METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹

𝓋. 𝓉𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝓈𝒾𝓍: hypocrisy (ed.)

Her heart was clogged with pain and despair as a byproduct of his utterances. It was accurately how he felt, enraged and fearful because no one was believing his words.

Marianna stared at him, trying to think of her forthcoming phrases, before whispering, "I believe you."

His face gave up in great relief and remission prior to actually reverting to normal as he asked, "You do?"

"I'm a full-blooded gypsy soothsayer, Thomas. My mother could see the hue of thoughts and feelings in the earth's atmosphere, and I could listen to and perceive the enlightenment. Sometimes not, but almost all of the time, I do. And I saw that you're being forthright." She replied in one inhalation, trying to walk next to him.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, their fingers almost tickling as they gazed down the slope. Thomas' fingertips drew to hers like a magnet, a secluded touch far beyond the cool and collected bit of wind. He slid his into hers as if they had formed specifically for one another.

 Finally, he found himself fondling his source of burning, as though Marianna had been the gasoline to Thomas' flaming soul.

The man opted to speak in the throes of solitude, swallowing the dirty guilt in him. His palm squeezed hers, and she smiled. "Black Star Day. December 3rd."

"And what's that?" she asked, a slight smile on her bottom lip.

"The very day we took out Billy Kimber as well as his men." Thomas stated, and she could see the tenacity in his iridescent blue orbs when he turned his attention to her, and once again, she notice guilt swirling in them.

A sign that it truly is what it is - A bloodbath. Perhaps he's guilty of the war he's bringing.

She exhaled a gulp of air and gave a nod in memorandum of understanding, "The first fucking climb to the top of the world, yeah?"

"The very first of the few," he remarked before shifting his eyes away from her and toward the foreboding horizon. "Only you and Grace are aware of this."

"You shouldn't trust her quite as much, Thomas." Mar noted, her smile slipping away with the reference of the Irishwoman's name.

Mar really liked Grace and sought to confide in her the way Thomas did, but yet she couldn't get past the murmurs. There's simply something improper with her that she can't place her finger on.

Is it jealousy? could be. Thomas wouldn't have her, right? No, he won't.

Oh how wrong is she about that.

"She's our secretary. She should know." Thomas spoke as the woman beside him shifted her attitude.

"Yeah, of course, and indeed the spirits told me that you have not yet informed your family." She breathed out in irritation. "You notified a subordinate and a soothsayer but not your kin?" Mar scoffed as she finished, squeezing her hand away from his clutches.

"All of them hate me, Mar, and you're not just a soothsayer." Thomas tilted his head indignantly as he turned to confront her exasperation.

In such a patronising tone, Mar questioned, "Grace doesn't hate you, eh?"

Thomas completely disregarded her quandary as he descended into her vindictiveness. "You don't hate me, Marianna, do you?" He decided to ask, all smug smile on his top lip wiped out. Thomas need an assurance, though it's selfish of him to ask her when she didn't know what he did.