METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹ (Under editing)

𝒾𝓋. 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃: john's announcement

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :  beautiful crime - tamer

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

iv. nineteen: ❝john's announcement❞

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Small heath, Birmingham

The morning sun had a gentle warmth that Marianna found oddly comforting, its rays soothing against her skin. Yet, despite the pleasant weather, she chose to cloak herself in a long-sleeved top. The garment served more than just a shield against the cool breeze; it was a barrier against the world, concealing the bruises and marks left by Kimber's vile hands. Her wrists and neck bore the evidence of his cruelty, and she had no desire to bare them to the unforgiving gaze of others.

Weeks had passed since Cheltenham, but the scars—both visible and buried deep—had yet to fade. Her skin, always delicate and slow to heal, still bore the bruises that told of her suffering. The physical marks were only the surface; the real damage lay beneath, in the hollow places that no amount of iron could mend.

Despite the time that had elapsed, Marianna kept her silence about the ordeal. The shame and the hurt were hers alone to bear, a burden she carried without confiding in a soul.

Thomas, whose actions had also scarred her, was met with icy indifference. She refused to acknowledge him, leaving Grace to field any attempts he made to speak with her at the garrison. The Irish girl was more than willing to oblige, and Marianna found a bitter solace in this small rebellion.

Marianna understood Thomas's drive to make his family's business a household name, but she couldn't yet find it in herself to forgive him. The hurt of that day was branded deep, like a cruel, inescapable mark.

She wasn't some random woman from a pub; she was someone who had stood by him, silently bearing the weight of his choices. Yet he had betrayed her trust, offering her up like a prize to a predator, reducing their shared history to a mere transaction. He had fucked it all up, and the wounds of his actions were far from healed.

Despite her secrecy, the strain was visible. The odd behaviour that followed didn't go unnoticed. The gipsy woman was in the kitchen one morning, lost in the act of painting with oranges and greens. Diego, intent on startling her, crept up behind, hoping to surprise her. But his touch sent her into a frenzied reaction instead.

She recoiled with a hoarse cry, sending her palette and brush crashing to the floor, the paint splattering and staining the boards in a chaotic swirl. Diego's heart ached with worry as he witnessed her distress.

"Marianna," he said, his voice soft with concern, but he halted when he saw her shivering uncontrollably.

She remained silent, her grief evident in every tremor.