𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

Chapter 21

LADY ARAMINA EMBRY BRUSHED her hair. Slow strokes that made her ginger hair thicker with every move. Then taking pins, and everything she had learnt of hair and how to style it, she fashioned a braided low bun in her hair. With slender fingers, she pulled out her bags and soft curls to frame her face. It seemed ridiculous to her now, all those hours in front of a looking glass with a maid designing her hair to look almost unreal. She had loved that though, adored all those looks that made her appear so regal— but she loved this too. 

Running her hands over her skirts, Aramina exited Grandma Cass' room and walked out to the sitting room. Though the days in this house had been a blur, they were a blur of comfort. But Aramina still yearned for the faces she was used to. She yearned to see her cousin, his wife— people who wouldn't see her as this burden or a target on their backs.

It was an evil claim, for neither Philip nor his Grandma had ever motioned to such a bearing for her, but Aramina couldn't help her rapid thoughts and her anxious heart.  

Philip was seated in the sitting room and he sensed her coming in as she did. His head lifted, grey irises met hers, and then immediately looked away, skittish, anxious.

He had healed completely now, aside from some solitary bandages on leftover cuts and bruises— on his arm, his face.

"How are you feeling?" Aramina managed, not knowing what to say to him or how to say what she wanted to him anymore. It was as though words were just mere leaves in the wind in front of him— and nobody cared for wandering leaves with no purpose.

"I— I feel fine," He answered with that slight initial stutter that plagued him whenever he spoke to her for the first time in a day.

Aramina wondered what went through his head when he looked at her, or talked to her. Did he get anxious like her? Did his heart beat erratically when they spoke? Did butterflies infiltrate his chest like they plagued hers? Would he say if she asked him?

"And you?" Philip swallowed, glancing at her elegantly standing physique.

She pressed her lips and looked away. Her letter to her cousin had seemingly not reached him, or she'd have an indication by now. She missed what was left of her family. She worried about them so much she'd toss and turn in Grandma Cass' room at night— pressing her palm at her mouth to stifle her sobs while her body rocked violently in anguish.

"I feel—," She broke off, willing composure, "I feel like surviving isn't enough for me anymore."

Philip looked at her, confusion twisting away at his features.

"When you first brought me here," She started, eyes pinned elsewhere, "I thought it was enough for me, that I should be glad for it."

"But it isn't," She spun to face him. "I'm forever grateful to you and your grandmother, but I've spent days that I refuse to count— away from the people I love the most in life."

"And it's ebbing away at me," Aramina choked on a sob, "It's eating me away and it's made me realize that I'm just not cut out for merely surviving. I want the people I had, the things I had, to live."

Philip got up, his grey eyes pinned to hers in understanding, patience.

"I know," She flinched away slightly, "I know how it sounds to you. I'm some prissy London high society girl who lives in a material world. But, its just the way I am. I am the crate I was born into, and it will always be my home."

He reached out a hand to her, and she looked at it with glassy eyes as he touched her elbow. Their eyes met.

"It's alright," Philip spoke, his rusty voice lower, trying to calm her down. "It's alright."