ORIGINALLY POSTED BY
GIRLINTHECORNER
roman godfrey x reader
warnings: language
word count: 6k
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Even with the light of the White Tower polluting the sky, the stars still shine bright, tiny pinpricks of light in the grey-flushed night sky. The sky is always lit in Hemlock Grove, artificial light isolating the residents from the grandeur of the heavens. Most people here have never seen the milky way through the clouds, have never been taken aback by the colossal size of the universe, and realized how little everything mattered in the end. It would be impossible to replicate the feeling of insignificance a clear night sky birthed in the consciousnesses of every viewer in a town like this. This town is self-absorbed; corrupted just like the night sky by the company which towers over them.
Back home, you'd stay up late into the night to watch the moon on bad days. There's something clarifying about the milky face of the moon. Looking up at the dark sky at home would lull you into a thoughtless stupor, and once the sun peaked the horizon and you became aware of yourself again, whatever problem you had seemed much more trivial. You yearn for that feeling again, but even with your eyes turned to the heavens in Hemlock Grove you know that you won't find any wisdom from the faded moon.
With your eyes on the light-weakened moon, you realize you haven't missed your old home as you do now since before you met Roman. Although he's the perfect example of the type of self-centered person living in Hemlock Grove, he carries an innocence with him you'd not seen in other residents here. It draws your eyes, your attention, distracting you from the stressful side of life, and giving you a fresh view to look back on your problems with. You take things too seriously, and Roman gives you the levity you need to feel happy like the world isn't against you. He is the closest reminder of your life back home that you have. There's a thin line between loneliness and love, you know that, but knowing that you're hungry doesn't feed you.
You don't understand the feelings that writhe in your chest anymore. You can't wrap your head around Roman's harsh words from the Gala, can't piece together why he seemed like a different person, cold and angry. You know him, can place your finger on every emotion that flashes behind his green eyes, and he knows you. The two of you understand each other, find safety in each other's presence. Until tonight, and now you aren't so sure. The person that scared you to wit's end, that so clearly appeared as dangerous couldn't have been Roman.
But it was. Your heart and gut deny it, but your mind thinks you glimpsed a darker version of him, lying beneath the surface.
You sit up and glance around the Park you'd been laying in for the past hour and a half. You've spent the entire time feeling like you'd swallowed magnets, one dropping to the bottom of your stomach and the other creating a lump in your throat, both creating pressure to be joined together. The Gala ended at midnight, an hour after you'd texted Roman back. Your text had been extremely deliberate, sending a clear message that you don't want to see Roman unless he is apologizing and explaining. You've received no confirmation he'd read the text, have no real reason to still be sitting in the Park, but here you are, waiting for nothing, wallowing in unnamed emotions, and asking questions that can't be answered. You're ready to leave and try to forget about the events of the Gala, distance yourself from Roman-like Peter advised, and keep yourself safe. You stand to leave, to go home to the apartment that at the moment makes your skin crawl when thought stops you in your tracks.
You should call Peter. Not only do you trust him, but he somehow predicted the events that occurred tonight. Peter, although ridiculous and dramatic, has a calming effect on you. His blatant cockiness in situations that do not call for it whatsoever is soothing, and right now, some self-assuredness could be very helpful to you.
You stand and move to the swing set, plopping yourself down on a swing that looks to be covered with less dew than the others. Pulling out your phone, you search for his contact, lovingly labeled "Mr. Bitch" and call him. You expect him to be awake, the number of times you've texted him this late at night to get an immediate response is a testament to both of your screwed up sleep schedules. He won't ignore your call, either, because as far as you can remember, you've never called him.
The phone rings twice, and then...
"Well, this is unusual," Peter's voice carries the same carelessly amused tone even through the grainy phone speaker. "It must be a special occasion for me to receive a phone call from her Highness."
You stay silent, now unsure how to put into words the monumental emotions that have bunched their way into your throat. How could you ever explain to Peter the confusion you feel, the anger and hurt pounding in your chest that you can't get rid of, that you have no idea how to clear.
Peter's tone is too light, too joking and sarcastic as he speaks, "Hey, you're holding up the line. Why'd you call me?"
You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat and speak the only sentences that feel right, "It was in his eyes. I don't know what to do."
