Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Complete a thread started and set every month for twelve consecutive months. Each thread must have at least ten posts, and at least three must be your own.
Did You Know?
Did you know? Jewelry of jet was the haute jewelry of the Victorian era. — Fallin
I hope you have found some peace this past month and that our separation has given you time and space to think better of me. Do you read my letters still? I will soon know the answer to that. In your absence, I have been alone with my thoughts for too long. All possibilities dead end at the same point: I do not know how to speak to you now.
To move forward, I must know where I stand. I stand alone, but where? I would like us to discuss the specifics of our new reality. I will be a better wife to you, but how should I start when I cannot fathom what you need? Please spare me a few hours of your time in the home you have so generously made mine. I will not infringe on the privacy of your house again. I hope you understand that sacrifice for what it is.
Three we disagree on.
Two of these I hope are true.
One of these I cannot yet believe.
There are many things that should be discussed between us face to face, but I am not a fool (in this respect).
You have already exiled me from your presence. How long will you punish me? I wonder if you've decided on my sentence or if you intend to ever set me free.
When I was a girl, there was a festival in Moskva. There were exotic beasts from across the world, and my father picked me up and walked me over to see a tiger in a cage. I will never forget her. She was magnificent, the most fascinating creature I had ever seen. But she was angry. She paced the cage, baring her fangs and snarling. She was so angry. I remember telling my father and he laughed, said I had her temper.
When I think of her now, I think of how unfair it was to cage a tiger. She would see the sun, but never feel its warmth again. I wonder how long she survived that cage. I think of her often.
Make whatever metaphors you like. I refuse to meet you when I cannot trust that you will not repeat what happened in December. You ambushed me with something I never agreed to and never wanted. You took the evening entirely out of my control, trampled every boundary I have ever erected, and called it love.
And how can I earn your trust if you will not see me? I will tell you the truth, but I cannot force you to believe it. What I did, I did as a sacrifice for us. I allowed you to confirm anything I have ever said to you. I gave you the ability to abandon faith for certainty. You may disparage my methods, but do not question my intentions. It never would have happened if I thought it would hurt you. That was never my intention.
How do I prove my loyalty, my veracity?
You could start with not assuming you know my mind better than I do.
He would not send that. A benefit of having this conversation through letter was that he had time to think through what he said and not let fly something that would make everything worse. He'd sent the last letter in anger, but he wouldn't repeat the mistake. He crumpled the parchment and made himself a drink.
22 January, 1895
Angelica,
It was not a sacrifice I asked for, nor — as I'm sure you realize by now — one that I appreciated. I don't want to abandon faith for certainty. I don't believe that is where healthy relationships grow. I know what you intended; I do not question that. But I need you to make an effort to see things from my perspective if you want to continue this conversation. Consider my experience of the evening: never asked what I wanted, never given a choice, told I ought to thank you for the honor, and accused of cruelty when I refused to take advantage of you. I could never have asked you a question after you took that potion. I would never have forgiven myself for violating you so thoroughly, even if you professed to want it. So consider that and then think how the night felt for me, hearing your most deeply held conviction that I have done nothing to indicate care or affection for you at any point, and being unable to respond in any meaningful way — really think about that and then consider if, in my shoes, you would in a matter of a few short weeks feel comfortable walking into an experience which might echo it.
I do not need a proof of your loyalty or your veracity. I need your respect, but any time I ask for it you take it as a punishment.
There's nothing more to talk about, Angelica. Not when it comes to the relationship. If you want to discuss logistics for our separation, by all means.
And I am sorry. To the bottom of my heart, I am sorry that I hurt you. I am sorry that I betrayed your trust. What I begged you for, what I still beg for is your perspective. For you to communicate with me. Because I don't disrespect you intentionally. I respect you. Without hesitation, I respect you. Where I have failed is in my communication of my respect.
In the clearest of terms, I need to know how I can show you that. I am determined to reach a place where we can both benefit.
Please. I know I have upset you, but I cannot hear 'separation' from you. Pick some other word for this and tell me what to do.
For years you assumed my mind instead of asking it, insisted even when I said no, and willfully misunderstood me when I tried to communicate with you. These are not indicators of respect. They are also not behaviors I have any reason to believe have changed in the past month.
