METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹

𝒾𝒾𝒾. 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃: unenigmatic

"Sure, you promised me a lot more, but this was the first one you'd keep." Mar retorted, rolling her eyes in exasperation. A bitter pang shot through her gut; she didn't need another argument, but the situation seemed to be spiraling out of control despite her best efforts to maintain composure.

Thomas's demeanor shifted to one of solemnity as he realized the weight of Mar's words. Before the war, he had made grand promises to her—promises of devotion, of unwavering affection. But when conflict swept them apart, those promises faded into the ether, lost amidst the chaos of battle and the struggle for survival.

Mar watched as Thomas nodded in acknowledgment, a silent admission of his shortcomings. Perhaps he would shoulder the blame entirely, she thought. But deep down, she knew it wasn't solely his fault. He had tried, in his own way, to be there for her.

Even in the aftermath of her parents' tragic demise, Thomas had remained a constant presence, a pillar of support. Yet she had pushed him away, swayed by the warnings of spirits and omens. And now, as she witnessed those prophecies unfolding before her eyes, she couldn't help but wonder if she should have heeded their warnings and fled while she had the chance.

"I'm not intending to let you use me." Marianna said quietly, her voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and defiance.

She understood all too well that there were certain individuals who held power over her, rendering her vulnerable. And knowing that Tommy was one of those individuals, always capable of leading her into regrettable decisions, tore at her heart.

"I'm never going to use you." He replied lightly, his words carrying a weight she couldn't ignore.

Thomas retrieved a cigar from his coat pocket, a familiar gesture that Mar found strangely captivating. She found herself anticipating the ritual of him running the cigar across his lips before lighting it.

"And then what? You're bringing me to the races instead of Grace," she continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "Indulging Billy Kimber's despicable intentions, allowing him to degrade me like some cheap harlot. All so you can achieve your own ends?"

Silence. It hung heavy in the air, stretching across the expanse of the room.

Thomas seemed to expect her to continue, to pour out her grievances. But Mar knew better. She understood his tactics, his ploys to keep her ensnared in her emotions and resentment.

This silence was just another move in his game, a way to wear her down, to chip away at her resolve until he could claim her fragile heart.

"Leave." Mar said firmly in their Romani tongue, gathering her composure. She had no intention of being drawn further into Thomas's intricate schemes. She shouldn't have allowed him to enter her home in the first place.

"Not going to happen." He replied, his voice resolute as he moved closer to her.

The straw-blonde stood her ground, her apprehension growing as Thomas encroached upon her personal space. She didn't appreciate how he unsettled her, even within the confines of her own home.

As he stood before her, Mar noticed Thomas's labored breathing, a sign of the turmoil brewing within him. Despite his outward calm, she could sense his inner turmoil, his struggle for air.

Without a word, Thomas reached out and gently took Mar's hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of their conversation. Looking into his eyes, she noticed that he had discarded his cigarette, forgotten in the heat of the moment.