Peter is silent for a moment, but you hear him sigh on the other side of the phone. For a moment, your mind clears and you think that if he says "I told you so" you will hang up the phone and burn down his house. Or the entirety of Hemlock Grove, whichever suits you best.
But his response is almost worse, returning whatever weight had been taken off you. His voice has switched to a low, quiet tone you rarely hear, which makes everything feel all too real like it had just happened again, "Did he hurt you?"
"Not physically, no. But he... I don't know how to explain it. I couldn't get away," You're shocked you're forming coherent words, but trying to explain is lessening the lump on your throat, so you keep going, "It was like I couldn't see him anymore. I mean, I could see him, he was there, but there was something wrong. Or twisted. Or... I don't know, hollow? He's never said anything like that before. He's been really pissed off, sure, but that..." You pause, struggling, wanting so badly to express the fear that still lingers in the beating of your heart but not wanting to appear fragile. You hold it in.
"Where are you right now?" Peter's voice has lost its dire seriousness, but now you hear his worry behind the careless tone. "Are you still with that asshole?"
There's a quiver in your voice as you speak, a hint at the hopelessness you feel at the reminder that Roman had been able to just go straight back to his night as though nothing had happened. There's a strong part of you that wants to get back at Roman, to take your revenge and feel as unpredictable and powerful as he was, but the other part of you is just heartbroken. "No, I drove to Bluebelle's Park. I don't want to go home... The Gala ended fifteen minutes ago, Roman texted me to come back after I left but I told him I didn't want to see him unless he's explaining himself."
"Does he know you're there?"
Peter's question brings an unhappy smile to your face, "I didn't tell him, but he probably knows. This is-" You pause, wondering how exactly you should label what the Park is to you, "This is where I always go. I don't think he's brave enough to find me here."
"So... What's your logic right now? You're sitting in a Park where someone just got murdered in the dead of night." Now that he knows you're unharmed, Peter seems more focused on teasing you than being helpful. You hate the sarcasm in his voice and the fact that he's dangerously close to blowing you off.
"I don't fucking know, Peter, I drove here without thinking," Your ferocity fizzles out in the second half of your sentence, going from angry to tired in just a few seconds. All you want is an explanation, a reason for the inexplicable events of tonight. "You knew this was coming months ago. Why?"
Peter laughs on the other side of the phone, and it's hard to tell, but you think it's forced, "Just Roma intuition. Like you said back then, what do I know that you don't?" Peter seems to read your intention to push further and de-rails your plan entirely, covering his words with sarcasm that is somehow both frustrating and earnest, "Look, your Highness, if you need a place to get away tonight, my door is always open. Roman's an asshole and he went too far. If you need anything right now, tell me, if not I'm sure you'll be fine."
"Really? You're giving me the Roma intuition excuse? You knew specifically about his eyes. Please, if you know-" You cut your attempt to coax more information out of Peter short when the sound of an engine interrupts you, and you turn to squint through the trees to see the red of Roman's Jaguar flash through the opening of the foliage. The peripheral light of his headlights shine through the trees briefly, then is snuffed out as the engine turns off.
The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you feel like your spine has been turned to stone, stiffening your entire body. You're not prepared for this, not ready to face whatever Roman is about to throw at you. You can't handle this, you just can't, it's too much too soon. You need to leave, but Roman is parked too close to your own car, so you can't slip away unnoticed. Of course, the one time Roman exceeds your perception of his bravery is the time you would've been glad for his cowardice. You feel like you've left yourself and are watching yourself from above, noticing all the weaknesses of your body, all the flaws in your mind. You can't hold your own right now. This can't happen.
Fuck.
"If I know... What?" Peter's voice snaps you back into yourself. You think quickly; this is happening and you have to deal with it as it does. Even if you can't handle it, you have no choice but to try. There's no way to get out of it, so the next best thing is to ensure your own safety.
"Roman just turned up. I might need your help if this goes badly. If you don't hear from me in an hour, come looking for me." You hang up the phone, then stand from your seat on the swing and face where you just saw the light from Roman's car. Your teeth begin chattering slightly even though you don't feel cold, and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears intensifies, the only thing you can hear other than the wind through the trees.
You take a deep breath, hoping to harness your anxiety and clear your thoughts, perhaps form yourself a plan, but Roman doesn't even give you a chance.
