❝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...
They wound up travelling down the grassy field and into the small patch of woods that the manor edged on. Flowers bloomed across their paths, and as they started to pick up tiny flowers to decorate the tree with, she came across a pretty little purple one.
"Tewkes, what flower is this one?" She held it up, fascinated by the innumerable amount of delicate purple flowers that lined the stalk like tiny bells on a string.
He bounced up to her, his voice as bubbly as ever. "That's calluna vulgaris! It's really pretty! Mom likes to drink tea made from that."
She tilted her head to the side, confused. "C...calluna vigas?"
He beamed, his toothy grin making her take an extra breath. "It's common name is 'heather'. Do you think we should pick some out for Mother?" Cyril could do nothing but nod as she watched him fumble with the flowers, the tiny stems clumsily intertwining into a larger stalk between his nimble fingers. She couldn't see much though because he had turned away to the next bushel of purple flowers to grab some more.
Curious, she looked over his shoulder, wondering what he was making with the tiny sprigs that he plucked from the bush, but he noticed her.
"Hey!" Tewkesbury shuffled his hands, effectively hiding his little project from her prying eyes. "I'm not done yet, so you can't see it!"
Her lips puckered forward almost subconsciously as she childishly stomped and sat on the raw dirt, but she paid him his due privacy. She tugged on the ends of her small brown vest, noticing how the hem would fray at the edges. She frowned. She needed to get that fixed by one of the maids in the house, she didn't know how to fix it herself. Who would have taught her?
Certainly not her mother.
The mere thought of her mother had her curling her body inwards, knees brought up to her face, tears welled up in the corner of her periwinkle blue, almost grey, eyes. She rubbed furiously at the forming droplets, not letting a single one trickle down her pale cheeks, but rather smudge upon her grass-stained hands. It wouldn't do for her to show weakness, as she had learned in her classes. An incompetent aide who gave away his master's secrets from the look of their face was a useless aide.
And if she was useless, where would she go?
Quite suddenly, a light woven ring fell on top of her head, flattening her dusty brown bangs over her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Cyril was quite startled, placing her hands on the delicate petals, leaves, and branches that where weaved into the crown. Her neck turned upwards to face the beaming brunette looking down at her.
"Here you go!" His smile was infectious. "You can keep that one. That way, you can always keep it around with you. Calluna vulgaris, or heather. It suits you!"
Her chest felt tight, her throat constricted, her hands felt sweaty, and all she could think about was how bright his chocolate irises twinkled with childish innocence and happiness. She didn't know what to do. On one hand, she wanted to ask him to stop looking at her so that the strange symptoms would stop. But on the other hand, she wanted nothing more than to just stay like that, to capture that moment in a jar, perfectly contained and isolated in their own bubble.
"It...it does?" Her voice stuttered out, still rough due to the lack of usage. Tewkesbury nodded his head.
"Yeah! Let's go, I have to give my mom one as well." Tugging her up with one hand, Cyril helplessly followed along as he guided them back through the fields and towards the stately home where the marchioness was no doubt having her afternoon tea. Even without him leading her, she would have trailed behind him like a lost one following their saviour.
'If there is a God like the sisters had said,' she chanted in her head, 'then let me stay by his side forever.'
