watched with a sort of spectators horror as she raised her own hand out, a smile starting to play about her lips like clockwork. The hand was still trembling, but she finally registered a noise, it was her own voice, speaking out loud. A detached part of her brain was somewhat curious what she was going to say and another part was confused. Berg? Franklyn's last name- No time for questions, words were finally coming out of her mouth.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of-" Her voice was so even, and then it gave out suddenly, like the gallows lever had been pulled and she whispered the last word. "Meeting."

This whole thing felt like some kind of sick joke, she was waiting for the others to laugh and point, to reveal what the game was. But nothing happened. Perhaps that was the joke. To have to pretend, like limp puppets, going through the motions of humanity, while their little game of pretend crumpled down around them.

The moment stretched, and then snapped, like a rubber band pulled past its breaking point. Franklyn realized he'd been staring, and jerked his eyes away. Something had been said, some idle small talk, but what Delilah was saying now made him wrench his eyes right back up to her face.
"…don't believe we've yet met face to face. Perhaps some introductions-"
He knew, the instant she glanced at him, that the game was up. She recognized him immediately, curse his skilled artists' fingers! He watched her take in the details, could see the gears turning as she collated the information, and came to the conclusion, just before Shelley cheerfully volunteered "Franklyn Berg!"

No…

Ice shot through his veins, and the weight in the pit of his stomach dropped even further, threatening to buckle his knees. She tore her eyes away, and Franklyn wanted to do several inappropriate things.
He wanted to grab for her, and plead forgiveness.
He wanted to bluff right through it, and keep up the web.
He wanted to turn and run out the big doors, across the terrace, and into the fields.
He wanted to blurt his feelings.
He wanted to turn into a blind, deaf mute.
He wanted to die.

But of course, none of those things could happen just yet. None of them were polite, or kind, or even plausible. What he was left with was the worst option:
He had to live with it.

Steeling every nerve he had, he managed to pull the muscles that made him smile, and waited for her to slap him, or call him on every lie he'd ever told, or recoil, or something.

Delilah smiled and held out a hand.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of… meeting."

Her voice. It was different than what he'd imagined in his head. The start of the sentence was solid, and had the certainty of ritual to it. The last word, though… whispered, soft, slightly vulnerable…
It undid everything Franklyn had left. Every piece of his iron control, gone. And suddenly, his smile was real, because she was so pretty, and he was just so glad to meet her, even though his eyes were hollow, because he was so guilty, and so afraid she would hate him-

Focus.

He reached out and took her hand, gently lifting it and giving it the customary squeeze while he bowed ever so slightly. Part of him wanted to cover that hand, the letter-writing hand that had brought him so much joy, in adoration, in kisses, in some form of acknowledgement, but he settled for the typical greeting.
The strength of his own voice, after all of that, surprised him.

"Truly, the pleasure is all mine, Milady."

Watching still from a strangers eyes, Delilah watched as Franklyn took her hand, and then suddenly all of it was much too real. He was smiling at her. All of the air in her lungs was gone and she felt like she was drowning. His smile was so sincere and real and heartfelt, like he was glad to see her. Words penned in ink rang out in her ears like a death toll.

All my love (and then some),

He squeezed her hand and bowed. At that moment she felt like the scum of the earth, for the man standing before her had to have been an angel. She felt dirty. More than anything, at that moment, Delilah would have given anything to be someone else. Someone perfect and kind, who could look him in the eyes and smile genuinely. To give him what he so painfully, obviously, deserved. Not her. Someone who could give all the joy and love and kindness she'd received and give it back, instead of hoarding it all inside. All the emotions trapped in her chest made her heartbeat painful as it brushed against them. There wasn't space for her heart, her chest was already filled so it moved up to her throat, choking her.

Time was so slow. Franklyn's head was bowed, and for that she was grateful. She couldn't look at his eyes for another moment, it would have shattered her into a million pieces. Instead, she latched onto a small detail. Something insignificant, anything to avoid thinking. His hair. It looked styled, but the slight curls defied any kind of order, it looked so soft. Like lambs down. Delilah was seized by an overwhelming desire to touch it, she might have if he wasn't gripping her hand.

"Truly, the pleasure is all mine, Milady."

