The True Story of Emily Lockwood / g. karim

𝟙𝟘. 𝔽𝕝𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙

~ / Episode Two- Part Three\ ~

"fairytale"

❀

--Before leaving 35 Portland Row, they each grabbed their rapiers, sheathing them in their belts. It might still be say outside, but it was always better to have something you don't need, rather than need what you don't have. 

As they walked, Anthony told them in great detail about his plans to save the agency from bankruptcy. It involved, well, exploiting Annabel's murder to get press coverage, and solving it to make a fortune. 

Emily thought it was all a bit disrespectful, but she couldn't imagine her life without Lockwood and Co. 

Within a few minutes, they arrived at the British National Archives. Emily could feel George's excitement radiating off him, and she grinned at how happy he looked. 

"God, you're weird," she laughed, hooking her arm through his. 

"And you're so sweet," he retorted. She shrugged. 

"Well, it's not my fault I'm so charming," she pointed out, admiring the way the falling leaves crunched beneath her feet. Something about them made her so unexplainably happy. 

"Okay," George sighed, turning to look at the other two agents "this is where it all happens. So behave yourselves, okay?" Emily leaned closer to George and whispered. 

"You don't exactly have a great track record of behaving yourself in libraries," A dusty red color kissed along his cheekbones. He looked over to see how close behind their friends were following. 

"That's not fair," he whispered back as they entered the large building "I was trying to tell you I liked you." 

"George, that's crazy," 

"I prefer creative, but whatever." 

He would be the death of her, Emily Lockwood decided. 

They settled themselves at a table, now strewn with old news articles from Annabel's time with the living. Anthony had his leg propped up, and Emily almost laughed at his absurdly pink sock - a Christmas gift from her the past year. 

Everyone pored over the articles, but Emily suspected they were actually quite bored. Except for George, of course. He was enjoying himself, and watching him made her want to kick her feet and smile like an idiot. 

She was beginning to realize, that perhaps that wasn't as bad as she thought. 

"This is it," he said suddenly. Emily leaned over to see what he was talking about. "she was in Hamlet, playing Ophelia." Emily loved Hamlet, it was on her bookshelf. Ophelia's story was a tragic one, and the irony of it hit her with a pang. "What does that tell us?"

When none of them answered, he stood up in a huff, mumbling to himself as he ran off to search for something within the archives' many shelves. Lucy flicked through the pages. 

"Ophelia's story was tragic," Emily told them both. "she was driven to madness by her family, then killed herself." George returned with a book, set to the page of a photo depicting Ophelia, drowning.