ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴇʟʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs / ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ *

                𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄 still reign the beat of his heart when he enters the kitchen compartment.     a savage fight against the walls of his chest ,    droplets of sweat sliding down his forehead.     tonight was different  ;    not a vivid memory or the haunting image of katniss dying.     this time ,    he barely remembers     (     in your dreams ,    you’re drowning ,    trapped ‘neath the surface.     a sea of terrifying voices begging for mercy you cannot show.     those of the fallen ,    the slain.     through their suffocating screams you are gasping for air and desperately search for a way out     /     but escaping seems impossible.     such a lugubrious cacophony of sounds is enough to drive anyone mad.     their claim rises until it’s all you can hear  :     𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚜 ,    𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚜 ,    𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚜.     the water invades your mouth ,    your ears ,    your eyes ,    always shrierking     ——     it feels as if decades have passed when you’re finally allowed to wake up.     )     and remains enveloped in that haze  :     almost lost.     an unexpected presence washes most of it away ,    however he cannot yet speak.     all he can manage is an unsteady smile     (     𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝑡𝑜 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳  !     )     as his legs carry him towards the table.     his pale fingers tremble when they pick up a glass ,     filling it with ice water that soon trickles down a throat so sore ,    he wonders if he screamed alongside his victims.     lips part to deliver a fickle attempt at humor ,    tone tightening ever so slightly.     ❛     bad night ,    huh  ?     ❜  

             𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 — they had started taking up residence when she’d lost her father, because it wasn’t enough that they had nothing to bury, she had to watch it happen over & over, night after night. A horror she hadn’t seen, but her mind tried to recreate. Now, no creativity is needed, for now she relives horrors she can never unsee ( Rue, her little songbird with her wings crushed because she had been too late. Cato — or what was left of him — begging for her arrow, so mangled she could barely make out the words. Peeta, bleeding & poisoned & there was nothing she could do. ) So loud were her screams as she tried to drag herself awake that Effie, in her own way, had tried to help, offering her little pills. She couldn’t have known that the nightmares became more real, more intense — & the pills? They helped her sleep so well that they wouldn’t let her wake, forced to relive everything even longer. Which was why she was here, fingers shaking, attempting to remain anchored around a mug of warm milk ( it was the most comforting thing she could think to ask for. ) She hates the little jump his sudden presence evokes ( & hates even more the relief that follows. ) Unable to return his smile ( muscles refusing to do so ), she instead scoots further down the couch — 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Yet his question does get a small exhaled scoff, a near smile. ❛ Bad year. ❜ Words a little rough, she takes a sip of her drink to try to soothe it. 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜. They were trying to be friends now & the word is both oddly foreign & so very welcome that it scares her ( if only friends were all they had to be. ) She sighs, holding out the mug, 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ❛ Did you hear? ❜ The screams that have left her throat raw. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜. Did she wake him?

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒  𝐀  𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐊𝐒  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐌 .  from  his  ability  –  the  one  thing  he  swears  he  can  control  ,  to  his  problems  reaching  the  bottom  of  a  bottle  ,  or  lack  there  of  .  what  else  grasps  beyond  his  control  ,  after  all  —  beyond  that  which  rests  in  idle  hands  ?  ❛  you  may  think  that  ,  sure  —  but  once  they  realized  who  i  was  ,  what  i’d  done  ,  they  look  at    me  differently  .  i  never  wanted  that  .   ❜

lagaudiiere said:   ❛ how do you know when to let go ? ❜ //   from ele to edo

 “  nessuno lo sa per certo …  “    and that was more than what he could say.  naturally edoardo would brush things off when the action was quicker than finding the solution.  it was better to sort things off that way, so he’d forget about it sooner. it’s what he was constantly telling himself since he was twelve years old - when he’d lost his mom.  though if edoardo was going to be any kind of light for anyone,  it wouldn’t be for himself ; it was for her. ever since ele had been in his life,  he started to become better.   he didn’t know what was on her mind,  but he could see it on her face.  “  vuoi  parlare?  “   it’s quietly genuine.  he reaches for her hand  -  something that’s become instinctive and,  he doesn’t know when it started.    “  possiamo scoprirlo insieme, o … se non vuoi parlare, sarò qui solo per te.   “       he presses a quick kiss to her forehead.   “ okay? “ 

         𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑. 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒, 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑. But she loves her like she would a friend, an aunt maybe. Someone who’s there but not reliably so. Someone she can laugh with about her boyfriend ( who she’s kept almost protectively away from her mother, save for a few comments & unintentional blushes when Filippo teases her about him ), but never someone she can talk to about the other things, the important things, the hard things. And she feels guilt, clawing at her chest when she thinks about it. Is she punishing herself or her mother? Is it fair? She wants to let go of it, all of it, but she doesn’t know when — or even how. She nods in reply to his response, appreciating his words, but also the silence that comes after, indicating he’s actually thinking about how to answer her. She leans her head against his shoulder ( both to keep their eyes from meeting & to bask in his warmth ) & a soft smile forms when she feels his fingers reach for hers. 

in all honesty, spencer hadn’t quite noticed that somebody else had sat down at his table ( so focused on his work ) until she had spoken to him. he looks up, catches enough of her scan of their surroundings to know that she’s running away from something ( followed ? he does his own scan of their surroundings and he doesn’t quite see someone out of place, but he hasn’t been paying attention ). ‘ um, that’s fine, but – do you… need help ? if you do, feel free to disturb away. ’

❝     hold  still  .    ❞        she  holds  mary’s  chin  gently  between  her  thumb  and  forefinger  .  their  dorm  room  is  ,  thankfully  ,  quiet  for  once  .  there’s  no  one  around  to  ask  questions  as  lily  traces  the  length  of  the  cut  with  the  tip  of  her  wand  ,  muttering  an  incantation  as  she  goes  .  luckily  she’s  always  somewhat  excelled  at  healing  charms  .   gently  she  turns  mary’s  head  ,  checking  her  handiwork  .  releasing  her  hold  when  she’s  satisfied  with  the  outcome  .         ❝     what  happened  ,  mare  ?    ❞   

𝐀𝐇  ,  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒  𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊  .  a  smile  threads  upon  his  features  but  it  lacks  deviance  ,  it  lacks  recourse  and  only  offers  an  unfamiliar  bout  of  innocence  that  seems  …  dangerous  in  their  line  of  work  .  GRANT  WARD  ,  the  naive  agent  whose  only  job  on  the  team  was  to  be  the  muscle  ,  the  tactician  –  but  these  skills  came  from  somewhere  and  dare  they  forget  it  .  ❛  probably  better  than  anyone  else  ,  jemma  .  i’ve  always  trusted  you  jemma  .  you  know  that  .     ❜  

         now there’s a  good excuse for the surprise on his face   ;;   even so, dmitry quickly disguises it with a roll of his eyes.    ( that can’t be…   the first time, can it?   no, he definitely said something on the road, about her stamina, or  —  or when she was knocking those thugs out, or   —  or maybe he just thought it all.  damn it! )          ‘ vlad deserves all the credit.   he had to wrestle me into this… ’        lacking the proper words, he simply raises his arms with a slight dramatic flourish.    outfits like these don’t suit him   —   not the way they do her.       ‘ feels like i’m wearing somebody else’s skin. ’

                     𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 and the meaning they hold.    he knows.    he knows ,    such discovery makes him livid :    how foolish of her to think that this secret could stay hidden forever    ——    and how accurate to predict his reaction.    after asking everyone to remain quiet in fear of precisely this kind of behaviour ,    it still hurts.    claws at her chest ,    leaving her breathless for a fleeting moment ,    all the power of her will focused on keeping her hands from shaking.   𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 ,    she tells herself though it does nothing to ease the knots inside coiling stomach.    ❛    you say it like it’s a bad thing.    ❜    defensiveness.    it’s the first thing that rolls off her tongue ,    her pride swollen    /    and her shattered hope shining through.   stiff posture denotes agitation but she crosses thin arms above her ribcage ,    as if trying to protect herself from an oncoming attack.    ❛    what was i supposed to do  ?    ❜    barely above a whisper ,   tainted by a small drop of defiance.    ❛    ——    let you die from the pain  ?    ❜    she remembers all too well ,    her father telling their cook that the boy wouldn’t last the night without proper care.    swift legs carrying her upstairs ,   tears savagely dropping against her mother’s hair ;    and her sweet ,    sweet momma looking ‘pon madge with agonizing eyes    (    but so full of clarity for the first time in months    )    before urging her to take the medicine.   ❛    you think you owe me ,    but you don’t.    ❜    she knows exactly how gale’s mind works.    her tone has acquired a desperate glint.    ❛    i don’t want anything in return    ——    i didn’t even want you to know.    ❜    the query of how he knows dangles above the chasm of her lips ,    yet she dares not ask.    NOW IS NOT THE TIME.    somehow she feels the need to fully explain herself.    is she trying to salvage whatever it is they have from the wreck of his fury  ?    ❛    i did what i would’ve done for any of my friends.    ❜  

