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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1892. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

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“Got the morbs” was Victorian slang for a temporary melancholia — Dante
Maybe a choice shade of grey - the closest thing she had to mourning clothes - as a symbolic marker that her relationship with Victor was dead.
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Forgotten Fears
#1
August 29, 1892 - Darrow Home, Swallowbury District, Irvingly

With the precious bundle swaddled in her arms it was hard to remember the weeks of fear that had led up to this moment. In fact it was hard to recall much of the past twelve hours either now that her little girl was in her arms. Caroline leaned her head toward the small pink child and gave her a tired smile.

Nothing could have prepared her for labor, or even the fear and anticipation waiting for the event. Caroline rather felt as if she had run from the house in Boston down to the docks and only just caught her breathe (something she had actually done as a child). Her muscles ached. All of her ached, actually. But it was numbed by her love for this small being held close to her chest.

The healer and midwife had cleaned her up and settled her into bed with new sheets before they allowed Evander in. In fact, Caroline was so consumed in her attention for the baby she didn't even hear the door creak open as she ran her finger along the cheek of her child - her child. Was there anything that had ever sounded so precious in the world?
The following 2 users Like Caroline Darrow's post:
   Elsie Kirke, Louisa Clearwater

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Thank you Lady <3
#2
He was fairly convinced either Caroline or the baby would die. Both, if his luck was anything to go by – Caroline particularly had escaped mortal harm by narrow measures at so many previous junctures that Evander suspected now would be the day fate would bite.

So, trying to mentally prepare for all that, Evander had not moved from his desk in his study in hours. (There was little reason that he ought to be rereading his own will tonight, since he was the only one in the house not in danger of expiring – between her sorting and the baby’s birth both looming, Charity might well find a way to spontaneously combust, just to ensure there was some tragedy here – but at least if he suffered an ill-timed fit of apoplexy, he could be comforted by the neatly articled provisions he would have left for them.)

And still, the very stress of this endeavour (although speaking of stress, his wife was presently in the other end of the house behind a very solid door, in the throes of who-knew-what) had made Evander sorely tempted to send for a solicitor to make some very minor but absolutely vital amendments to the document, but, valiantly, he had refrained. At some stage the words had begun to swim before his eyes from the repeated sight of them, his breathing gone a little shallow and his head a little heavy, when –

Oh, the midwife had sent for him. On edge at once, he had sprung from his chair in haste – but he slowed down on the stairs, somehow unable to digest any of the midwife’s placating statements about mother and baby being well. Indeed, Evander ended up letting himself into the room in such utter trepidation that, white-faced, he had to exhale in confusion at the strange sight he saw, of Caroline with something tiny and pink swaddled in her arms. “You’re not dead,” he exhaled from the doorway, the words issuing all a-jumble (and not intentionally aloud). But the sentiment remained. He took another step or two into the room, gingerly; but was almost too afraid to approach the bed and interrupt her, lest the image of them vanished into thin air before his eyes.
The following 2 users Like Evander Darrow's post:
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#3
At the sound of Evander's voice Caroline's gaze rose from the baby in her arms to her husband, standing in the doorway. His face full of surprise and relief. She could hear it in his voice too. Caroline met his eyes and tried for a wry smile, "It appears not." She agreed. Although she had been quite certain of it herself for a bit there. Not that Evander needed to know that. He was most certainly the protective sort and she rather suspected he might not want another child if she were to admit her own previous fears to him.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" Caroline asked him, nodding down at the delicate creature in her arms. She was so in love with the child, she didn't even consider that Evander might be disappointed that it wasn't a son. Caroline certainly wasn't disappointed.
The following 1 user Likes Caroline Darrow's post:
   Evander Darrow

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Thank you Lady <3
#4
The familiar cadence of her voice was the only thing that convinced him this was not some apparition or deceitful mirage. She wasn’t dead, after all. And if she was well enough for some wry remarks, it could not have gone too disastrously, either – although Evander would have been lying to himself if he pretended his gaze was not raking over every part of her in view, assessing the pallor of her skin and the way her hair was still sticking with sweat about her brow and how the exhaustion was pulling at her face.

Finding nothing worse than that, he exhaled a long, slow breath at her question; shoved away the remainder of fear in his chest; and only then really noticed the bundle in her arms. “I –” His lip wobbled slightly, in trepidation or nervousness or general disbelief, or some exhaustion or overwrought relief of his own. He couldn’t say why. The two of them looked so peaceful, he almost didn’t want to intrude. But... a daughter. (Alfred had a boy; Oakby had told him to hope for a girl; Evander didn’t think he had it in him to be disappointed by anything at this juncture, though he was quietly praying the child had all ten fingers and toes.)

“Are you certain?” Evander tried, still dithering at the doorway. He cast a brief look over his shoulder, as if he could drag this scene down to the ordinary, pretend she was sitting in bed with a minor head cold and not their newborn daughter. “Isn’t there anything I can get you?” His mouth was dry. He didn’t know why his mouth was dry.


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