The sound of your own heart in your ears lessens as you see Roman walking towards you, his black suit slightly disheveled and his bow tie undone around his neck. His eyes seem to borrow light from the sky, holding an impossible luminescence, back to their familiar expressiveness. He walks towards you slowly, the grass crunching a bit beneath his feet. He doesn't look directly at you, but glances up for short moments at a time and then back down to the ground in front of him. There is nothing intimidating about him now, the polar opposite of his behavior earlier that night, a different person than who you were with before. This feels normal to you, a continuation of the dozens of nights you've met here, both planned and by chance, but that doesn't make you any less nervous.
You break the silence once he gets around ten feet away from you. "Don't come any closer."
Maybe there isn't any logic to it, maybe it isn't helpful, but your instincts tell you to stay away until you can understand what's happening.
The breeze is beginning to pick up, lifting little strands of your hair to tickle your nose. Where the grass is long you can see waves of light reflecting on the dew, ebbing with the wind. You don't know if you want to look at Roman or not, unsure of the stability of the ground the two of you stand on with each other.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here," Roman's voice is back to its usual slightly gravelly tone, somehow both deep and thin all at once. He seems like he's readying himself, steeling himself for a blow he isn't prepared for, just like you. "You okay?"
"Am I ok?! How can you ask me that? How is it not obvious to you? Do you have no memory of what you said to me?" Words fail you as you stare at him in disbelief. He seems to have lost his basic ability to understand how his own actions affect others. You chose to be angry; anger makes you brave, ringing in your ears and laying a thick blanket over the nervous beating of your heart.
"No," Roman puts his hands in his pockets, his posture becoming slightly more confident. You envy the stability of his words as he speaks a sentence that doesn't make sense. "Not really. I know I fucked up, and that's it. This... this thing's been happening to me."
You can feel his gaze on you, the intensity going beyond usual eye contact. He's looking for you to soften towards him, giving permission to explain, but you're frustrated. There's a fluttering of heat in your chest that wants to escape, wants to watch Roman flinch at your words, and feel the same fear as you did. It would be so easy right now, for the power of this conversation rests on your shoulders and you can feel it, feel the influence you have like an ember waiting to be fanned. The memory of who Roman usually is and the feeling of safety that came with him tempers that heat, cooling it slightly. You can't take an easy way out, you know that'll lead to more problems you don't need. So you chose your words carefully, but allow your anger to show in your voice.
"I don't care about that right now. I thought you were going to hurt me, Roman. That should never happen," You pause for a moment, weighing the question that you now realize has been haunting you since you left the Gala. You want to ask it, want to receive some confirmation of the whips of logic you've been trying to catch, but something makes you hesitate. You don't want Roman to see you as something malleable right now, you need to be hard and steady and cold. But you have to ask. You swallow your emotions and speak, your mind denying the words forming on your lips. "Did you even mean what you said to me?"
"I didn't know what I was saying. It was like I opened my mouth and my mom's words came out," Roman takes a few steps towards you but keeps a good distance, his eyes searching your face. "You know I wouldn't hurt you."
"I thought I did and then you changed my mind. It was like you didn't even see me. How can you expect me to listen to you when you said the things you said?" You shake yourself, mentally, and physically. Your tone has flattened out, your emotions detached from the words. It's an uncomfortable feeling like you've suddenly become too small for your mind and can't reach into the corners anymore. Your gaze finds the ground in front of you and stays there, tracing the outlines of individual blades of grass.
Roman is quiet for a few seconds. When he finally speaks, it's like water breaking through a dam; weak and inconsistent, then growing fast and steady as the walls are broken down. "I hear voices sometimes. Not telling me to kill people or something fucked up like that, just whispering. I deal with it and it goes away, but tonight it didn't stop. I was in this room full of people talking and all I could hear was the stupid whispering. Then when my flaming bitch of a mother started going off about who the fuck knows and everything started seeming... warped. I could see my own heartbeat in my eyes and shit was getting covered in shadow. You were talking but I couldn't hear most of it, just the whispering and this ringing noise, and then there was a moment where I couldn't see anything," he pauses. You can't look at him, but when he starts again you know that the look on his face is one of confused unease. "After that everything is blurry. I remember speaking but I didn't even know what the words were or where I was. Next thing I know I'm standing outside watching you fucking sprint to your car like a chased animal."