His voice was confident. And that, more than anything else. Broke her. In that heartbeat, she knew. She couldn't tell him. But she also couldn't let go. A selfish, utterly selfish urge took her, it was wrong, but she'd keep sending him letters. She had to. Horrible person though she was, she was selfish, and the thought of the man before her, so.. Soft? (Something pricked her mind, but she pushed it away.) No doubt she'd infect him with her poison, watch him crumple under the weight of her, but she couldn't let go. She'd sooner die.
A different set of words echoed in her head, drowning out all else.

My dearest reader,
I'm sorry.

A letter she would never send, only two lines long, that existed only in her mind. In her imagination she sealed it in an envelope and placed it deep in a box in the recesses of her mind.

All of this reflection was done the moment he let go of her hand, it felt cold now. Empty.

The introductions continued, but Delilah couldn't focus, none of the words going in, she kept sneaking side long glances at the man beside her, she was helpless to stop it. She was drinking in all of the details, he really was an amazing artist, but even he couldn't capture everything. The pricking feeling returned and she finally recognized it for what it was, a tiny, fluttering moment of confusion. Several things just weren't clicking into place.

Guilt washed over her again, biting deep into her flesh. Who was she to question him? The pathetic, selfish girl that she was? How awful of a person did you have to be to question an angel? Perhaps that was why she was now in her own, current, personal hell. Delilah still felt so lost. Something monumental had shaken her world, and she had to.. What? Continue on as if nothing had happened?

Shelley said something, looking pointedly at her this time. ..what had she said? No words came to mind, so Delilah smiled, nodding ever so slightly. It did something, the group shifted and Shelley clapped her hands together, looking for all the world like an excited little girl. Delilah got the vague impression that this might have been her first time organizing a gathering, and was pleased it was going well. She finally tuned in to the words.

"…I'm so glad you think so too! I was worried you'd think it was all too childish, are parlor games still in favor then?" ..What? Her eyes flicked around, startled to see the group beginning to break apart.

Samuel spoke next, "What should we play then? The sculptor? Killer? Twenty Questions? Charades?" The familiar names finally made sense of the conversation. Delilah glanced over her shoulder, suddenly aware that she wasn't here alone. Her chaperone had found a table to seat herself at, watching the lively group, probably noting the names and faces of her companions. She felt a chill run down her spine.

A consensus was not being reached, no one could agree on what to play. Delilah stayed frozen to her spot, unable to move. She looked left, then immediately at the ground. She couldn't do this- Raising her free hand to her face, she was horrified to find it warm, she pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, feeling the change in temperature.

"Maybe something in teams?" One girl suggested, Delilah couldn't remember her name, a freckled thing with dark hair. Her comment was the only thing anyone agreed upon.

"Maybe a murder mystery? We can all come up with the rules!" Another voice spoke out, and suddenly it all felt a little silly to Delilah. They were all adults, or as good as, and they were playing children's games, like children wearing their parents clothes. She risked another glance at Franklyn, a little fluttering voice in her head whispered, like it was shy ..He likes mysteries, doesn't he? Will he play? It suddenly didn't feel so silly, maybe.. Maybe this day could still be fun, stealing her resolve, she looked up, avoiding his eyes but smiling broadly at him, they were all playing pretend anyways, she could play along.

"That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Franklyn stood from his bow, his mind racing just slightly, and caught just a glimpse of the deer-in-lantern-lights expression on Delilah's face. She didn't respond, other than to lower her hand quickly, as if his touch had chilled her. With a physical effort, he managed to tear his gaze from that beautiful, bothered face. Shelley and Samuel were introducing a few others around the circle, and Franklyn tried not to seem clingy, tried to pretend he was the strong independent man he'd built himself up to be in those blasted letters.
Delilah shuffled, ever so slightly, at his side, and he realized she was looking at him. Part of him preened, happy for the attention, and part of him was immediately terrified. She was studying him, and if she was looking for the kind of person he'd described himself as, she was finding him lacking.

The urge to run grew stronger. He fought it down, just in time to catch Shelley's eye as she asked Delilah something.

"Samuel and I had planned some parlor games, since this is largely a gathering of childhood friends. We thought it could be fun to be kids again, don't you think, Lady Carmine?"

The group seemed to freeze up, most of them being of significantly lower rank than Delilah. If she said it was stupid, they wouldn't play, and Shelley would be crushed, as well as humiliated. Franklyn was so aware of every movement, so hyper-focused on her every breath, that he caught the tiny agreement out of the corner of his eye. The group relaxed, and Shelley was so excited to have her approval.
Everyone seemed excited over Delilah. Samuel had been glad to see her, and even those who didn't know her seemed happy she was here. This creature of light, who clearly brought the same sunshine into other's lives as she brought to his, was standing there next to him.

