𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙚.

          for a long moment, quincey remained quiet, staring down at the floor with his hands stuffed in his pockets. some innate part of him wanted to express some sympathy with anne’s current situation, but years of silence had left him uncertain of how to adequately express what he wished to say. eventually, with some measure of hesitance, he said, “ if i can speak frankly, miss wheeler, i would have liked to exchange a few choice words with mr. and mrs. carlyle, when phillip mentioned what they said. ”

a  tight  smile  is  given  in  response  to  his  words,  though  no  mirth  is  to  be  found  in  her  expression.  instead  there’s  the  heavy  weight  of  resignation  ;  of  years  of  being  worn  down.  gaze  flickers  down  towards  her  lap,  in  which  her  hands  lay,  fidgeting.  ❛     it  was  nothing  i  haven’t  heard  before,     ❜  she  replies  quietly.  not  that  it  makes  it  any  different,  or  easier.  ❛     but  i  appreciate  the  sentiment  all  the  same.     ❜  a  pause.  ❛     are  you  all  right  ?     ❜

           “ … he’s off dealing with his parents, i think. ” as much as phillip had looked like a pompous bastard upon quincey’s first impression, the boy had grown on him — and evidently, given by her reactions, he had grown on anne, too. “ he asked me to come by to make sure you were all right. ”

a  soft  murmur  of  understanding  ;  though  anne  believes  the  gesture  to  be  ULTIMATELY  FUTILE,  it’s  still  more  than  she’d  come  to  expect  of  people.  ❛     i’m  fine  ----  thank  you  for  asking  though,  mister   morris.     ❜