#crawlshee

“  i  still  wish  we  could  do  more.   ”       she  watches  these  men  come  and  go  from  this  place  and  she  knows  that  their  lives  do  not  go  with  blessings.           how  lucky  she  is !!          she  has  downton  and  the  guarantee  of  love  and  food  and  a  warm  bed,            and  they  do  not.            her  eyes  cloud,         the  days  rain  clouds  her  mood.          her  mother  always  said  she  was  a  dear  sensitive  girl,             and  her  heart,          it  seems,          is  not  hardened,         even  with  all  they  live  through.        

she  paints  a  soft  smile  on  her  face  and  pretends  that  she  feels  quite  better.          “   i’m  sorry.        i  don’t  quite  know  what  came  over  me.    ”          because  she  will  not damn  another  to  be  brought  into  the  depths  of  her  mood,           no  matter  how  she longs  to  spill  her  heart.  

      little is worse than helplessness   ;;   the grand duchess can think of no feeling, no sensation, which exceeds the agony of watching something dreadful happen and being able to do nothing to stop it.   some moments feel like being caught in a speeding train, staring out the window at the landscape ricocheting by, and praying for a stop that will come only with catastrophe.   medicine is meant to put power in human hands   ;;   she became one for charity, but fell in love with the power it gave her.   scorning the awful helplessness,  finding one’s own role in the cycle of life and death...

Around and around spun the thin cloth, coiling about the flesh that it bound with rising pressure. The act was no enthralling experience for the rather bedraggled wanderer. The scent of iron and the numbness of wear were all too common in his experience. What instead roused his interested was the altruism of his patron. By some stroke of luck or fate, he’d come upon a gentle heart, one who had the courage to lend aid where it was needed.

Aragorn coiled the bandage around his bicep one final time before attempting to awkwardly tie off the end. The deep grey of his eyes roamed up to call the attention of his patron. Strained and with a dry soreness, he spoke up. 

Charles Vane does not like teacups. 

she hates the thought that what she did was anything rebellious or wild when the truth has always stood that she fell in love with a good man.       LADY SYBIL AND HER CHAUFFEUR HUSBAND,        but never sybil and tom,        sybil and a man who looks at her like she hangs the stars in the sky and touches her like she is made of miracles.        they never tell the story of the man who waited.        they never give tom credit for anything other than harnessing a girl who wanted to get away,         when in reality,         he allowed her to grow and find her soul in a place that only stifled.       his story is more incredible,        she thinks.        he’s a man of ambition and the kindest soul she knows.        she would much rather tell that story.       “     mothers should warn about men like tom,      i think,      very good at leading impressionable girls off the right path.    ”         and eyes sparkle and all the love within her shines,       “     though they find themselves more happy than they might imagine.   ”