And all he could worry about was his guilt. How he'd lied to her to keep that sunshine near.
You deserve whatever comes to you. I hope it's awful, Franklyn.

The group separated to gather the rest of the party-goers. Samuel piped up with some options. The others shot them down. Others made suggestions, and were in turn booed. Franklyn wanted to move, but something kept him rooted to the spot.
Maybe it was that Delilah hadn't moved either, and seemed unsure now about the game. What he wouldn't have given to put her at ease…
Cassandra LeBonre suggested team games, and for whatever reason, the idea stuck. Someone suggested a murder mystery, and Franklyn found himself following the conversation closely. He noted the glance from Delilah, and tried not to show the little seed of excitement that was blossoming in his chest over a children's game.
He realized he hadn't been looking back at her, an overcompensation for his intense desire to stare at her and not forget how pretty she was… so he looked her way, smiling gently. She smiled back, without looking him in the eyes.
"That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"
He nodded. Her voice still caught him off guard. "I think it could be. I do like a good mystery." He glanced at the center of the room, where several of the boys were pulling the couches and chairs into two rows facing each other, obviously setting up for teams. He realized, just then, that he knew most of the faces, but that didn't mean Lady Carmine did. A quick glance her way told him that she was calculating the embarrassment risk vs. the fun reward of playing the game with a group of strangers.
"Will you play with us?"

Despite, or maybe due to all of her glances, Delilah noticed something about Franklyn. He wasn't looking at her. She kept staring, memorizing each breath and expression, but he wasn't looking back at her. A dull weight settled in her stomach, he was disappointed. She wasn't what he expected, there was something wrong with her, she glanced down at her dress feeling a tiny trill of panic. Should she have asked for something nicer? Was it garish? Did the dark blue make her look too pale?

Then he looked over at her and smiled, and everything else melted away. He looked so kind, so gentle. No one else in the room could compare, they were all blank faces and empty smiles, but he.. He was genuine. Something real in this world of smoke and mirrors. Her anxieties quieted, and she pushed the guilt away. She'd be selfish today, just for today, and bask in that smile.

"I think it could be. I do like a good mystery."

Her heartbeat must have tripled at those eleven words. Despite it all, there was still a tiny part of her that was holding reservations. The last name was different after all, perhaps she was imagining everything, that this wasn't her Franklyn. That maybe he had a doppelganger that looked exactly like him and had the same first name.. Just thinking it made her feel silly, but it was how she felt. Still, that was the final nail in the coffin, this was him. The same hands that had penned her that first letter in answer to her prayers. The same heart, the same mind. It was all real now.

The scraping noise of furniture being moved caught her attention and she watched as the game was being set up. She gently bit down on her bottom lip, her excitement quelling. She'd probably just watch them all play, she didn't know these people, and Shelley seemed to have used all her courage just to get her opinion. God forbid she ask her to play. Delilah clasped her hands infront of her and was just about to retreat to see if any of the food looked like it would agree with her, when Franklyn spoke again, freezing her in place.

"Will you play with us?"

An invitation. Franklyn seemed to know everyone here, he was popular, he had friends, and he was bothering with looking after her. Warmth flooded through her chest, feeling for the millionth time her good luck. Her undeserved good luck. That he had time for her at all was a miracle, she didn't deserve his good will as well.

"Of course! I'd love to." She hesitated, faltering in her enthusiasm. Though someone had suggested a murder mystery, one where they came up with the rules, everyone seemed to know at least somewhat what they were doing. Delilah had played a myriad of games with Kit and Alya when they were small, but they'd made them all up themselves, she didn't know any of the rules of the more popular parlor games, she'd never played them.

"Though someone might need to explain to me the rules.." Delilah smiled sheepishly, glancing at the line of couches, another unknown face, this time a younger man with sandy blonde hair, was getting a bowl and ripping a sheet of paper into shreds, scribbling something on each before dropping the pieces into the bowl. Her excitement was palpable, but she stuck close to Franklyn, glancing at him with wide eyes. He was familiar and steady, and she couldn't bear to let him out of her sight. She felt like he might vanish into mist if she didn't keep an eye on him.

