"Monday?!" Her confusion and panic apparent. She'd been smart enough to excuse herself from dinner, but she was sure she had fallen asleep early Sunday morning. She'd lost time completely. What had she done when she followed him into his old laboratory? Forcing herself to breathe and remember that she didn't have any responsibilities today until this afternoon. It didn't settle her nerves.
In his rude awakening, something had changed in Samuel. He was somewhere else entirely, his focus scattered and his body tense. Gone was her lover and her collaborator; gone was the man with his incubus-like power. She would almost call him frantic. She took his cue and demanded work from her limbs, demanded she crawl from his bed and look for her clothes. Every muscle screamed as she searched, bending feeling like a monumental task. Her wrist ached, the scar seeming to pulse, but she couldn't think of that now. She didn't dare. Her stomach twisted when she saw the gory mess that was her dress; the soft grey fabric now stained a deep red. She would have to floo to her home in Greenwich before traveling back to the castle. She couldn't be seen looking like this.
Dressing felt wrong; she wasn't sure if it was the act itself she resisted or if it was the bloody gown. Neither mattered, she had no choice now. Hands quickly working her hair into a braid, she tried not to be bothered that her hair was a mess, her braid uneven. Every way she felt wrong was assembling in the front of her mind. Her dress felt wrong, her hair was a mess, her wrist stung, she felt too heavy to move. Everything was wrong, and she was leaving him. She turned her back to him momentarily, needing a moment to blink back tears that formed without permission. This shouldn't hurt so bad.
Crossing the space between them, she drove a dagger into her own heart by kissing him soundly, needing her kiss to say what she could not. Hand to his chest, she debated only a moment before promising: "I will keep an eye on Eleanor while you're away." If it was all she could offer him, she would do it gladly. With a last brush of her lips, she turned for the fireplace and was gone.
In his rude awakening, something had changed in Samuel. He was somewhere else entirely, his focus scattered and his body tense. Gone was her lover and her collaborator; gone was the man with his incubus-like power. She would almost call him frantic. She took his cue and demanded work from her limbs, demanded she crawl from his bed and look for her clothes. Every muscle screamed as she searched, bending feeling like a monumental task. Her wrist ached, the scar seeming to pulse, but she couldn't think of that now. She didn't dare. Her stomach twisted when she saw the gory mess that was her dress; the soft grey fabric now stained a deep red. She would have to floo to her home in Greenwich before traveling back to the castle. She couldn't be seen looking like this.
Dressing felt wrong; she wasn't sure if it was the act itself she resisted or if it was the bloody gown. Neither mattered, she had no choice now. Hands quickly working her hair into a braid, she tried not to be bothered that her hair was a mess, her braid uneven. Every way she felt wrong was assembling in the front of her mind. Her dress felt wrong, her hair was a mess, her wrist stung, she felt too heavy to move. Everything was wrong, and she was leaving him. She turned her back to him momentarily, needing a moment to blink back tears that formed without permission. This shouldn't hurt so bad.
Crossing the space between them, she drove a dagger into her own heart by kissing him soundly, needing her kiss to say what she could not. Hand to his chest, she debated only a moment before promising: "I will keep an eye on Eleanor while you're away." If it was all she could offer him, she would do it gladly. With a last brush of her lips, she turned for the fireplace and was gone.
![[Image: Bka0H0x.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/Bka0H0x.jpeg)