METHOD OF BEDLAM ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ²

𝐢𝐯. 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 ; my deepest inquisitions

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iv. twenty-seven: ❝ my deepest inquisitions ❞

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: unintended - muse

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Somewhere in London

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The following morning, Mar found herself waking up to the penetrating gaze of Thomas, his eyes fixed on her. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Thomas felt a sense of solace, as if her touch alone had the power to alleviate the weight of his sins. Her embrace, akin to a heavenly sanctuary, offered absolution to a soul that might otherwise be denied exoneration.

"What musings occupy that pretty little head of yours?" he inquired, his voice a raspy blend of teasing and genuine curiosity.

Mar's gaze met his, and in her response, there lay a profound contemplation. "To progress anew, man must reinvent himself, much like a sculptor chiseling away at marble."

Thomas grinned at her response, recognizing the reflective nature of her thoughts. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on their intertwined bodies.

"Philosophical, aren't we?" Thomas remarked, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His fingers traced the contours of her features as if committing them to memory.

Mar smiled, her gaze never leaving his. "Life is a constant journey of self-rediscovery, Tommy. We sculpt ourselves with the choices we make."

Thomas pressed a tender kiss on her forehead, savoring the serenity of the moment. For a brief interlude, the weight of the world seemed to dissipate, leaving only the intimacy shared between them.

The resonance of her words lingered in the silent expanse between them, mirroring the intricate nature of their connection and the profound transformation awaiting them.

Marianna understood that once they departed from the estate, whether their journey led them to Birmingham, London, or any other destination, they would revert to being Tommy and Marianna James. Together, their union didn't translate to enduring happiness.

There was a palpable fear associated with the prospect of good things happening, a fear rooted in the inevitability of ruin. Marianna was acutely aware of the looming specter of a life steeped in blood, an existence that might one day submerge them completely.

In the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, Marianna's voice hung in the air, a delicate question that carried the weight of uncertainties.

"Tommy, if something happened between us and you fell in love with someone else," she began, "Do you think—in the future...if by some miracle you ever find yourself in the position to fall in love with me again...do you think you'll ever do?"