I have begged you for plain answers, I have pleaded for clarity. You have chosen 'sullen' and 'silent.'
And no matter what you think of me, do not lie again and tell me it is less than ill, I have never "willfully" misunderstood you.
I have worked for you, I have tried for you, over and over again. You have fought me at every turn, declaring everything I present to you as impossible or irrational.
Let me make something clear to you - there is nothing rational about love, and even less sense to be made when not all parties engage in good faith. This, my dear, I place at your feet.
Between the two of us, one thing remains true: I will try and adapt. You have chosen to judge me for the effort.
I will spare myself the indignity of your inevitable silence. I wish to reconcile with you, whatever we decide that means. Please do not mistake this for meekness. When I feel wronged, I will tell you the truth. That has never changed and never will. As desperately as I want your affection and long for your love, I want them honestly.
I repeat the most important part of my message: I have never willfully misunderstood you. Whatever I have misunderstood, please help me understand. This is not a game to me, Emrys. I have no illusions about our voes, but to me, they had meaning. I have not, nor will I ever give up on us. I will do what I promised to do, which is to love you. Help me learn what that means.
I'm writing now against my better judgement. I don't think this exercise in trying to get you to see from my perspective will be any more successful than the last, and I expect you will again pronounce me guilty of doing nothing and will again demand a pat laundry list of things you can do to to mend this. You believe that there must be a list of simple items you can tick off and once the last is completed this relationship will be restored. You act as though I have such a list in mind and withhold it from you out of spite. If I had a tidy list of things that would fix us, I would share it. If I had such a list, I would action it. I don't. I wrote the initial letter requesting our separation because from my perspective this seems unrecoverable. Differences irreconcilable in our experiences of the same conversation. The attached letter is one example, but it's far from the only one.
Emrys
A separate piece of parchment, folded inside the first. This one is written in vanishing ink; twenty minutes after being unfolded the words will start to fade until they eventually disappear entirely.
I have given a great deal of thought to the question of whether you knew what you were doing when you asked me if the man I loved was at the party that night. I was certain that you must have, because you are intelligent and not naive to the ways of the world, but since you wrote emphatically that you have never willfully misunderstood I have determined to believe that you were never willfully malicious. Hence the explanation that follows, which I hope you do not find patronizing.
When two men love each other discretion is of the utmost importance. I could list examples of the consequences when it is not maintained, but I'm sure you are quite capable of discovering them for yourself should you care to. They are hardly difficult to find. Men sent to prison, sent to asylums, dismissed from their careers, disowned or exiled from their families, made pariahs in society. When two men love each other it is with this understanding: that they mutually hold the power to destroy the other, and that they will never use that power, and that they will guard it well. There is no trust deeper than this, and at even a hint that this trust has been betrayed the relationship must dissolve. No one survives it otherwise.
I do not know what your motivation was in asking. I suppose you wanted to be thanked for your generosity in having stopped at one question. You said this, after, that you did not ask the questions you have — as though this one question was not enough. So I suppose this was a feint on your part, an attempt to get your epee pinned beneath my neck so that you could show me you were disinclined to slit my jugular, and to induce me to be relieved and grateful that you had deigned to let me live.
After that night I had to speak to him about it. I had to look him in the eye and confess that I had broken his trust, that I had let someone else wrest from my grasp the power he had given me and I was no longer a fit guardian of it. I had to tell him that my wife knew about him and that I had no way of knowing whatsoever what she would do with the knowledge, today or tomorrow or five years down the line. I had to tell him because I cared for him too much to let his entire life be ruined by your carelessness, without so much as a warning, and I had to do this knowing the only sane reaction on his part would be to leave and never see me again.
This wasn't yours to take. This part of my heart that held him in it was not yours. The trust he gave me was not yours. But you took it regardless, perhaps without even realizing what you were doing — and that almost makes it worse, that it was not only cruel but thoughtlessly cruel. You suspected I held on to something beautiful and precious and you wrested it from my grasp and threw it to the ground, and whether you were purposefully trying to shatter it or whether you had no idea of its fragility the original sin in the same. You had no right to take it, to claw it out of my hands. I haven't been able to bring myself to forgive you for it yet. I'm not sure whether I will.
