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TW: Blood, violence!
I'll begin to link the music I listened to as I wrote it, I love it whenever authors do this on their fics so I thought I give a go, hope you enjoy it as I do!

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Ethel Cain - Ptolemaea

As Leonor and Thomas arrive at Arrow House, the car pulls up to the imposing front of the manor. The tall, dark stone walls seem to cast a shadow over their entrance, but the familiar sight does little to lift Leonor's spirits. She steps out of the car, glancing up at the grand building that is supposed to be her home but right it feels more like a cage.

Inside, the staff greets her warmly, yet their voices blend into the background. Thomas is already distant, heading straight for his office without so much as a word to her. His steps are heavy with tension, and the door closes behind him with a finality that tells her not to follow.

Hungry and not in the mood to argue, Leonor sat alone at a long dining table, staring down at her untouched plate of roasted vegetables and meat.

The grand dining room, with its rich mahogany furniture and velvet curtains, felt suffocating in its emptiness.

Even though Juliet lay happily on her feet, she began to feel lonely again.

Uncertain of the true cause, Leonor pondered the reasons behind it, it all seemed to circle around back to the memory of her older days in Spain.

The hand had left her neck, but the feeling still remained.

"I need a drink." She breathed, reaching out the glass to a maid, who quickly filled with wine, which only made things worse. "Something stronger."

"My lady?" The maid frowned, knowing she was never keen to indulge herself in alcohol.

"Whatever Mr. Shelby drinks." Leonor interrupted her, waving her hand.

The clock ticked loudly, filling the silence Thomas left behind as he locked himself in his office as soon as they arrived.

The food was artfully arranged, but it tasted bland to her as if her appetite had left with his. She pushed the plate away and excused herself, retreating upstairs to her room, glass, and bottle in hand.

Downstairs, behind the closed doors of his office, Thomas sat slumped in his chair, the dim light casting shadows across his face, the smoke of the cigarette clouding the room in a gray fog. Letters, papers, and reports lay scattered on his desk, but his attention was on the decanter of whiskey he was pouring into a glass. The hours slip by as he works through papers, his thoughts clouded by frustration, curiosity, and jealousy, even if the last one he didn't wish to admit to himself.

The amber liquid dulled his senses but fueled the fire of jealousy that began to simmer beneath and soon, above the surface. The empty bottles scattered across his desk told the story of a man unable to escape his own thoughts. Alfie's presence, no matter how innocent, gnawed at him. Each sip of whiskey only made the bitter thoughts stronger.

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⏰ Last updated: Sep 30 ⏰

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