For the month that followed the incident with Mr. Delaney Nimiane had been shaken. It felt like her engagement all over again. Hope and love built up on a foundation of lies that could only hope to crumble, like a house built on sand. She had known better and yet she had still dove into it.

What scared her the most was the fact that the three days she had spent with Mr. Delaney had been the happiest that she could ever remember. Happier than her engagement, happier than her stories, happier, even, than her childhood. No amount of stories and writing could take away the knowledge that love of her own was more dear than the love she wrote for a character. She would know, for in the month that had passed she had buried her thoughts in Magdalene's story and had even started several new stories as well. Notes and half written phrases were littered across the writing desk in the parlor and yet it didn’t take away the knowledge that the happiness wasn’t truly there. Had it ever been?

She should have felt more happiness and success in the fact that just yesterday she had sent her final draft of Magdalene's story to her publishers and yet she felt hollowed out of all emotions. Worried about this latest development Nimiane had spent half the night up in her room writing , much to Marli’s disapproval. What sleep Nimiane did manage was restless and full of half formed thoughts and dreams she didn’t wish to dwell on when she woke.

Morning found her taking tea in the sitting room, a cream shawl wrapped around her sage green dress for the chill that had seeped into the room. Her fingertips were stained with ink from the night before and dark circles under her eyes had barely been covered by Marli’s careful hand. It didn’t matter there was no one to see her today anyway. There hadn’t been in a month. It seemed almost useless to have Marli carefully style her hair, but as Nimiane had every day of her life, she had sat still through the morning ministrations. Perhaps what she needed was a walk to the village, the cool air to clear her head and shake this feel of emptiness. Yes, that was what she needed.

Donning her dove gray cloak Nimiane set forth on the path from the cottage that led into the village. Insisting that she should go alone, she was grateful for the solitude. After all, she had nothing to ruin, why take a chaperon any more. Morning fog lingered this far from the village, making it hard for her to notice the shape of someone walking her way. But when she did she froze entirely unsure of what to do, for surely, sure that could not be Mr. Delaney making his way toward her.