A wicked idea started to creep into her mind, taking seed and growing quickly. She'd already thrown all caution to the wind and determined to be selfish for today, so she gave in to it. Taking a step towards the gathering group, Delilah wobbled just slightly, then faltered, making a winded noise. Not quite losing her balance, but moving her arms outwards, she grasped the nearest persons arm.
The only one who had stayed by her side after all. She gave a breathy laugh, steadying herself.

"Oh! Sorry, it was just a dizzy spell I-" She glanced up, her mouth going dry for the second time that day. Oh she hadn't thought this one through. Her face immediately flushed red, and she made a noise not unlike a startled squeak. Delilah had made two mistakes in her mind. One, she'd overestimated her self-control and resolve, which was currently dissolving into a puddle. Two, she'd underestimated the effect of Franklyn's eyes. The wide, startled doe-eyes that she just couldn't seem to look away from. She squeaked again no understandable words coming out of her mouth, still clutching his arm.

Oh, she hadn't thought this through at all..

As he looked at her, Franklyn could see… something, a shadow of doubt, perhaps, every so often as she looked back at him. His heart sank every time, expecting her to call him out on his lies, to say 'good-bye and may you rot' or something similar.
She hadn't, yet.

"Of course! I'd love to." Her voice faltered just slightly, but she'd agreed, and he couldn't help it as his smile grew a bit. "Though someone might need to explain to me the rules.." She gave a small smile, and Franklyn was lost, falling, swept away by that smile. She glanced away as Percy Rappahannock started prepping the game, and Franklyn used the moment she wasn't looking at him to shake his head, trying to clear it. She was beginning to dazzle him, and he couldn't afford that. He couldn't let his grip on the situation slip, or things might come apart at the seams.
He had just managed to get control of himself, when Delilah started to step forward and stumbled, or faltered, or something. She looked off balance, and Franklyn moved, not really thinking about what he was doing.

She grabbed his arm, just as he looped the other one around her shoulders and caught her weight.

"Oh! Sorry, it was just a dizzy spell I-" She glanced up, and froze, and Franklyn cringed inside. He'd overdone it, he was out of line, he shouldn't be touching her, but, Stars above, the proximity immediately dissolved all his control again. He smiled at her, wanting to reassure her that it was fine, she was ok, she was safe- and said none of that.
It took him a second to realize he was holding her, looking into her eyes, and when he finally blinked, his mouth formed words without his brain getting involved.

"I've got you."

Her little theatrics had been ill-conceived from the very beginning. An idea her lack of self-control gave into far too easily. No thought had been given to what would happen after her little stumble. The seed of an idea had been planted was fast to grow and was already bearing its fruits.

Of course, that was not what was running through Delilah's mind at the moment, she was much too preoccupied with trying not to fall to the ground on the spot. Not that she could. Franklyn was doing his part in keeping her standing, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, with a dress that left them conspicuously bare.

Under different circumstances, Delilah might have felt silly with that being her main concern. That someone was touching her shoulders, what with the proximity of the two people and the fact that she was grabbing onto said mans arm for dear life. She needed to hold onto him or risk actually falling to the ground this time, but the longer she remained staring into his eyes, the dizzier she was getting. An ouroboros of embarrassment. No recognizable words were yet forming on her lips, but she was fumbling to find something, anything to say. She wanted to thank him, tell him she was alright, that he could let go, or inform him that he had eyes that poets would write about, did he know that? It really was unfair.

She was just about to work up her resolve again, gathering the shredded little scraps of her dignity, when he looked at her and smiled. Suddenly she was painfully aware of every motion, her senses seemed to tingle as if on high alert, the heat from his body both chilling her and making it unbearably hot. She could hear his breathing for gods sake! How was she supposed to function anything like a normal person! Was this magic? Franklyn had said he was magic-

"I've got you." Her chest heaved and for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Delilah made an ungodly keening noise, somewhere between a startled gasp and some sound a mouse might make if you threw it against a wall at terminal velocity. Oh this is unfair- This has got to be cheating! Heat rose to her face again and her grip on his arm tightened. Irrationally, she wanted to hit him. How can you just say a line like that without missing a beat? What am I supposed to do? None of the thoughts in her head were very coherent, words were bouncing off each other wildly, she was dizzy. Delilah tried blinking a few times, doing her best to steady her breathing. She glanced up at him, painfully aware that if he let go, she would fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Pride be damned, in this moment she desperately needed help. It was her fault for doing this, no it was his fault for-

"Don't let go. Please?" Wide blue eyes begged. Who cared who's fault it was? She didn't want him to let go. The rest of the world had melted away, if he let go, the world would be empty. She couldn't live with that.