You can feel his gaze on you again, waiting for a reaction, but there are no thoughts in your mind right now. You have no idea how to respond to the deluge of information he just sent pouring onto you. Before you have time to process what was just said to you, Roman is talking again and his words hit you straight in the heart.
"I know I said some fucked up things and I'm fucking sorry. You're the least screwed up part of my life. I don't even know how to handle the idea that I would make you scared of me when I can't go half an hour without thinking about you. You're like the better part of me, I'd be a fucking disaster without you," his voice is a mix of desperation and awe, like he's just realizing the words he speaks are true but is too focused on trying to connect with you again to have the meaning of his words impressed upon him. "I'm sorry. I would never hurt you and I couldn't live with myself if I did."
You take a deep breath, trying to quiet your mind swirling with echoes of Roman's words. Taking a few steps back, you sit down on your swing, unwilling to hold yourself up. You aren't sure what is confusing you more, his explanation or his apology, but either way, you still can't bring yourself to look at him. You're afraid, not of him, but of yourself. You're afraid you'll believe him if you look at him, forgive him because you've never been able to stop your heart going out to the green-eyed boy. You're afraid you'll lose all sense of logic because you'd see the boy you know and trust, who sets you at ease and makes you laugh and who cares so much more than he lets on. You're afraid to see Roman, with all the blurred, soft edges and his heart on his sleeve.
There's nothing louder than expectant silence. You search desperately for the right words to say and find none. People in books and tv shows always have something to say, a quip or philosophical statement sliding off their tongues so easily, but that is just as fantastical as the werewolves and dragons are shown in fiction. Sometimes there is nothing that can be said.
Patience is not one of Roman's strong suits. Only a few moments pass before you hear him start to move. You track him through your peripheral vision as he walks closer to you, heading for the swing next to you. You don't stop him when he sits down next to you, one hand holding the chain and the other fiddling with his suit jacket in his lap.
"You don't believe me," His words are genuine, far more hopeless than spiteful. "Peter didn't either. I tried to tell him, too, and he basically just told him I was full of shit."
"I believe you," the words slip from your tongue without your permission, and you question their legitimacy for a moment before accepting them as true. "You've never lied to me and I don't see why you'd start now, but... Roman, if you don't remember what happened then I don't think you really understand how serious this is."
You hear him inhale sharply, his voice strained and quiet when he speaks. "Enlighten me, then."
You search for a moment, attempting to locate a place to start, worried that you'll fail to give the whole picture. Then, realizing that it doesn't really matter you decide to just start with no plan and let the words find themselves. "I think in a much smaller way, I screwed up too. I made an enemy of your mom, which to be honest would've happened anyway but that's not the point. She told me to leave the Gala and I essentially threw all the shortcomings of Godfrey Industries in her face. I expected that she'd be pissed but I was fed up with elitism. You say you didn't hear any of that, but you certainly seemed to," Your eyes move to Roman without you telling them to. You think you believe him, but your entire perception of him, what you thought you knew, has shifted. Nothing is certain anymore, because just a few hours ago you watched Roman become a different person. Now you search for proof in his eyes, where he's never been able to hide his true intentions. "Olivia didn't even get a chance to respond before you grabbed me. You yanked me around even when I followed you willingly until you pulled me outside. Then you shoved me against the wall and stood in front of me, close enough so I couldn't really move. When you started talking- I've never heard you sound like that. Your voice was so cold," There's emotion creeping into your voice, the anger and hurt and hopelessness leaking out from your chest and throat. You didn't want to show it to Peter, but you're in the habit of allowing yourself to just be around Roman. You don't fight your emotions now. Roman's eyes are closed, his head tilting up towards the dark grey sky. The hand that's gripping his swing's chain is tighter than necessary. "You told me I didn't belong near you, that I said stupid things, and acted like I was important when I wasn't. You said I was nothing, that I was insignificant and no one would care if my life was destroyed-" Your voice breaks and you see Roman flinch. "You said you'd tear my world apart. And I believed you. You could destroy my life without even having to try and I've never worried about it before now because I thought I trusted you. But worse than that, worse than what you said, is that I was trapped. I don't scare easily, but you seemed so dangerous. I thought that at any second you'd snap my neck and that would be that. I've never been more scared of someone than I was of you."
