If Gretchen had ever spared a moment’s thought for her sister’s debut then it had been a very long time ago and had been entirely overcome, as had most of her thought processes, by the unspeakable anxiety that had began when Mr Prewett had not written a single word to her. He had kissed her three times now, and made it very clear that he would like to again – a sentiment she very much shared – so why had he not written to her as she had asked?

Had he changed his mind, or worse, had he begun to think of her as a harlot after all?

There had been no suspicious looks shot her way and even the matron had kept her nose out entirely despite almost catching them being a little too close. And Gretchen knew that if there were rumours about her Seneca at least wouldn’t have told her what others were saying.

As such she gave precisely zero fucks about Frida’s dress, or the fact that she had mama’s pearls on – a fact that would normally have infuriated her – but she did at least have an opinion about her sisters to share.

“I doubt anything could possibly help Meta at this point.” She rolled her eyes from where she lounged nearby, wrapped in her black cloak and looking like the dark swan to Frida’s white. “And I…well, I certainly won’t be asking for Nephele’s help. The best she can probably do is marry me off to one of the cousins.”

“Not really. The only good one is Cash and you’ll probably get dibs on him if it comes to that,” Gretchen replied vaguely, trying to reconcile herself to the miserable future that was no doubt ahead of her now. Mr Prewett wanted nothing to do with her and the one experience she’d ever had of feeling like somebody actually wanted her specifically was rapidly becoming a thing of a past.

Curling her fingers into balls and digging her nails into her palms, as had become her habit when she needed to try and think about something that wasn’t a pair of blue eyes in a handsome face that was looking at her like she was wanted, Gretchen turned her head towards Frida.

“Unless there’s someone you’re not telling me about?” She asked, deadpan, not expecting for a moment that Frida had a beau.

That definitely caught her attention and Gretchen’s sharp gaze peered into her sister’s darker eyes. Did Frida know something? Were there rumours about her and Mr Prewett and the day of the apparition lesson? Nobody had seen them, apart from the matron, who didn’t even look after Frida’s house…unless it had been one of the other occasions?

Frida had been at the party too, but surely she would have said something before now? And on the boat…no, the cabin door had been closed and Frida had been nowhere to be seen when she had been strategically blending back into the crowd.

“Who were you thinking of?” Gretchen asked warily, unable to conceal in her tone the fact that she had someone very particular in mind.

If she hadn’t been sure before that someone untoward was going on then she was definitely sure now. Generally speaking Frida was a more nervous sort than either she or Meta were but she was never this bad, which implied she had either done something very wrong herself, or that she knew Gretchen had and was trying – and failing – to pretend she knew nothing.

“Frida!” She barked out, getting to her feet and taking a few dangerous step towards her sister, eyes glinting with growing anger. “What do you mean?”

The bottom of her stomach dropped and Gretchen felt frozen to the spot. Frida knew. Suddenly she felt distinctly untethered from herself: Frida existed in a part of her world that was dull and mundane, but mostly safe, and now her sister somehow knew about the secret part of her life that had felt, if briefly, a little bit magical.

But how? She couldn’t possibly have seen them – could she? Unless she had been lingering by the staircase on the day of the apparition lesson but no, she had checked, she wasn’t stupid enough to have not seen her own sister. And she hadn’t even told Seneca so no one knew. (Apart from George Waterford, but she hadn’t said his name, not once, so it certainly wasn’t from the Ravenclaw.)

“How do you know about Mr Prewett?” For Merlin's sake, he hadn't even written to her in the end so Frida couldn't even have seen his name in a letter!

Letters.

Letters, plural.

Eyes wide with fury Gretchen took another step towards her sister who, until now, she had always trusted the most of her siblings even if they hadn’t always been close. (Admittedly, that was not saying much.) And not it turned out that the cause of her anxiety for the last few months had not been caused by Mr Prewett’s indifference but rather her sister’s interference. Because it was all too obvious now – somehow Frida had stolen her letters.

“How many were there!?”

And what would Mr Prewett think?! Oh dear fucking Merlin, Frida hadn't replied had she?

“Scared?” Gretchen asked, brow furrowing as her confusion collided with her anger and mixed together like a toxic potion that did nothing to calm her down. What right did Frida have to be scared of letters that weren’t even addressed to her?

Backed up against the mirror Frida did indeed look as scared as she claimed to have been but Gretchen couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted to scream and throw things – ideally at her sister but for now she still needed answers.

“Scared of what? Wait, never mind! I don’t care. Where are they now? Fetch them for me Frida, I need to read them now.”

“Don’t you dare,” Gretchen hissed at her sister, not at all willing to let her walk away yet even if Frida was fetching the letters as she had demanded. Reason, usually the driving force of Gretchen’s actions, had abandoned her now as readily as it had when she’d first stepped into that dark, secret passage with Freddie Prewett and began all this.

Reaching out to grab hold of Frida’s shoulder, determined to pull her back and find out precisely what she meant by destroyed, Gretchen instead caught hold of something smooth and delicate and far, far more brittle than either of them. Feeling wronged and reckless Gretchen pulled before she could stop herself.

The clasp of their mother’s necklace snapped as easily as a wax seal and pearls clattered to the floor, bouncing and scattering away from the sisters like a hailstorm. Gretchen uncurled her palm and let the few she had caught hold of drop to the floor to join their sisters, feeling no less furious for her own act of destruction.

“Get Meta or Sen to bring it to me before the ball and have the sense to disguise it. I don’t want to see you.”