❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
She pointed at herself with a shaky finger, an anxious look in her eyes. She didn't know how to respond to such an exuberant greeting, much less from someone of high ranking who could easily dispose of her without anyone caring. "M...me? Sir?"
He bounced on his heels, hand still outstretched. "Mhm!"
She fiddled nervously with her cap, trying to avoid eye contact with the bubbly boy. "Me...name...Cyril."
Her words were clumsy compared to the little boy's eloquent speech, and the syllables came in short and cut-off sounds. Her eyes teared up, shame filling her chest.
His eyes brightened. "Your name's Cyril?" He turned his face to meet his father's amused look. "Father, his name's Cyril, and he's my friend now. Can we bring him along with us home?"
The marquess chuckled good-naturedly at his son's exuberance, patting his head. "If he and his parents are willing to move with the lad over to Basilwether, I see no reason as to why not."
He crouched down in front of Cyril, giving her a warm smile. A look that felt unfamiliar to her. "How about it, lad? My son appears to have taken a liking towards you."
She nodded, then abruptly shook her head furiously. "Why not?"
With the same shaky finger she used to point to herself earlier, she slowly pointed out the window and to the small spire that sat atop the asylum, obviously visible above the small hatchet roofs of the village. The man, however, did not understand. "Your parents live in the village?"
The bookkeeper slowly approached them, and beckoned the father over, leaving the two children alone. Tewkesbury was quite a ball of sunshine, chattering his head off at two shakes of a rabbit's tail the minute his father turned towards the bookkeeper.
"My father and I were visiting this village to buy some local herbs at the apothecary, and then we saw this bookstore and I begged my father to let me come." His words were accented with wide sweeps and gestures if his tiny arms, making him the center of her attention. "Father, being father, was quite alright with it, so I ran ahead of him. You see, books are really fascinating to me, especially ones about plants and flowers. Did you know that one flower can symbolize both purity and death? And it can also symbolize happiness, and innocence, new beginnings, blah blah blah..."
Poor Cyril could barely keep up with the little lord's rambling, nodding her head when it seemed appropriate. Yet, she didn't really mind the way the boy prattled on about flowers, or plants, or even the mundane aspects. What blew her mind was how much energy and spirit he had, the confidence he yielded when talking to a complete stranger.
"...ril...Cy..."
He could have been talking about the most boring of subjects, or the most complicated of nonsenses and she still would have been keenly trying to match his pace.
"...ril! CYRIL!" His sweet voice shook her out of her stupor, and she blinked, mirthful, but concerned brown eyes staring 4 inches away from her face. He frowned, tilting his head to the side. "Are you alright? I've been calling your name for quite a bit now."
She blushed madly, whether from embarassment of being caught dazing off or whether from the close proximity he had established between them. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bobbed her head up and down in an uncertain 'yes', which made the brunette boy rock back onto his heels, the bounce back in his step.
"That's good, I was beginning to think that I had lost you there." The corners of his lips stretched upwards, the twinkle coming back into his eyes. "So, what's your favourite book to read?"
Cyril was stumped. Favourite book to read? Her mouth couldn't form words as she tried to explain that she couldn't really ...read. Unfortunately, speech wasn't something she practiced at all, nor was proper grammar nor manners, so her words came out in a murmur. "Me... can't..."
He furrowed his eyebrows, puzzled. "What did you say? I can't really hear you."
Her blue eyes began to water again, a tear nearly escaping her eyes. I can't speak either.
And again, she was lucky when she got saved yet again by his kind father, who walked back at that very right moment. The distraction averted Tewkesbury's attention away from her, giving her time to quickly swipe the liquid away. The man kneeled down on one knee again, slightly below her eye level, understanding in his eyes.
Reaching out to her, she flinched, but he didn't seem disturbed by it. "Would you like to visit your mother before you decide on coming?"
At first, she thought this was a joke. No possible way could the kind man in front of her be seriously considering to take her along to their estate, there was no possibility of that happening. It must have been a dream.
But if so, it was a good dream. And she didn't intend on wasting it by saying no and waking up.
