𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

A Statue

Walking briskly through the cold marble Halls of the house she's known all her life, and yet never called her home, her mind spun in a damaging spiral that was sure to leave her in nothing but a dizzy and disoriented state, laying on the floor in an attempts to return to the ground. Images of their last interaction played through her mind like frames of a film, creating a scene too real and immersive for her taste.

"I'm a liar."

"What are you talking about Flo?"

"I'm a liar, and I've been lying to you for years."

"You wouldn't lie to me"

She could still picture his smirk. Each crease of his sly smile digging into her with more and more force as he let out a light chuckle of assurance.

"You don't know that"

She cringed at the memory, thinking back to a simpler time before it had taken place. Why did she have to ruin everything, why couldn't she keep her feelings to herself. They haven't done her any good out in the open so what was her reason for spewing her secrets and ruining a perfectly good thing. A perfectly good relationship. A perfectly good friendship.

The grandfather clock sounded from across the corridor, chiming once, twice, and continuing on until it counted 11. 11 am had arrived and suddenly the halls were filled with the mayhem of the staff cantering about with flowers and food, dusting of any specs that could only really be seen by the strongest of spectacles, or through the lens of a magnifying glass, straightening out any stray piece of armor or weaponry slightly tilted on its display, and finally, taking their place in line along the entrance of the manor.

You see, despite the air being exceptionally mundane, and there being no other hints to the day's significance apart from the proper manner in which the staff had displayed themselves by the door, today was not just another warm September morning. Today marked the return of the young master who, having run away in a passionate blur, had claimed his seat in the House of Lords, and passed the reform bill, much to the pleasure of the Basilwether workers. He would be welcomed back a hero in the eyes of everyone, everyone but Florence.

Stuck in a daze, Florence missed the original signal and only snapped awake when she heard her mother call for her, the sound of her name echoing across the cold, unwelcoming tiles laid upon all the walls and floors of the house.

"Florence!"

"Shit"

She muttered under her breath and quickly took off towards the grand entrance of the home. Glancing to her right, through the framed windows as she ran, she could see a carriage approaching speedily, making its way through the bright and blooming gardens to either side of it.

"Shit shit shit"

She started to panic, her heart rate rising quickly, both from nerves and from the physical exertion. Making it to the entrance just in time, she quickly composed herself and scurried to the end of the line. Patting down any unwanted rumples and crinkles in her dress skirt and tucking any unruly pieces of her light and wavy, ash brown hair behind her pointed ears, and out of her soft brown eyes.

"Miss Clarke you are late, this could have been disastrous. You know how fond the lord is of you."

Mr. Warren, the butler whispered quietly to her, not turning his head away from the sight of the approaching carriage.

"Fond of me, is he now?"

She responded in a disgruntled mumble, still reflecting on their final moments together before his sudden and unannounced departure.

The carriage finally made it to the front of the house and all the staff members sucked in a sharp breath, holding it in for a never-ending second. Waiting for the doors to open, Florence dropped her face, shielded her eyes and removed any sign or evidence of deep thought from them. She stared at the car, still and silent, and watched as the boy she once thought she knew, stepped down each step carefully until he reached the same pebbled terrain that her own two feet were also standing on.

With each crunch of stone that came with every step he took, he confidently made his way towards the front-left side of the line, leaving his mother and uncle to exit the carriage at their own pace. He greeted each worker politely and with a smile, shaking their hand and thanking them for keeping the grounds in fine condition during his absence. All the servants and maids, praising him greatly for passing the reform bill and welcoming him back with open arms.

Florence scoffed in her stance, he would receive no such greeting from her. He did not deserve it. She shifted on her feet, securing her hands in front of her apron, clasped together, finger in finger, as she stared straight out in front of her. He made his way down the line, giving the same thanks to Mr. Warren and recieving similar gratitude in return. And finally at the end of the line, he caught eyes with Florence.

Florence who he had left behind, without saying as much as a goodbye or leaving any sign or remanence of his whereabouts. He stopped directly in front of her, a bright and truly gleeful smile splaying across his handsome face from the sight of her before him. His eyes glistening as they stared into hers, searching for some sign of happiness and relief to see him once again. Waiting for her to burst into laughter, wrap her arms around him like she would have done a few months ago, and tell him how much she had missed him and how happy she was to see him once more.

We don't always get what we want. She was a statue. Staring back at him, expressionless and cold with nothing, absolutely nothing behind those dazzling eyes of hers. Her demeanor remained stale and she stood still as he let out an exasperated breath.

"I missed you Flo."

His eyebrows raising inwards in worry as he spoke. His voice, smooth and slightly lower than she remembered it to be. He stood slightly taller than he did some months ago, and his hair was cut short into a smart do. It suited him, she thought. And despite being in such close proximity of the boy who made her heart flutter, and set into motion all the butterflies that laid resting in her stomach, the boy who made her feel weak and frail, unable to stand and support herself without losing balance and falling into his lean arms, she managed to keep her composure. Florence opened her mouth to speak to him for the first time since that dreaded memory, allowing him to hear the sweet sound of her melodic voice as it made its way to his attentive ears. Fully expecting a friendly or perhaps even playful response, he leaned towards her slightly, his smile growing steadily. A smile which dropped immediately as she delivered a swift, curt response followed by a dry and proper curtsy.

"Welcome back my Lord"