I am not interested in hearing your explanation of all your good intentions. Your intentions are irrelevant. You hurt me, and you threatened to hurt the man I love, and I take your actions as evidence over your words.
I hope you see that writing to recast this in some light of your choosing, arguing that this was somehow born of your fondness or enduring love or your total and complete devotion, will do you no favors if your goal is still reconciliation. It would only serve to convince me that you didn't understand the damage you were causing and still don't understand it — and therefore that you are liable to repeat it, as many times as I present you the opportunity to do so.
I don't intend on exposing someone I care about to this sort of danger again.
I have so many things to say to you, and most of them are apologies. You and I have lived the same trials and have vastly different memories of the event. This is not a criticism, but an observation of how horribly far intent can veer from result. I love you and I failed you. I would never be so careless about the reputation of another, especially when there are those I care for, beyond yourself, that find themselves in similar situations. I will write further, but please understand that I do not write to fight you. I want to fight for you and I think that a significant difference.
Angel
She stopped, started, sobbed, and started over for hours on end. Finally, after coming near her end of available parchment, she chose to write freely. Let him hear her think, what harm could it do now?
26 January 1895
Emrys,
I do not know what to say. I do not know what to say, so I should say what I know to be true:
1. I love you, whatever you think of me.
2. You have every right to loathe me.
3. I am sorry.
4. I am embarrassed.
5. I would never endanger you.
6. I wouldn’t throw your lover to the wolves.
I also confront a truth I have never needed to give much thought: I am jealous. I am jealous of the phantom in the room with us when we speak, this mystery lover that haunts me. I am jealous, but then I feel some sense of kinship that makes me want to know him. That frightens me. This all frightens me because I have no example upon which to proceed.
Angel
27 January 1895
Emrys,
You were clear that intent was irrelevant and I don’t protest. I don’t believe that absolves me of the need to explain myself. No, I’ve not hoped to score some great victory in puzzling out your lover. I asked after him in an attempt to engage in your life. On my life and yours, I would never betray your connection. If you will not trust my word alone, consider how foolish I would look if I told the world my husband shunned me for a man. If that still is not enough, consider how you hold enough in your hands that you could ruin me with little more than a thought.
I will not argue with you. I did not have a right to your lover.
I do not know what to call him, but lover seems distasteful. It burned me at every opportunity in my desire for you, it’s a word I should never have to hear as your wife, and yet, here we are.
I am angry, but I don’t know how to explain why. I’m angry that I’m not enough for you. I’m angry, now, that I cannot imagine you ever writing so passionately about me. I’m angry that I don’t hate him or you.
I wish, now and until I am successful, for our reconciliation. That feels simple and ridiculous, because I don’t want to go back to pretending, I want us both to be bloody happy.
I have no defense for the harm my actions caused. My intentions were insufficient and irrelevant. From the depths of my heart, I am sorry.
I know you had no intention of ousting me to society, but I venture to hope you understand that I could not have acted otherwise given the situation you placed me in, no matter what I believed your intentions to be. The unspoken terms of my other relationship would not have permitted otherwise; whether he felt safe staying was not my decision to make and certainly not mine to withhold from him.
You say you want us both to be happy, but you say you are jealous. You say you are angry that you not enough for me. I can tell you from my experience with marriage — admittedly limited in the real experience of it, but not in external observation of the marriages of others — I do not believe the situation you find yourself in is unique. In fact it seems rather absurd to me to believe that a person should rely on one other for the fulfillment of all of their needs and the actualization of all their desires. To be the unburdening of every mental load, the comfort of every emotional turmoil, the realization of every sexual drive, the culmination of every future hope — it feels utterly ridiculous to suppose one person should be so wholly responsible for the wellbeing of another. I cannot be this for you. I was never seeking this for myself.
I do not, and could never, loathe you. But neither can I be what you have very clearly required of me, which is why I have said reconciliation is impossible.
![[Image: NpMgQU7.png]](https://i.imgur.com/NpMgQU7.png)
