Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

ℭℌą℘ţℯr XI

All of you
You startled awake as if reminded of the encounter you had had the previous evening. You could feel the absence of Thomas from the room before you even opened your eyes. The bed was cooler without his heat to help warm it, and you could simply sense that he was nowhere near you.

The note on his pillow did surprise you, however, You rolled over and saw his beautiful handwriting explaining that he had gone into town to look for parts for his clay mining machine and he wouldn't be back until the evening. Your heart sank. You were sure he was not avoiding you on purpose - his work was important to him and you respected that. You still had a hard time understanding what it was about your relationship that had changed since your marriage. Did he not long for you in the same way? Had you done something to displease him? You sighed, resigned to figure it out tonight when he returned. Equally as pressing was the importance of persuading him you had seen a ghost. It was not your first encounter, and you had a strange feeling it would not be your last. But how could you possibly convince him?

All this worrying in circles was getting you nothing but an upset stomach. You rolled out of bed and opened the heavy curtains. Temporarily blinded, you looked away as the light crashed in from the window. It was still pretty early in the morning from the looks of it. Adjusting to the light, you found that a fresh layer of snow had covered the ground overnight. Red tracks leading from the house showed you that Thomas had indeed left the house.

You found a heavy dressing gown in the closet and wrapped it around you. The embroidered letters on the breast pocket read TS and from the length of it, you could only surmise it was your husband's gown. You breathed in the scent of him and closed your eyes, imagining he was wrapping himself around you. Slipping on shoes, you made your way down the hallway, careful to avoid looking at the spot where the incident had occurred. It was too soon and far too early to try and rationalize that.

The house was freezing and you hugged the dressing gown tighter around you. You could almost see your breath as you exhaled. The stairs creaked when you descended, as if moaning in protest at your presence. A larger pile of snow lay in the middle of the foyer where the roof was missing. You sidestepped it and headed towards the kitchen for something to eat. Based on Lucille's dinner last night, you assumed a plain bowl of porridge or something of the like was in order.

You nearly yelped when you saw a shape moving out of the corner of your eye, but when you turned to see it, you found it was only Lucille in a long, black dress, leaning over to pull something out of the oven. Hearing your sharp intake of air, she turned around, eyeing you carefully. It felt as if she were scanning your body for weaknesses or signs of criminal activity. You shifted uncomfortably for a moment before trying your best to smile at her.

"Good morning," you tried.

"Is it?" she replied dryly.

"I hope so," you responded, taking a seat at the table in the kitchen. You feared getting in the way of Lucille and so resigned yourself to wait until she was done with whatever she was doing to begin making breakfast.

"Thomas left early," she noted. "I take it it wasn't a late night then?"

Her words held far more innuendo than you would have deemed appropriate for your relationship. What business was it of hers how late you stayed up with Thomas and for what reason. You cleared your throat, trying to sound as casual as she had.

"No, it wasn't," you answered. She looked almost... relieved.

"Tea?" she asked, reaching over to take the kettle off the fire.

"Yes please."

Lucille poured your tea, but none for herself. She presented it to you with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. There was something about her, you noticed. Something... desperate, feral almost. She contained it well, but it was there right below the surface. Your hand shook minutely as you took the tea and pressed the cool china to your lips. The liquid was bitter and heavy and you almost coughed as if you had drank scotch for the first time instead of tea. You swallowed a tiny sip and forced a smile.