the trial ; d.m

18

***

The bed is empty when she wakes, and she's alone in the room. Heaven knows what the time is. The single urge she currently has is to escape this room, run into the garden and immerse herself in the tranquility of the countryside's morning atmosphere.

But when she peeks out of the window, fate has it that it's raining, ironically matching her mood.

With every force, she fleets down to the kitchen and faces the insufferable drowning sensation of anticipation. She pushes the anxiety away, clears her mind.

But no ones even here. Theo must have left for work earlier on and as for Malfoy, well there's no surprise that he is probably avoiding her altogether. It only makes matters worse truthfully. She wishes to see him now, to get it over with.

However, for the rest of the day whilst Geneva's stuck inside the confines of the Manor as it pours down outside, she finds herself in almost every single room except the very one she knows he's in. Practically skips around the Manor like an erratic child, from room to room, finding excuses within each one.

A feeling lingers within her, a craving for absolute thrill and desire weighs upon her like a building on her back.

While she happens to be in Theodore's
study, she can't help herself from having another snoop around. Considering his strange behaviour from the night before, there's every reason as to why she speculates something.

Though she finds nothing and then begins to feel guilty for becoming the wife who does this sort of thing. Invasive. But it's the most frustrating feeling when one feels as if the person closest to them is hiding something and won't reveal what that is.

Geneva truly knows she's only trying to find something so she can feel less guilty about her latest endeavours. So she doesn't have to paint herself as the unfaithful villain everyone already speculates her to be. It appears she's proven them right now.

But it was nothing. Nothing, nothing.

A nothing she cannot stop thinking about. 

She lets her body slump onto the edge of the desk and caves her head into her hands, feeling both sick and confused.

All is silent for a moment, alone with the wilderness of her mind where each passing thought is a stray beast. But a tapping at the window interrupts this peculiar void.

One of their post owls jolts the window open, releasing a clump of letters addressed to Theodore, letting them splay out across his desk. Out of sheer curiosity, she scans the pile, eyes and radar busy until she finds what she knows she's been looking for.

A letter. Recognisable handwriting scrawled across the front, a hand which twists a funny feeling in her gut. Geneva doesn't even hesitate when opening the envelope.

She stares at it even minutes after having read it through twice, three times maybe. Just stares again like she had at the last.

But this time she doesn't leave it perched on the side for him to read later. After all, he'd know she's seen it for it's already been opened. That would only cause more suspicion and drama.

Again, without giving it a second thought, she casts Incendio into the fireplace, observing with satisfaction as the logs strike up in flames, grabs the letter and tosses it right in. She feels nothing as she watches it burn to a crisp. No anger, no hatred, no betrayal. Not a thing. Just watches mechanically as the parchment blackens and falls apart.