                                𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 & 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇. Her defensiveness makes him believe that he was right, she was doing this out of pity, like he was some poor Seam boy who just needed her help. ❛ It is a bad thing. Don’t you get it? I don’t want — ❜ Her in his life? That’s a lie she can call out as clearly as day. If he hadn’t wanted her in his life, he wouldn’t have let her in. He hadn’t meant to, it had just happened, but he hadn’t stopped it. Not as much as he should have, clearly. ❛ I don’t want your pity. Or your charity or — whatever you think that was. ❜ All his life, it’s been him & him alone & he’s provided. He can’t imagine a world where he can’t. 𝐈𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫. He is wildfire & rage, waiting to burn, often wishing to allow the fire that burns within him to take down the awful regime to the ground with him but not her. Never her. She’s been a balm to his wounds ( the irony is not lost on him. It just hurts all the more, fresh wounds a reminder he can’t forget, even if he wanted to ), a softness to the callousness that is their world, but also him ( especially him. ) When she shifts, when her words become softer, he takes a breath, tries to mirror her ( tries to calm the raging fire within. ) ❛ I wouldn’t have died. ❜ He bites back the other words he wants to say — I would have been fine. He doesn’t think that’s true & he gives her more credit than that to say them. But he wouldn’t have died. He’s been through worse. He has to. He can’t be soft & weak. 

For a former kitchen boy in the palace, the bustle of servants hastily dusting the halls and the buzz of reporters being kept at bay are strangely foreign to him, and he needs no more evidence to know that THIS ISN’T WHERE HE BELONGS. He could blame the squalid streets of Petersburg for that, for branding themselves too deeply into his skin or for bringing out the dishonest street rat he calls a SURVIVOR, but neither would be telling the complete truth and he knows it. Perhaps it’s more the fact that he stands in the midst of the commotion, watching as Vlad turns from cunning conman back to the lovesick aristocrat he talked so fondly of or the fact that behind it all, behind every wall he’s put up and all the schemes he’s put in place, is ANYA. Anya, whom he hasn’t seen in what feels like ages in preparation for this press conference. Anya, who now wears a crown atop of her head and is clothed in the silken luxuries they could have never afforded mere weeks ago. Anya, who has sparked such a painful epiphany in Dmitry’s heart that it aches at the sight of her. He’s done his job if there’s anything to be said for the SMILE that lit her face upon reunion, but now there’s no need for him here.

The door isn’t far now, looming boldly down the lavish corridors, but maybe foolishly he pauses for a second, taking in the grandeur one last time. Everything is too MAGNIFICENT, too DAUNTING for the man who stands almost minuscule in comparison with his near empty suitcase, but it isn’t far off from the life he once imagined for himself. Only, that was with the ten million ruble reward in hand. He can still hear the Dowager Empress’ voice after a definitive shake of his head answers her offer, incredulous and gentle ( You saved her life and mine, you restored her to me, yet you want no reward? ). And while the void in his suitcase is alarming, it feels RIGHT. How could he collect on her happiness? The question is dismissed immediately and he pivots hurriedly, turning his head away from the drone of the press conference only to collide with a blur.

It takes him a moment to recover, but there SHE stands before him, so splendid in scarlet that he nearly gasps. As if that couldn’t be the only thing to stir his heart, her lips curve into a grin more brilliant than the jewels that crest her crown, and he has to silently wonder if the heartbeat pounding in his ears is as audible as he thinks it is.  дерьмо.  And this is the reason he hadn’t planned to say goodbye, couldn’t say it to her face without wanting to turn back immediately. “Anya– I… You were looking for me? What for?” It’s like he’s forgotten how to speak, tongue twisting around unspoken words ( she was looking for HIM of all people ! ). But this isn’t the PLAN and he needs himself a second, just a second to craft an excuse. ANYTHING to get out of there, anything to escape the firm hold she has on him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the press conference?”

                        𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 & 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐒 & 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑. Her hand twitches at her side, the urge to remove the crown one she has to fight. All night she’s somehow been too aware of the weight of it. Wasn’t this what they had worked for? What they had wanted? Yet something about it just feels wrong, especially now, especially here in front of Dmitry. It’s as if she’s playing at being something ( or someone ) that she’s not & she hates it. No matter what, regardless of what she’s endured, she has always tried to remain true — a difficult task when she could not recall who she was, but she’d gotten by & she hadn’t felt as out of place as she does now. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 — 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭. This feels dishonest. And she’s not sure what hurts more: the fact that this shouldn’t feel this way or the fact that it does.