Franklyn's brain was stuttering, like a steam engine that didn't have enough coal in the boiler. He was slowly registering things, one new thought or sensation at a time.
First was how light Delilah was. He wasn't particularly strong, but she felt like a feather in his arms, delicate, dainty- like if he squeezed too hard she would shatter.
Next was the fact that their faces were much closer than he had any right to be. He was sure he was breathing on her, and had the sudden terrifying worry that his breath stank. Hers didn't, but that was besides the point, wasn't it?
Some part of him registered how soft her skin has, as his hand kept contact on her bare shoulder. Soft, smooth, and warm, if he didn't think about something else right now, he was going to make a fool of himself.
The little noise she'd made at his reassurance had simultaneously worried him, and made his knees go a bit weak. Her grip tightened and Franklyn gently stood up, pulling her back into a standing position.
She was blushing just a tad, and blinking a lot, and Franklyn was aware because he couldn't stop staring at her, she was so beautiful, so lovely, and he was about to move his hands and look away when-

"Don't let go. Please?" Wide blue eyes begged.

For the third time in as many minutes, any sense of I need to be appropriate dissolved immediately, and Franklyn tightened his grip just a tiny bit, to reassure her he wasn't going anywhere.

The moment was interrupted by a loud cough, and a hand landing on Franklyn's shoulder. He twitched, and turned to see Samuel standing behind him, a bemused expression on his face.
"Everything alright? That could have been a bad spill." Samuel was speaking louder than necessary, but a slight tip of his head explained it. Franklyn glanced in the direction of the nod, and saw that the loud cough had come from the chaperone, who was glaring at him with slightly less deadly intent than a vulture staring at its prey.
He was grateful Samuel had snapped him out of it. Though he didn't let go just yet.
"I think so." He turned and looked Delilah in the eyes again, those wide, beautiful blue eyes. "Are you alright?"

Delilah's breathing had stabilized the faster her heart had started beating, it felt odd to have her heart race but not be gasping for breath. She stayed in that moment for an eternity, acutely aware of every breath and touch. It struck her then, that she could smell him, of freshly washed clothes and some kind of cologne, and faintly of ash, not unpleasant. Like the lingering smell of a bonfire or a fireplace that clings to your hair and skin long after the last coal is put out.

Despite clinging with the majority of her strength, Delilah still didn't feel very steady. Her stomach was doing little flips and suddenly she regretted not eating anything that day, she felt like she might blow away in a gust of wind. She felt Franklyn tighten his grip and she breathed out softly, aware only of a gentle feeling of safety. She felt infinitely vulnerable, yet felt like nothing could hurt her, not here, how could anything be wrong?

Then an intruder came in on the moment of quiet, the infinitely perfect moment, a cough and a hand appearing just in her line of sight. Delilah froze, snapping out of her trance, with a sudden rush, the world around her reappeared, light, sound, people, and responsibilities. 'Right' and 'wrong' had returned, so too had her understanding of the situation. Delilah gasped just barely, staring at Samuel with barely disguised thanks and horror.

The whole encounter couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds from stumble to catch, but she felt shaken, like she'd been rooted to that spot for a lifetime. She cleared her own throat as well, looking down with the proper feminine embarrassment, the chaperone was just out of sight, she couldn't peer over Franklyn's shoulder to see her, but it was easy enough to imagine the look on the woman's face. A trickle of dread crept in, the situation could still be salvaged, for Franklyn if not for her.

Delilah distanced herself to an arms length, patting his shoulder with a light hand, a nervous laugh bubbled out. It tittered in the air, a practiced laugh, her blush had disappeared. She listened with half an ear to the boys talk, smiling at both of them.

"I'm fine. Just tripped over myself. I'll be quite alright, you're both sweet to worry." Delilah held out a hand to Samuel, gratefully accepting his hand in substitute. She noted with a curious feeling that everything didn't go into the same jumbled mess as it did before. It was just.. Normal.

"I just need to sit down, that's allowed with what we're playing right?" She glanced back at Franklyn, trying to catch his eye. She wanted to mouth 'thank you', but didn't trust that to go unnoticed in a room full of people, eyes trained on them. So she did her best to smile with her eyes, a mischievous little twinkle, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. This was going in her next letter for sure. Neither of them would escape this.

