With Summertime Comes Sorrow

Madness

There is something about summertime that leaves Sybil Crawley restless. It makes her want to climb out of her own skin and tug at her hair and do any number of un-ladylike things.

Everything becomes so agonizingly... slow in the summer months. People walk as if they are treading through molasses, as if the heat has hindered their ability to move. Even the days seem to drag by lazily, the wind too tired to fly, settling upon you like a thick, suffocating blanket. Open windows do little to fight away the heat. A fine sheen of sweat has permanently covered everyone's brow.

Sybil takes to walking in the gardens whenever she finds the oppurtunity. Sometimes, a soft breeze will rustle through the trees and Sybil can almost convince herself that she doesn't completely despise the season.

However, she can only walk for so long before she must go inside and perform her duties as a lady. She sews and reads and takes tea without audible complaint, but she is so hot and irritible that it will only take one faulty comment to anger her. It so happens to be on this day that her sisters are just as on edge as she, if not moreso, and soon they are all squabbling-- but that is nothing new.

Then, Edith makes a particularly snide comment and that is it, Sybil can take no more. She throws down the halfway finished needlework in her hands with clenched teeth and storms out of the room, ignoring her mother's demands that she come back.

She does not slow her angry strides until she reaches the thicket of trees that sit far, far away from her home. Perhaps if she hides in her little forest, they will forget about her and she will never have to go back inside. She knows that she is being ridiculous, but so is everyone else at Downton, acting as if their little duties are what make the earth turn. Of what importance is needlework and piano-playing when there are real issues going on in the world?

Sometimes Sybil feels so insignificant, as if she exists solely to look pretty and make the occasional witty comment. Her life is so monotonous, and summertime makes that all the more recognizable. Summer consists of dancing and planning parties and luncheons and things that she is supposed to enjoy. And she does enjoy them, to an extent, but she realizes how pointless it all is.

The same gatherings, every week, with the same people. People like her, rich and wanting for nothing. Except Sybil does want something, she just doesn't know what.

She wants to help someone, she wants to do something different than what she's done every day since the day she could talk, she wants to be Sybil. She doesn't want to be a Lady, or a Crawley-- just for one day, she wants to be Sybil. She wants to let her hair down and go to rallies and do something for herself for once.

But she can't, and it kills her. That is precisely why she despises this dreadful season. It makes her wild, while everyone else seems content with lazing about, reading and drinking expensive wine.

She sinks down against a tree and realizes that she is sticky with sweat, and she wishes that it would just cool down.

She closes her eyes, exhausted from her long trek and before she realizes it, she is asleep.

She doesn't know how long she dozes against the rough bark of the tree, but she wakes with a sore neck and heavy eyelids.

She hears rustling in the trees that sounds suspiciously like footsteps and her pulse quickens, realizing that they were what had woken her. She stands quietly and ducks behind a tree before realizing how silly she is being. This is her home! She has the right to walk wherever she pleases! She is just about to make herself known when a figure appears, and her breath catches in her throat.

It is Branson, clad in only a thin cotton shirt and rolled up trousers. His hair is dripping and his shirt is soaked entirely through, so that she can see right through it. The shirt clings to him, leaving nothing to her imagination and she warms up, the weather having nothing to do with anything. She'd always found Branson... captivating, but she always pushed the thoughts away. He worked for her father. However, in the confines of her forest, there is no denying that he is devastatingly good-looking, and that he is dripping wet.