                    𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐀 & 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐄. Her smile widens. All night, every time someone called her Anastasia, it would take her a beat too long to respond but Dmitry doesn’t. Yet something feels wrong; he’s not looking at her like he’s happy to see her the way she is him, & he’s stumbling over his words ( a distinction she can feel from previous interactions because talking to Dmitry had somehow been so easy, had felt so right, even when they didn’t get along. Neither of them held back. It feels as if they are right now. ) & her smile falters. ❛ I … don’t know. I didn’t realize what I was looking for until I found it. Found you. ❜ The words are softly spoken & she realizes as she says them that they go far beyond just now. She had been looking for a lot of things, & had found them … & more. Thanks to him. Because of him. 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦? Because she might have missed him. She hasn’t properly seen him since reuniting with her grandmother. Because she cares for him. Because she smiles & breathes easier around him. Because the moment she’d seen something, felt something, she had turned around to tell him, only to realize he wasn’t there. ❛ I didn’t see you out there & … it felt like you were avoiding me. ❜ She says it in a tone that makes it clear that she knows it sounds silly but everything has felt so weird, she has felt so out of place & the one normal for her ( oddly enough ) isn’t her grandmother or her finally being called Anastasia — but Dmitry.

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼.    𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙻𝚈 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙰𝚈.  Rarely do the two align into the same thing.    ( ‘ i say you are a fool when i mean you are a hero’ )   Perhaps she was right,  perhaps they did not ever speak the truth properly but that letter of his was the truth, is the truth and he does not seem to be getting anything good for outlining either his emotions or his plans.   AND PEOPLE WONDER WHY HE NEVER BOTHERS !      He sees the way she steps forwards and he steps back and knows she does not want him to go but she sees the frustration and anger there too.      “ That’s not fair ! ”     Why does he feel like he says these words so often and always to her?     “ I came after you! ”    Not what she meant but if she wants to talk about leaving then he has some examples.  He doesn’t mention Gisborne but it’s on the tip of his tongue, hidden in his words.  You left with Gisborne !     —-But he does not say it.          Perhaps because he’s distracted,   perhaps because Marian is always distracting to him.  Perhaps because ever since he was a boy she has had a power over him that no one else had ever matched, teasing him and pulling him in and Much is right,   he is entirely under her spell.   And so happy to be there.

It’s the catch in her voice and the words that accompany it that snaps him from his almost drowsy indulgence of being so close to her.   She only says what he has thought to himself a million times since coming back from Acre.  He had thought that he had suffered enough out there,   had thought that the wound to his side was his penance for his actions but, now, he thinks that this is it.         “ How can I say that my life is worth more than anyone else’s? Than the King’s? ”      But his words come out quiet,  it is a mantra that he says to himself. Going against years of education telling him that, in fact, his life was worth more just because of the matter of his birth.  These days he did not think it.    As she wipes at her eyes his heart clenches.  This was never his intention,  and it is instinct as well as love that has him wanting to close the space between them but he doesn’t, he can’t.  He does not read her as well as he used too   ( she has gotten too good at hiding, even from him )   and he does not want to risk her throwing him out.     “ I am sure it was working together, to save England ”    But truthfully he cannot remember either and that makes him feel ill, right in the pit of his stomach.  A hint of a grinning smile around the corner of his lips and an eyebrow raised playfully.    “ Or, perhaps, yet another round of bickering.  These days both are as likely. ”   But it was not what they should say to each other.  It was neither a confession of affection or a declaration of love.   They really did take any time they had together for granted.  A sigh, almost unsteady, escapes as she closes the distance between them and it is easy as he reaches to stroke the backs of his fingers against her cheek, pushing a stray curl back behind her ear and once more is caught up in the marvel of being close to her.      “ Since my pride does not count,   no.      Are you? ”    Shackles are never comfortable and he worries, then, what else she may have been subjected too at the hands of Winchester, of the Sheriff, of even Gisborne.   It shines in green eyes,  bright and furious at the notion that someone had dared to hurt her.

              ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 & 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓. ❜ But he had come after her. She saw him — & once again, she had to leave him. Was that their story? Always coming close, so close, yet never close enough? She had watched his figure fade as she had gotten closer & closer to the castle ( her prison ) when all she had wanted to do was dismount & run into the woods, to just run & be free of all these burdens. They are so very tired of the burdens they carry — but how do they ever stop? How can they put them down when doing so could lead to disaster. They are never just Robin & Marian. He is Robin Hood. She is the Nightwatchman. He is the king’s soldier & she is Gisborne’s … something. She is Lady of Knighton. So many different roles, yet one eludes them, one they’d once been sure of: Lord & Lady of Locksley. ❛ What if you had succeeded? What then? ❜ No victory was worth that cost, not to her. It may sound selfish but they’ve given up so much, they deserve to be a little selfish ( don’t they? )