Your throat closes and you lose your ability to speak. You don't know how to continue anyway.
The park falls into silence again, but it's different now. There's no expectancy anymore, no wariness or anxiety. Now that you've spoken the words to him your heart has stopped pounding in your chest. Perhaps all you can hear is the wind through the trees and the chirping of a few lone crickets, but the world doesn't feel silent to you. Your emotions are too loud now, too visceral and warm for you to feel the silence. Finding the words for the feelings trapped in you has released them, made them stronger, more potent. No more do you feel like you need to escape, nor distract yourself. The emptiness you felt before is gone, leaving you crippled by the weight of the emotions you'd stifled earlier.
You know now that what he told you earlier, as insane as it may seem, is true simply from the look of blank horror on his face. His expression closely matches how you felt before he'd shown up; like the world is spinning around you and the only thing you can do is try and hold on. Roman tends to hide his emotions more than most realize. Sometimes you can see him acting, forcing an emotion into his expression to hide what he really thinks, but that's not what's happening now. Guilt has stolen the mask he typically wears.
You can see him process his own actions, see as his eyes lose the braveness they'd earlier possessed. His gaze is trapped on the moon like yours often can be, but you don't think he's seeing it. A small wrinkle forms between his eyes and he shuts them softly, denying. His lips part slightly and he lets out a heavy breath. Ignorance had been blissful, the self-soothing lie of lessening the severity of something acting as an excuse not to worry, a security blanket.
Now he bites his bottom lip, his hand finding its way to rest under his nose. He's searching for a solution but you know he won't find one. There's no logic that can explain away deep-rooted emotion, and you think he knows that. Still, there's that tantalizing fantasy of an easy way out, a happy ending. His other hand drops from the chain of his swing and hangs loosely by his side, and you can almost feel the painful twang of acceptance that you've only just moved past. Strangely enough, you feel like you've regained some of the understanding of him you'd lost, because not only can you read him, but you feel safe in what you see. It's like you can lean into him again, can connect and feel vulnerable without wanting to pull away. Roman has become stable in your eyes solely because you can recognize yourself in him again.
He turns to you and meets your eyes, and even without him saying anything, you know. Roman is surprising you a third time tonight, and for the third time, you wish he wouldn't. First, he'd become something more feral than you've known, then braver, and now more selfless. His eyes are glossy, glazed over with the exhaustion of facing too many moving parts at once and then finally finding a standstill. Fear for someone he cares about is stronger than any lie he tells himself and Roman isn't one who argues with fear. He's made a choice, you can see that, but perhaps you can convince him otherwise.
"Is that really what you think is necessary?" Your voice is soft but bold, the tone you'd use to explain something to an unruly young child. Roman's eyes drop to the hands folded in your lap.
"I pushed you against a wall and didn't even realize it," he stands from the swing and walks a few steps forward, then turns and fixes you with those iridescent green eyes, his head lowered like a cat watching a fly. "What if it gets worse? Then what? What are you going to do if next time I don't let you run?"
He's right. Neither of you knows what's happening, so safety can't be guaranteed in any way, but you hate it. You hate that the only solution to be found is to separate and simply idle until things become more clear. You've known since the beginning there's no easy answer, no way to move on unscathed, but now it's a reality.
You want to argue, to question how he knows he'll lose control again, but you don't think it would change anything. You must resign yourself because Roman is the most stubborn person you've met, but it hurts.
''So that's it? We leave here and I never hear from you again? You move on to your prostitutes and drugs and I get left in the dust? Is there even a point if you're just going to hurt other people? Tell me what you're thinking." You feel like you're being abandoned. Cheating has never really been a thing with the two of you, you've both slept with other people, but you always return to each other. Roman is yours and you don't want to pay for a mistake he made, childish or not.
"I don't fucking know. I don't even care. I can't let myself hurt you," there's either frustration or hopelessness in his voice, but you can't tell which. "What do you want me to do?"
What Roman cares about at this moment and what he'll care about in a few days, or even hours, are two very different things, but it doesn't seem like you have all that much control in the matter.
You want him to do a lot of things, but not many of them are fair or even possible to him. You rifle through your thoughts before carefully planning out the words you want to say. Roman would do anything you told him to. His belief in you has never really faltered and he rarely forgets a thing you say to him, even something meaningless, but that's a double-edged sword. If you say the wrong thing, he remembers it.
