fiona saw it. she saw the way brianna did not rush her, the way the smile did not quite reach her eyes, the way her voice came out a shade too careful, as though each word had been weighed before it was allowed to exist between them. she saw the humor fall flat instead of catching the easy spark it once had. fiona had spent years training herself to notice such fractures in crowded rooms, the hitch in a laugh, the glance exchanged over a shoulder, the subtle shift that meant scandal was taking root. she was very good at watching from the edges. what she had never quite mastered was how to stand in the center of something she herself had broken, despite having done so more times than she could count on. normally, she was able to mend it enough to keep it from getting as big as this had. being observed was tolerable, being the cause of the distance was not. and beneath her practiced composure, guilt pressed in steadily, unwelcome and insistent.
the lady of gulltown accepted the wine when it was handed to her, watching the pour with unusual focus before lifting her gaze back to brianna. “my grand return ball?” she echoed lightly. “oh…half of them were clinging to tables by sunrise, and one poor lordling attempted to recite poetry to a fountain. tragic. it rejected him.” her lips curved, softer than usual, the sparkle dialed down. “you would have hated it. or loved it for how utterly ridiculous it was. far too many people trying to impress me at once. exhausting, honestly.” the grand facade in her words lacked conviction as her pinky tapped faintly against the stem of her cup, a restless tell. “i wish you’d been there.”
the confession lingered heavier than the jest preceding it. because the truth was not that she wished brianna had seen the spectacle, she wished she had been anchored by her within it. fiona had always pushed moments beyond their natural limit, stretched laughter until it thinned, encouraged admiration until it curdled into envy. she knew she did it. there was a thrill in testing how far she could go before something cracked. but afterward, when the music faded and the rooms emptied, she was left with the quiet knowledge that she had once again crossed a line no one had asked her to.
for beneath the glitter and exaggerated sighs, fiona felt everything with an intensity she rarely permitted anyone to witness. it was easier to become the spectacle than to admit when she felt small inside it. easier to laugh too loudly than to let her face betray hurt. she had built herself carefully, silk and sparkle and bravado, because silk did not bruise as visibly as skin. yet guilt had a way of seeping through even the most elaborate tapestries. she had told herself that leaving had been necessity, that silence had been protection. but silence, she knew now, could wound as cleanly as cruelty.
she took a small sip of the wine, letting the flavors settle over her tongue, then leaned closer so the music and chatter might carry her words away from curious ears. “bri.” it was soft, stripped of charm, stripped of theater. “i know you’re upset…hurt.” she did not dress it up as a question. “and you are dreadful at pretending you’re not.” her tone wasn’t sharp. if anything, it was warm with familiarity. she glanced down at her glass again before continuing, quieter still. “i should have written. properly written. i should have told you before i left. i didn’t because it felt humiliating. i was being shipped off like cargo, and i told myself if i didn’t speak it aloud, it might somehow not be real.” it had been her own doing, and that made the wound all the more deeper.
the shame of it still prickled, not the match itself, not the old man or the gilded promise of it, but how easily she had turned it into a dramatic anecdote instead of admitting she’d been frightened. she had always prided herself on turning misfortune into performance. but brianna had deserved truth, not theatrics.
her fingers brushed lightly against brianna’s wrist, tentative, deliberate. “you weren’t left behind. i left everyone, not on purpose but…there’s a difference.” she exhaled softly. “when i’m frightened, i run. or i turn it into a story. something glamorous and tragic so no one notices that i didn’t choose it.” her mouth twitched faintly. “it’s not noble. it’s just easier than admitting i didn’t have control over the circumstances. not until it was too late, really.”
she had always pushed - pushed conversations further than comfort, pushed affection into flirtation, pushed boundaries until someone else was forced to pull away first. that way, she could pretend she had meant it all along. control through excess. it was a habit she wore like perfume: sweet at first, but suffocating if one lingered too long.
she straightened a fraction, attempting a smile that wavered at its edges. “you matter to me more than some obscenely wealthy braavosi lord with golden chamber pots.” her brows lifted slightly, a faint thread of jest woven through sincerity. “more than the ships, more than the silk, more than whatever future they thought looked impressive on parchment.” her gaze held brianna’s steadily now, no glitter to hide behind.
“if you’re cross with me, you’re allowed,” she added quietly. “i won’t mock it away. just… don’t go quiet on me.” the words were careful, earnest in a way she rarely permitted herself to be. “i can survive gossip. i can survive people laughing at me or speculating about my ruin. but i don’t think i’d survive you deciding i’m not worth the trouble.”