❝You have chosen your side by choosing
to remain quiet, and now she will suffer
at the hands of your selfishness.❞
In which Clara Prescott flees
to find that which will save her.
or
...
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: i'd hardly call them men. they're desperate, is what they are.
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𝙰𝙻𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴𝙻𝚈: hombre and hares
The chandelier falls from above, killing the man who stood below it.
That is a lie, but that would be more interesting than what is happening.
The sun shines brightly with a warmth that I feel drawn to look at its blinding rays through the substantial windows of the ballroom. Beautiful birds chirp in the morningtide glory, seemingly free and joyous. I frequently find them spiralling around the gardens, flying merrily, which leads me to believe that they are doing better than I am at this current moment.
My father has me and my brother Archie standing near the back of the ballroom, to the right of the platform where my sister stands. We've been here since mid-morning, trying our best to keep our eyes open and our attention focused straight ahead, but it appears as though my attention wears thin.
I simply could not care less for the suitors waltzing into our manor in an attempt to court my sister Josephine.
Archie and I have come to realise that it is an impossible feat; we are only waiting for our father to realise that too. We have already told him multiple times that he would not succeed in finding Josephine a husband and that he could very well be allocating his time elsewhere. But Father is stubborn, claiming that Josephine should start a family of her own.
The words, so timely and traditional, do not sound like Father's.
I am pulled out of my inattention when Archie subtly nudges me. The young gentleman, who once stood tall and proud, is now stomping his foot into the mottled limestone floors with a sneer peeling his lips back. It only takes a few moments before the suitor, whose name I have already forgotten, is gone.
Archie and I find ourselves chuckling.
There is one thing coming out of this stipulated and harrowing situation, I suppose: Archie and I get to see the multiple and varying ways a man can storm away, annoyed at their incapabilities of courting Josephine. This one is a stomper, the one before him an embarrassed man, and the one before that, a sobber.
"Stop laughing at my situation!" Josephine scolds, digging one foot into the floor like a toddler having a tantrum.
"Clara, darling, listen to your sister," my father agrees with exhaustion seeping into his tone.
I gape at my father. He stands on the opposite side of the platform, running a tired hand over his face. His wrinkles deepen as his mouth pulls into a frown. I almost sympathise with him, but we would not be in this situation if he would let Josephine marry whoever she wants.
