'With a smile and a wink, the masked man ran off into the night, leaving the fair maiden. Her face still crimson. She could do nothing, but wait near the garden, watching his departure. No wit or thought in her occurred until it was too late and not a shred of his form remained in her sight. Not even the tiniest shadows…'
A red ribbon swept across the halves of the book, nestling in as it shut. The holder of it hugged it to her chest. The novel held no sentimentality in and of itself. Rather, the time was now such. Sentimental, sensitive, soft.
For the young lady, these quiet moments were hardest. Her gaze looked about the large expanse of the bedroom. Such openness would have originally been a trait so beloved by her, but only became one so accursed and cold to her. Lying curled up as she used to did not feel the same either. It was hard to do so anymore. It was not as if she were old, it just did not feel right.
One of her hands left the brown leather, sliding onto the soft warm sheets of her bed. 'Even just this, I could have slept.' Simplistic thought it was, but no longer was it true. The time was already three in the morning. The moon hung above, not whole.
Her blue eyed gaze was quick to pass the empty space by her side, undisturbed, and look to the moon. There was no sound, not a stir. Her beloved family, friends, and pets even were asleep or away.
Yet, here she was left in the waking world. A place of warm and dim lights, of shadows. Things like such were never overbearing, not like the bright sun in the morning or the sounds of bustle in the city or amongst people at events. There lied a reason why Novellia was a child of the sun, more than she was of the moon.
When she came into this world, it was her mother and the sun at its rise that greeted her. In the times, she traveled and walked path after path, the sun lit her path and gave light to things that she would not have perceived in the cloak of night.
But this wouldn't be fair anymore. Not when the one she cared for and rested beside her was a man of such hour and times. As if some nocturnal flower or animal, he would be awake in this hour. For all Novellia knew, he probably was awake in Baarlowe. Maybe he was writing, studying, or doing something else.
Her hand dug into the sheets, clutching onto them. Her eyes could not bear to look at the moon, just as one could not bear to look upon the sun for too long.
Then, she cried.
Voiceless crying. She lowered her head, shame, fear, and all the more would take her now. She was never good at this.
Being on her own in the day and showing her face to others of the nobility were of ease, but alone at night— at the mercy of thoughts, of insecurities, of truths that are for her to think on with no way of refusal, except book, drink, food, or some other material piece of easy pleasures.
But tonight they failed. The silence choked the flower, who found no sunlight in her room.
'How childish! How stupid! How weak!'
Words repeated themselves to her in her own head. What was once filled with sound advice and sharp retorts lessened into hurt and pain given no outlet away from the one who held them so close.
She was just 21. She had been through more than a child of the Peerage ever could or should go through. No matter how horrid the mistreatment of her, she never wished her same fate from then upon anyone else.
If she was still a commoner, she would not have to face people striking her down time and time again with words petty and once upon a time so meaningless. She would not have the lights of a world stage upon her, singling out every last flawed part of a girl gifted this chance.
Why are you so hurt? This world has not turned against you. It sees you, but it sees you in all facets, my little robin. You are still young, but you have done so much and you are still learning and changing.
'I did not want this. I do not want this. To be left to fend for myself in front of people who do not understand, in front of those that hate me, when they never even truly respected me.'
People are that way, but not everyone, you know that.
'It doesn't change the fact that I have to attack back! That I cannot bear it anymore! That I am scared and angry and I just want to—'
—Hold yourself. Still yourself and truly think for a moment. Yes, you have enemies, but that is the reality in life. A story is not complete without an antagonist. Just as you are a hero of your own story and some others, to some, you are their villain.
'I hate it. I do not want to become that. I never.. want to become a villain.'
Then… you'll not get through this so easily. You deny truths and waver away, when you are with a man who is considered a villain by the same people who place such a label upon you. Beloved as you are… You can't deny who you are with.
'And I don't. Because I know I can trust him more than anyone. August is more than a sly and deep thinker, but he is also more than the scholarly recluse some think he is. He likened me to sunlight, while he is like the night and moonlight. He calms me and teaches me so much. There's still more to it all, to learn from him and to love him so, but I—'
—Stop, stop, right there! For the love of the Loong, the Spirit— whatever else at this point, do not dare think or say what you think you are going to say.
'I am a burde—'
—No. My dear Novellia, stop that. You have heard him. You have heard his verdict. He loves you and believes you more than worthy. You are marrying him in a few days! Just because he isn't here, does not mean his love will fade for you. Is… that what you're afraid about?
'Yes.'
And why is that?
'Because.. I cannot keep this up and I know now that I won't be with him for as long as he will be on Aloria. My imperfection— how has it not deterred him yet? Maybe in his time in Baarlowe, he'll realize this wedding is a mistake. That he could find someone much better. Someone who isn't so clingy, who is stronger, who will not jeopardize his children or hurt both them and him when the day comes for me.'
Novellia… My darling, your imperfections are beloved by him. He loves you even if you cannot give him what powers your father's line and his line shares. I know he does. But I must admit that this is partially my fault. My blood within you has made that power of your father's obsolete in your case.
'Mother, you couldn't have known. And besides, I chose Augustin and he did so vice versa- but now I know what I know. I…'
'..I should leave.'
Do not do that.
Novellia stood up, shuffling through the shelves and finding it— her old travel bag. She stuffed in shirts, pants, almost whatever items she spotted and deemed useful, she put in it.
You'll regret this more than anything else if you do this. So don't.
She grabbed some books, paper, ink bottles, shoving them down the bag, not even minding to pay attention to how haphazardly she was doing so.
Novellia! Stop this! You can't do this to him! Not after what he's told you, what he has been through! You will hurt him gravely.
"I know! I know I will damn it! But this is better than him being hurt when I die or him having to one day say that he doesn't love me one day and that he loves someone else! Why can't I just leave and not have to think about that?" Her rough hands pulled out another set of fresh clothes, staring at them, but not quite with how her vision blurred.
"I love him— I love him so much that I have to do him the favor of giving him this brief hurt, so he'll never have to suffer later on. So I never burden him in the long run, so I…"
"..I have to leave. So, he can be happier, even if that means without me and with someone else."
She set the clothes down on the vanity. She gazed up at the mirror and at herself for a time, eyeing the form dressed in a pure white gown. Her eyes widened a bit as she caught the shine on her finger- and there was the ring of foxes around a ruby. A gift to her by Augustin himself.
Her opposite hand pinched it, hesitantly pulling it. Her whole body shivered. She closed her eyes, breathing in to tug it in a count of- 1, 2, and…
Block me out as you might try. At least, let me remind you of your promises, of your hardships, and of the happy times you have spent together. You do not think you deserve it, but look to what extent of love he has given you despite it all. He would forgive you for this, but could you forgive yourself for forcing him through this?
Her eyes reopened.
The ring rested on her ring finger, still fastened there where it was. Where it was meant to be.
Staring at it and glancing to the bag of plans ill-conceived, she fell to her knees and cried. She buried her face on the seat in front of the vanity and cried.
