born to run

she couldn’t believe it. she did it. she successfully ran away with the help of her older brother. she didn’t have to worry about her parents, or that monster they were forcing her to marry. she looked out at the ocean as her small hands held onto the railing and let out a shaky breath. she could finally be at peace and do what she truly wanted, become a writer. she felt someone stand next to her. “it’s a beautiful sight isn’t it?” she asked quietly as her eyes stayed focused on the vast ocean.

“Oh. This is stunning.” her eyes scan the designs painted across the pages, drinking in every color and ornamentation. it’s as if the pages are coming to life before her eyes, vibrant hues leaping off the sheets and drawing her inside. The girl tears her eyes from the page, looking up at the boy beside her. “You have a gift.” nancy gives him a smile, before breaking the spell herself. ( just leaving it at that would have been awkward. or maybe she’s just inept. girl is a mess in a dress. ) “So you’re an illustrator? Is illuminating your favorite style?” 

“ While I DO appreciate a good mystery, I was referring to The Lost World. Daring adventures in the Amazon with the greatest creatures to walk the planet.” she’s got a thing for escapism: she doesn’t have to be trapped in a room, her life more restricting than the corset digging into her ribs. She can explore the amazon, have the most bold adventures. It’s likely the reason she’s mostly been an obedient child. 

Running off doesn’t count if she keeps coming BACK.

“ I don’t mind.” she thinks back to Henry and his lack of a filter: best friends don’t have to restrain from cursing around each other, he’d reasoned with her. But no, now was not the time to go down that path. “I’ve heard of it. Well, if it comes so highly recommended, I ought to pick it up next, then.”

“i don’t know about all that,” he grinned, the softest hint of pink at his cheeks from the compliment. “but it certainly passes the time.” that was an understatement. from start to finish, it had taken him near to a year to put this book together. usually he wouldn’t have devoted that much time to a single project, but it had been the only thing that kept his mind from straying back to his brother. upon finally finishing it, he’d been shocked when garreth had given it back to him. “ya keep it,” the old man had said as he closed aedan’s hand around the precious book. “i ain’t got no need for a book so grand. folks around here’re hardly looking for a book worth a small fortune. but i bet ya that with work like that, you could find yer way to a much higher job than i can give ya here.” he drew himself back to the land of the living when her voice sounded out once again. “among other things. i’m a bookbinder, miss. we’re meant to do it all. it is. i think it gives something new to a story.”

“that so? beggin’ your pardon, miss, but i’m a bit surprised you’d be readin’ something like that. it’s hardly the proper literature that a young lady such as yourself would generally find herself fancyin’.” he had met more than a handful of young rich girls, who would barge into the bookshop as though they were the best in the land. usually, they’d browse for ages (and he’d be sent to assist them) until they finally bought the very book that he’d offered them upon walking in.

“you’re an odd one, if ya don’t mind my saying. i can hardly imagine you fittin’ in at the afternoon tea, or whatever it is that your lot do to pass the time.” aedan knew that his comment was insubordinate, but he was curious to see whether she would scold him for it. “it’s a good one, miss. dark, to be certain- but if you’ve got the stomach for a bit of gore, it’s quite the read.”

                    ❝very glad, ACTUALLY.❞ kit smiled, a palpable fondness in her eyes. ❝you can bother my piano anytime you want.❞ she said, only realizing how undeniably AWKWARD it sounded until it was out of her mouth and too late to take back.

She fights the urge to melt like a schoolgirl ( she’s TWENTY, not some teenager who can’t even handle having a boy kiss her hand). Thankfully, the spell is broken when he comments on her height. A mock-offended expression crosses her face,  

“ Five foot three isn’t THAT small- it’s not my fault you’re a TREE in human form. “ she fights the urge to stick her tongue out at him like an actual child. “ Besides, just because his legs are longer than mine doesn’t mean he’s any faster. Also, I may have faulted down the stairwell and given him a mild heart attack, so.” 

“ Illuminate? Yes I am, actually. I mean, I love all books, but Mythology is my absolute favorite.  The newest work by Sir Doyle is also riveting, though.”  She can feel herself getting increasingly excited- Most she spoke to wouldn’t even entertain her love for novels, so to be speaking someone who was also a reader got her a bit extremely excited. 

“five foot three is right tiny and you know it. i’m only six feet, hardly a tree. y’should have met my brother- he was six foot four. never let me forget about that one.” he chuckles at her petulant attitude. she was definitely someone who wanted to make an impression on a lad. “i’m sorry to say, but it more’n likely does. unless you’re a regular racehorse, seems difficult to think he wouldn’t catch up with ya soon enough.” her explanation caused him to raise a brow. “well, i’ll give ya points for dedication.”

“aye. it’s a design style. hold on.” he walked over to the pack that had been so lazily discarded on his bed and rifled through, settling his fingers on an old leather book with a pleased grin. he brought it back to her, flipping carefully through the pages to show the way that delicate hand painted designs wove through the words and pages to create intricate designs. “it’s not done all that much nowadays, but it’s a valuable skill to have for the nicer books. this one, though, is just for me.”

he looked the girl over, a smile cracking the planes of his face. “ya don’t say?” he intoned. “you’re a mystery fan, then? man’s got a flair for the dramatic, i’ll give him that much. i just finished reading over leroux’s novel, le fantôme de l'opéra. a translated version, at least. now he’s a hell of a storyteller. beggin’ your pardon for the language, miss.”

                    kit threw her head back with LAUGHTER at his comment, ❝those damned brits.❞ she shook her head before speaking again: ❝i like you, aedan o’shea.❞ kit said, for once not minding how his BOYISH smile tugged at her heart strings. 

                    ❝i played in the streets around where i lived, and was just in the right place at the right time,❞ kit shrugged, recalling the day with fondness,  ❝they called me a prodigy, if you would believe it… an irish girl from the slums a prodigy ??❞ kit chuckled at herself, looking down at her shoes.