March 16th, 1892 — Oakshire Hall, Kent
I want to get rid of it. It was the first thing either of them had said in what was surely well over fifteen minutes. It had been playing on her mind so when she felt a disturbing sensation in her stomach that reminded her more of a struggling eel than the pathetically feeble pre-human thing she knew it to be. Then she'd simply blurted it out. Tig clenched her jaw, already regretting the lapse in her judgement. Although she'd provided no context she expected he'd know exactly what she meant and there was nothing ambiguous about where the sentiment came from. If it was vanity then she'd been incredibly slow on the uptake, her condition could hardly be called 'subtle' anymore. Tiberius would surely seize upon the truth immediately.
Fear was a strong word for what she felt but it wasn't inaccurate. It was more of an unsettling sort of agitation, a recognition of how powerless she was, an awareness of how little time remained, and worst of all how it was entirely her own doing. She probably could've had Tiberius sort it out a lot sooner if her pride hadn't insisted that it was not only necessary but that she was entirely capable of doing so without dying. Now she was starting to feel trapped by her own presumption. She was fine now, at that precise moment, but she couldn't just jump ship and leave her body if it betrayed her, something which was more likely than she wanted to consider.
Perhaps she'd done herself a favor bringing it up, if Tiberius thought she was scared of something that was so commonplace and mundane she'd sooner die anyway. It seemed a little bit optimistic thinking there might be a way to correct her hubris at this late stage but if there actually was a way it seemed probable that there'd be serious risk anyway so she may as well just go on as she was, come what may. But if there was a way, a way with considerably less risk than the path she was already on then she might just take it... If she could feasibly do so without Tiberius thinking she'd lost her nerve which was the most unlikely thing of all.
Tig picked up her fork and petulantly stabbed a bone on her plate that she'd long since picked clean. She'd actually finished eating but she needed to do something that wasn't walking out of the room before he could reply. Not that she thought she could get away as quickly as that encumbered as she was at present. She stabbed the bone again, frustrated this time, and almost sent it flying off the plate.
Outfit | Tag: Tiberius Lestrange | Notes:
