"But...in the book, she speaks so highly of you. I don't understand."
"Poor girl, she was so young, so naive...She was so good hearted that deep down, I don't think she ever truly blamed me for the murders...but that's not the truth. I played equal part in the deaths of each one of those women, including my own mother..."
His words horrified me, but I couldn't bring myself to feel any less of him.
"I'm a monster Sybil..."
"No..." I said, placing my hand on his cheek. His eyes were full of regret, full of sorrow. Monsters don't feel remorse. Monsters don't take responsibility.
"No, you're not...I don't know the circumstances of what you did, or why you did it, but...I don't care...I don't care..." I raised up and pressed my lips to his, longingly.
"I don't care what you've done. You're not a monster, Thomas. My love for you is unconditional..."
His fingers wrapped themselves firmly around my hand as he pulled it away from his face.
"You can't be serious..." He said, seeming almost offended by my declaration.
"I tell you that I've taken part in ending the lives of almost every woman that had the misfortune to catch my attention, and that doesn't phase you in anyway!?"
The fire flickers in the reflection of his eyes, mirroring the growing outrage that stirred within them.
"No, as a matter of fact, It doesn't, Thomas." I reply, thinking that maybe my sincerity is what he's hoping for.
"I love you, Thomas, why is that so hard for you to accept?"
"Oh Stop it, Sybil! Stop!" He hissed, standing abruptly.
"This isn't love! It's infatuation! You're love for me is nothing more than some nonsense that your mind has fabricated because you can't handle the severity of the situation you're in! You need to leave here!"
I didn't understand, why was he acting this way? His words tore into my heart, each one ripping into me deeper than the last.
"You need to save yourself and escape! Stop entertaining these delusions that you and I could have anything more than this! Skulking around in dark cold attics pretending like we have a future together!" He cried, as he flipped a nearby desk along with the antique jewelry box that rested upon it.
The contents flew across the room, leaving a cloud of dust in the air.
All I could do is watch as he moved to the other side of the room and scooped something up off the floor. He knelt down in front of me with something balled up in his trembling fist, tears rolled from his frantic eyes as they met mine.
"This Is All That Remains Of The Desperate, Stupid Women Who Thought That Loving Me Was Enough!" He opened his hand to reveal an assortment of scraggly locks of braided hair. Each one varying in color and texture.
Each one a haunting reminder of the price that these poor women had to pay for falling in love with Sir Thomas Sharpe.
"I...I have to go..." I choked, struggling to process all that had just happened. I stood up, letting the quilt fall from my shoulders. I couldn't bare to look at him as I walked swiftly for the door. Not a single sound would escape my lips, even though my entire internal being was screaming for him to stop me.
To apologize.
To tell me that he loved me.
Anything that would soothe the debilitating heartache that shattered me from within.
I looked over my shoulder, and saw him standing in the same place as I found him, facing the fire, resting his arm on the mantle. The pain in my heart began to twist and contort into something else, something hot and loud, something that filled me and demanded to be heard. I pulled the key to his workshop from my breast pocket, looking at it once more before cementing our end.
"Goddamn it..." I hissed,
"God DAMNIT! You Should've Thought About All Of This Before You Let Me Fall In Love With You! You Heartless Bastard!" I cried as I threw the key across the room.
He didn't react.
He didn't speak.
He didn't even seem to acknowledge how much he was hurting me. He just stood there, as if he were made of stone.
The flames around the room began to dim, as did the fire in the fireplace. In the fleeting light he seemed to fade away with it, melting into the darkness around him. Somewhere in the mess of my sobs, I managed to call out one last sentiment before he vanished.
"I never want to see you again..."
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Lace: A Crimson Peak love story (Thomas Sharpe)
Fantastique*COMPLETED* Sybil McMichael was happy to accompany her husband, August, to the place his grandmother, Edith Sharpe, wrote about in her most famous Novel. Once there, she finds that her husbands intentions were fueled by more than mere childhood curi...
