PRIDE.

                        "My husband, don't you know that it                      doesn't do to leave such a fine novel out."

        Mirth layered strong voice as a serving platter was balanced on one hand while the other brushed against the fine, worn pages of a book left to bask in the warm sunlight. Yellowed pages were fine and all——but near unforgivable on such fine craftsmanship. Still, tea was set upon the desk as her hips swayed, the joint where leg met torso pressed against the unyielding wood as the Mistress of Pemberley poured that whom possessed her heart a cup.

        ❛           Lizzy !! ❜              adrenaline rushes through her veins              at the    g l i m p s e    of  a  most              FAMILIAR   face.        such sweet              remembrance    of   lovely   times              shared.                       it has only been but two weeks,                           & yet it feels like an  INFINITY  more              warm  arms  wrap  the  other  in  a              tumultuous  e m b r a c e.  a  light              squeal of excitement  passing her              lips.

                Joyous laughter spilled forth from softly                 parted lips and the embrace is returned                 with nary a moment of hesitation. To see                 someone so precious to her never failed                 to bring upon her face a smile to rival the                 sun itself.

                        And Musichetta? As cherished as                         her sisters; or at least thereabouts.                         They were kindred spirits, after                         all; such could not be doubted.

                     ( it was r a r e that she held                      someone in such esteem. )

exaltatiio  M Y LOV E !!

                         "Oh, my darling 'Chetta,                          it's been far too long."

                        "Listen—————the sky is                         trying to tell us something."

     She takes interest in her sewing,         centering her attention on the movements         of her fingers rather than the insistence in her sister’s face.

                      ❝ Eliza, do not talk so. Mr. Bingley is a sensible man;                he is aware and well-mannered. Station has little bearing  on how he carries himself. I hold him in high regard as should you. ❞

                Sewing is all good and fine, a true lady's pastime, but                 there were more pressing matters at hand; still, she                 allowed her sister to divert her gaze, though hers remained.

     She is the embodiment of patience.         Not even the softest of sighs dare pass her lips.

                      ❝ I mistook an amiable nature for affection.                                     I have only myself to blame, Eliza. ❞

                And, oh, how she loved her sister so, for being                 the true and utter personification of patience.

     ❝ He is gone. There is nothing to discuss.❞

       ❝This is the Lost Woods, miss.❞

    The name is perfectly suitable; Kokiri Forest large and dense, pathways winding like a befuddled road, twisting and turning and vanishing without need. Had he not been raised within the very lands they stood perhaps he may have been in a position very much like hers; but comfort seeps from his very frame, long-eared youth notably relaxed yet no less attentive. Grass soft and familiar against covered knees, the curious quirk of his lips speaks more than the mere words cradled upon his tongue.

       ❝I suppose you’re exactly that— lost.❞

        Even if there had been an attempt to stifle her smile, to shut out the laughter that threatened to——and indeed did——spill past her shut lips, it would have been to no avail. Perhaps being lost was not the kind of thing one should laugh over under any circumstances, yet she did no feel sorrow over such a thing. Being lost simply meant that she would have to find her way out, and among such a glorious wood she felt no true fear, only anticipation, awaiting what would happen next. And, perchance, this young man would help her, though she could not be sure, yet looking upon him and his very nearly relaxed frame she could not quite help the assumption.