She allowed herself to be led to a seat, thanking Samuel quietly, she sat with hands folded in her lap, waiting for the game to begin. Though her energy levels had dropped somewhat, hopefully this would be more subdued, she'd lived a whole life in this room, a game couldn't be more exciting than that.

Delilah cleared her throat, and Franklyn felt something in the air change. Like whatever electric feeling had been there was suddenly snuffed. He hadn't meant to shut it off, and he hoped she wasn't bothered with his response to the situation.
His fears worsened when she stepped away from him, and patted his shoulder. Patted his shoulder. As one pats a horse or a dog or a child.
Her giggle was not genuine, he'd never heard her genuinely laugh, but he could tell, that was to cover something. Disgust? Anger? Pity?
And then, just as he started to move to escort her to the couch… she reached for Samuel. Being the gentleman he was, he didn't hesitate, and took her arm, leaving Franklyn to watch them walk away, just a tad hurt and very confused. He caught the glance back, the look over her shoulder at him, and-… she was laughing at him. A mischievous little glint in her eye as she walked off with his friend. His heart sank further as he thought through all the reasons she might be laughing at him. And there were many.
The teams had been decided while Franklyn and Delilah had been in their own little world. They'd left him a spot on the opposite team from her, right across from where she was seated. He sat down, and kept his eyes down as Shelley explained the game.
Had he really misread all of that so badly? Was she toying with him? Had he blown it badly enough to warrant laughter?
He sat, staring at the floor, occasionally looking up in order to appear engaged in the conversation, but mostly just pondering the last few minutes.

Delilah sat up straight, listening attentively as Shelley explained the rules. It sounded like a fun game, full of the intrigue and teams that was so popular lately, since it mimicked the social circles children would later form in life. With any luck she'd get drawn as a civilian and get to sit the game out for the most part, perhaps getting killed off round one.

Franklyn was seated right across from her, which she was silently pleased about, though he seemed a bit out of it now, staring at the floor and nodding emptily. Delilah's lips drew into a line in thought, what could have upset him? Was he just tired? He did say he wasn't the most avid party-goer, that once he was positioned he could nod and smile without any thought behind the eyes. That must be it. She was always horrible with reading peoples anyway, perhaps he was just fine.

A chill ran through her and Delilah did her best to rub the gooseflesh from her arms, wishing briefly she'd been allowed to keep her shawl. The same sandy-haired youth that had made all the pieces of paper, was now shaking the bowl and handing out the little slivers, warning each person to keep their's covered so their neighbors couldn't see.

She took hers with a fraction of excitement, though didn't unfold it just yet. She glanced up at Franklyn, resisting the urge to nudge him with her foot, shaking the paper in the tiniest little hand wave. She smiled again, enjoying this little secret game, perhaps he thought she was being childish? Probably not, they were much sillier in their letters- Was now the wrong time, wrong place? Delilah was genuinely puzzled, social situations were easy to navigate in society, with all its carefully layed out rules and regulations and taboos. When all of those were stripped away, she had no idea how to interact with anyone, she'd never done it before. She grimaced inwardly, it was probably painfully obvious, he'd been humoring her all this time. Like one would a small, dull child. She unfolded the paper.

In a quickly scrawled hand, she'd received the role of: Mafia One of three. She outwardly grimaced this time, tucking the paper away. Lovely.

Franklyn glanced up briefly as Delilah gave him a tiny wave. Well. Waved her paper at him. She seemed more excited for the game than he would have guessed.
With what had just happened, there was a part of Franklyn that couldn't have cared less about this little distraction, but…
C'mon, pull yourself together…
He snagged his paper and opened it, carefully keeping his facial expression neutral.
Sheriff, one of one. It would be his job within the game to catch the mafia members. Well. They could expect no mercy from him. Being laughed at had left him feeling a bit humiliated, and he wasn't in the mood for charitable actions.

Samuel was the narrator as the game began, and Franklyn found his cadence a welcome diversion from his suddenly morose thoughts. The young noble wove a story of intrigue and conspiracy, before the first round began. Heads lowered, eyes closed, and Samuel asked the Mafia to look up. Franklyn listened closely, his ears perked for any sound of rustling clothes or mouthed words as they tried to decide who to kill first off.