Art had seen and read the article before they went to his in-laws’ house, and had stuffed the magazine under the mattress before they left. The feeling in his chest was that he wanted to run, that he needed to run — except he couldn’t, it was Easter, and he couldn’t just leave.
He wanted to leave.
With everyone having survived the duel relatively intactand the scramble towards improving their finances... continuing... Art had thought that he would get a chance to breathe. But Easter didn't help, and neither did having his face plastered in Witch Weekly. His only hope, he guessed, was if no one believed Watchword.
Art was exhausted, was the thing, and had convinced himself that things would be alright after the duel — except that his personal life was still crumbling around him, he still owed the boxing venue money, and the thought of talking about it with anyone made his chest tighten in a way that felt suffocating. And everything was fine, or would be fine, as long as no one realized — except that of course someone had, Meredith Watchword had, and everyone was talking about him again, or thinking about talking about him, and no amount of being gregarious and affable through Easter dinner could mask the way things were crumbling.
He wanted to run. He couldn’t run. He sat across from Desdemona in the carriage with little Gwenog asleep under his arm, and all he could think about was a way out of this, and there wasn’t one.
He swallowed and looked at her, away from the loose curl that had made its way out of Gwenog’s braid. ”What?” Art asked, already suspecting — and this was just another way that he was going to fail her, wasn’t it.
He wanted to leave.
With everyone having survived the duel relatively intactand the scramble towards improving their finances... continuing... Art had thought that he would get a chance to breathe. But Easter didn't help, and neither did having his face plastered in Witch Weekly. His only hope, he guessed, was if no one believed Watchword.
Art was exhausted, was the thing, and had convinced himself that things would be alright after the duel — except that his personal life was still crumbling around him, he still owed the boxing venue money, and the thought of talking about it with anyone made his chest tighten in a way that felt suffocating. And everything was fine, or would be fine, as long as no one realized — except that of course someone had, Meredith Watchword had, and everyone was talking about him again, or thinking about talking about him, and no amount of being gregarious and affable through Easter dinner could mask the way things were crumbling.
He wanted to run. He couldn’t run. He sat across from Desdemona in the carriage with little Gwenog asleep under his arm, and all he could think about was a way out of this, and there wasn’t one.
He swallowed and looked at her, away from the loose curl that had made its way out of Gwenog’s braid. ”What?” Art asked, already suspecting — and this was just another way that he was going to fail her, wasn’t it.
![[Image: AAgFt3c.png]](https://i.imgur.com/AAgFt3c.png)
set by MJ <3