2am, 16 April, 1893 — Applegate House, Cotswolds
This was perhaps the worst and most reckless idea Rosalie had ever had.
Reckless and foolish and absolutely bloody insane.
Rosalie was fully aware of her insanity even as she drew the map of the house — his house — from memory. That her memory was spotty and likely contained at least one error wasn't a factor she allowed herself to consider for longer than a minute. Rosalie needed to feel confident if she was gojng to do this, confident and brazen and a little bit crazy. Any hint of a doubt, any slight misstep, and she'd likely be caught. Either by one of the Applegates themselves or their staff.
A letter would have made more sense, Rosalie realized as she stepped through the floo and cast her disillusionment charm. Except, she didn't trust Ezra to be truthful with her on paper, not when things were what they were between them. And that was if he was even willing to read the letter, as Rosalie was convinced he'd just as soon burn it. After all she'd done, Ezra was entirely within his rights to have such little faith in and despise her. Rosalie likely would have continued to treat him with equal, if not worse, malice if she hadn't realized the truth of the situation.
The house was pitch black as she all but ran through the halls. Ezra's bedroom was upstairs in the corner overlooking the gardens, a fact Rosalie remembered only because she recalled commenting on the better view. He'd whispered that she needn't complain for she was, of course, welcomed to visit him whenever. Even under the cover of her disillusionment, Rosalie flushed at the memory.
She made only one wrong turn, going left when she should have gone right, and opened a door that she wished she hadn't. Her bedroom, or what was supposed to be her room. There was nothing about the room to indicate that it ought to have been a bedroom, not with the seemingly endless canvases thrown about and the outdated furniture pressed up against the walls. Her room, reduced to nothing but storage due to whatever plagued Ezra. She owed it to him to at least afford him the chance to try again.
To love again.
Turning from the storage room, Rosalie then quietly entered his room, removed her charm, and allowed herself no time to reconsider before throwing a crumpled up piece of parchment (that she had carried with her for explicitly this purpose) at his head.
Reckless and foolish and absolutely bloody insane.
Rosalie was fully aware of her insanity even as she drew the map of the house — his house — from memory. That her memory was spotty and likely contained at least one error wasn't a factor she allowed herself to consider for longer than a minute. Rosalie needed to feel confident if she was gojng to do this, confident and brazen and a little bit crazy. Any hint of a doubt, any slight misstep, and she'd likely be caught. Either by one of the Applegates themselves or their staff.
A letter would have made more sense, Rosalie realized as she stepped through the floo and cast her disillusionment charm. Except, she didn't trust Ezra to be truthful with her on paper, not when things were what they were between them. And that was if he was even willing to read the letter, as Rosalie was convinced he'd just as soon burn it. After all she'd done, Ezra was entirely within his rights to have such little faith in and despise her. Rosalie likely would have continued to treat him with equal, if not worse, malice if she hadn't realized the truth of the situation.
The house was pitch black as she all but ran through the halls. Ezra's bedroom was upstairs in the corner overlooking the gardens, a fact Rosalie remembered only because she recalled commenting on the better view. He'd whispered that she needn't complain for she was, of course, welcomed to visit him whenever. Even under the cover of her disillusionment, Rosalie flushed at the memory.
She made only one wrong turn, going left when she should have gone right, and opened a door that she wished she hadn't. Her bedroom, or what was supposed to be her room. There was nothing about the room to indicate that it ought to have been a bedroom, not with the seemingly endless canvases thrown about and the outdated furniture pressed up against the walls. Her room, reduced to nothing but storage due to whatever plagued Ezra. She owed it to him to at least afford him the chance to try again.
To love again.
Turning from the storage room, Rosalie then quietly entered his room, removed her charm, and allowed herself no time to reconsider before throwing a crumpled up piece of parchment (that she had carried with her for explicitly this purpose) at his head.
![[Image: o7xGVB5.png]](https://i.imgur.com/o7xGVB5.png)