𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄. chapter twenty-four; To Truly Live " It's the middle of the day, and I'm drunk. "
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ELSPETH COULD SEE why Paris was both lovely and terrible. It was bustling streets and drinks and parties. Arts and music, wine and money.
She departed from her carriage at the small home that matched Douglas's address. She approached the door with her suitcases in hand, letting out a long breath as she stared at it.
And then she knocked.
And she knocked again.
And with the carriage gone, with sparse other options, Elspeth Liens took a sat on the front stoop and waited.
It was nearly sunrise when she heard a familiar voice, singing quite loudly with other unfamiliar ones.
Douglas Liens was a tall, lanky man, with shoulder-length chestnut hair, half tied up to keep it out of his eyes. He had soft features, just as Elspeth did, and a woman under each arm.
His song only stopped when he reached his own home and saw through foggy eyes a woman.
"Who are you?"
"You've had so much to drink you don't even recognize your own sister?" Elspeth smiled lightly, standing, "You're a poor excuse for a Lord, Douglas."
The women widened their eyes, suddenly clinging harder to Douglas as his confusion turned into a wide grin.
"Ellie!"
Elspeth laughed as Douglas let go of the women, only to scoop his little sister into a tight hug.
"Oh, you look so regal, I suppose time at court has finally tamed your wild nature," He laughed, holding her shoulders to get a good look at the girl, "Come in; drink, talk, we have much to catch up on."
Elspeth shook her head as Douglas threw an arm around her, grabbing one of her bags with his free hand.
"Brother, your company. . ."
"Ah, yes," Douglas noted, turning his head, "Darlings, you have been lovely. But I must indulge my little sister with my time; forgive me."
The women agreed, sending Douglas off with a kiss on each cheek before linking arms and returning to the bustling streets.
"You're supposed to be an artist," Elspeth noted as Douglas opened his door.
"I am."
His home was comfortable, with a sitting room and two bedrooms, its own kitchen and bathroom, and a spare room Douglas dedicated to art. Not his own, he was a poet by nature, but to sculptures and paintings he'd collected over his three short years in Paris.
"To what do I owe the visit?" Douglas questioned, setting her bags down in the spare bedroom, "Last I heard, you were engaged to the King's bastard."
Elspeth deflated, taking a seat on the side of the bed.
