Influence & Grace | Mr. Darcy [PPZ]

I

one | 01.

WARRIORS.

    The mid-afternoon sunlight poured into the drawing room, casting long, golden rays across the polished wood floors and delicate furnishings.

Mary Bennet's fingers moved deftly over the ivory keys of the pianoforte, the notes cascading like a soft, steady stream, filling the space with a serene, almost hypnotizing melody.

Her eyes, an intimidating icy blue, were fixed on the sheet music before her, but her mind wandered far beyond the intricacies of the piece she had been playing.

    Mary's younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty, were busy sharpening their swords by the hearth, the metallic rasp of blade against whetstone an oddly comforting backdrop to Mary's music.

Elizabeth and Jane, on the other hand, were seated at the table, oiling their musket and pistol with rapt attention, each movement precise.

While her sisters excelled in the art of combat, each skilled and fearless in their own way, Mary had always felt set apart, her strengths lying not necessarily in physical prowess but in the sharpness of her mind and the depth of her convictions.

Her brown hair was coiled into a neat braid, the style both practical and elegant, and as she moved her head in time with the music, her gold earrings brushed lightly against her jawline.

     Her posture was perfect, her fingers moving effortlessly up and down the ivory keys, weaving the notes together with a skill and grace that spoke of countless hours of practice.

There was a certain comfort in the familiarity of the instrument, in the way her fingers knew instinctively where to go, even when her thoughts drifted far elsewhere.

    Mr. Bennet, seated nearby, was occupied with his own blade. His eyes were keen, his movements sure, and Mary could see the years of experience etched into the lines of his face, the weight of countless battles fought against an enemy that never truly died.

    Mary glanced at her father briefly out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering on his weathered hands—hands that had wielded countless weapons in defense of their family.

    It was in that tranquil moment that Mrs. Bennet's voice shattered the peace like a bullet through glass.

    "Mr. Bennet, have you heard? Netherfield Park is occupied again by a Mr. Bingley." Her voice, high and animated, carried easily through the room.

    Mary's hands stilled on the keys, the final note hanging in the air like a question. She turned in her seat, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in her mother's excited expression.

    Mrs. Bennet stood in the doorway, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes bright as she looked toward her daughters, clearly relishing the importance of her news.