The fact is, you have no idea what the right thing to say is. The situation you're in is unique to you and only you, so you have nothing to go off of except your own knowledge. There are infinite things for you to say, infinite ways for you to move from where you are, but none of them seem right to you. The only thing that's a clear goal to you right now is to not completely lose Roman.
The right thing to do right now is to move forward, no matter what.
"I want you to figure out how to control whatever this is," You stand from the swing, wanting to stretch your legs. "It doesn't even matter if I or anyone else thinks you're crazy, this is happening to you. You're the person I want to talk to at the end of the day or when something happens, and if whatever happened with you tonight is stopping that, then we need to figure something out. Have you told anyone else about this?"
"Yeah, it's how I introduce myself now, makes people feel really safe," Roman gestures sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I haven't told anyone but you and Peter."
"You have one of the smartest doctors in the world working for you and a psychiatrist for an uncle. Even if you don't straight up tell them, beat around the bush and see if they know anything," it's not surprising to you that he hasn't reached out to anyone. Roman's pride is easily damaged to the point where asking for help is repellent to him, but if you were the one hearing voices pride would be out of the question. "Look, nothing's going to change unless you do something about it."
"Just because I haven't told anyone about this doesn't mean I haven't looked into it. If there was information about whatever is wrong with me I would know," Roman's voice starts strong, packing a weak defensiveness to your apparent lack of faith in him, but falters when he speaks the phrase 'whatever is wrong with me.' "Whatever the fuck this is, I just want it to stop, but it clearly won't and I don't want you involved with it. It doesn't matter to me how you feel about it."
"You're a terrible liar Roman," You walk over to him, your feet chilled by the dew on the grass. You reach out to him, and he automatically takes your hand and pulls you closer to him so you're braced against him, your head in the perfect crook between his chin and his shoulder, like you've done hundreds of times. Roman is constantly warm, almost feverishly so, and you find comfort in his heat though you can feel that now too familiar lump forming in your throat. You whisper now, forcing the words from your vocal cords because they hurt your heart to speak. "I don't want to be away from you, but you're not giving me much of a choice. This... this is not how I wanted tonight to go."
"It isn't? This was my plan from the start, I thought you'd like it." Roman's voice is shaky, betraying the levity of his joke. He sways slightly, rocking you gently in his arms. You can feel his breathing start to grow unsteady, though he's trying to cover it. He rests his chin on top of your head, and just for a moment, your world feels complete, despite the tear rolling slowly down your cheek and the feeling of blameless betrayal filling your lungs that want to be released with a sob. Just for a second, the night fades away from you, the moon and stars and the light of the White Tower disappear, and all you can hear is Roman's choked breathing and his heart beating quietly in his chest. The fear that comes with finding yourself alone falters and your sadness feels safe because it is shared with another, and there is only so far it can grow trapped in his arms.
Then he pulls away and the night comes rushing back at you.
"I gotta go," Roman glances at his watch. His eyes are as wet as yours, "I can't risk shit with Olivia tonight."
You nod slowly and watch him turn away. He only gets a few steps towards the darkened tree line before desperation overcomes you and you shoot forward, grabbing him and turning him back to you. Your hands reach his collar, grasping his undone bowtie and pulling his head down to yours, just centimeters away. You pause and time freezes with you as your eyes meet his.
Then he tilts his head and your lips meet him and everything comes crashing in on you. His hands find your waist and he pulls you as close to him as possible. The abandonment, the fear, the protectiveness, the anger, the disbelief, the grief just beginning to blossom seem to seep through you into Roman. But not just that. As he leans into you, becoming deeper, more aggressive, the memories of what you're expecting to lose hits you. All the little moments of laughter, intimacy, regret, pleasure, and the deepest yearning that you've ever felt rise into your throat. You would stay here forever, letting Roman overwhelm you with all he is and isn't, allowing you to feel more true and complex than you know in something as simple as a kiss if you had the option, but he won't give you a choice.
He pushes away from you, as if forcing himself not to grow but lingers for a moment before he turns to leave. At that moment, a silent message is passed between you.
Part of you is his, and a piece of him belongs to you. This fact is as eternal as the grey light stealing the darkness of Hemlock Grove.