❝ the difference is she chased after u. not the other way around. u don't get many like that, arthur. not in the life we lead. ❞
whoever decided arthur had to die i have a personal grudge held against u </3
🍃 not actually complete just marked as su...
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colter. ambarino. 1899
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'Abigail. Arthur is the Father,'
That's what you wanted to add on to your words as one of your closest friends paced back and forth in front of you, processing the information you'd just told her already. She appeared like she was ready for war with the passion in her walk, willing to charge for a righteous cause to protect those she cared about. It was quite inspiring really. You sat adjacent to her form, torturing the nail on your index finger with nervous bites.
"Abigail... you have to promise me you won't say anything to anyone. Not even Miss Grimshaw o-or Dutch,"
"I won't, I won't... but I just don't understand- I mean... you have to tell me who the Father is," Abigail said, her gaze falling to a blank facade as she watched you fiddle with the hem of your winter clothing. You could tell she was getting more worried by the second. Abigail stopped for a moment, glanced at you, before moving just a tad more. She then fully faced you and said the same words she had so many times before in the last half hour.
"Come on, Y/N. I know you, you don't just... go and fool around for the hell of it. If you did you'd have been doing it way before you started running with us. You're the most decent one of us all, I just- it don't make any sense!"
