#honorhearted

Being an unmarried woman, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, it seemed that Anthea had all the free time in the world. That suited her just fine. She enjoyed being independent, in a way. Besides occasionally nagging her to find a husband before she got much older, her family left her to her whims. Recently, her father had earned the title of Baron, with all of the attached influence that came with it, and the money he had made along the way. All of that, she cared nothing for. Well… there was one perk that she couldn’t deny was quite useful. The money could be used to help someone dear to her, in need of assistance.

Her young cousin, Charles Wilkins, struggled with reading and writing, even at the age of nine. He had confided in Anthea that sometimes the letters and numbers got confusing, and appeared as different, yet similar ones. It frustrated him, the way other children believed him to be lacking brains and made fun of him. His last tutor didn’t seem to have the patience for him. Anthea had never experienced such things. She had taken to reading like a bird to flight. However, she felt for the boy, and wanted badly to help.

With her father’s blessing, she went in search of a proper tutor. Someone who could understand Charles’ problem, and hopefully aid him in learning to work around it. Anthea wrote out advertisements, asking for any who were willing and able to write to her. Her father was willing to pitch in for the cost, and for a living space for the tutor. It was to be a surprise for her aunt and cousin. She prayed the gift would be accepted with gratitude. She also prayed the right person would come along and change little Charlie’s life for the better.

When he returned to the room, Sarah let out a breath of relief. For a moment, she worried he had found the opportunity to escape, using the bathroom excuse as the perfect moment to slip away. Having Miss Wynter chaperone the meeting wasn’t ideal, but Sarah preferred Anne’s presence over her mother’s watchful eyes. Her family's governess was clearly more invested in his actions than she was in Sarah's, so when she didn't return with him, the Pleinsworth girl's mind tried to think of what could've possibly happened in the hallway.

“Mister Tallmadge, is everything alright?” She furrowed her brow, rising to meet him, noting the subtle look of exhaustion on his features. Before she could think to say anything more, his lips were on hers and, for the first time, Sarah felt speechless. When he pulled away, Sarah’s fingers rose to her lips, feeling the sudden absence of his touch. Did he just kiss her? Had that been his plan? To wait for their chaperone to leave and take advantage of her? A strange rumbling appeared in her stomach and it takes her a moment to find the strength to speak.

“I—” Her cheeks flushed furiously, unable to meet his gaze as her lips tingled from his kiss, her mind dizzy off of the sudden exchange. “What… what was that for?”

how long had it been? she could hardly remember. with just enough bread and water to keep her alive, and a beating or too, she had come in and out of consciousness time and time again.

it had happened when she went to fetch water for the washing. one of the other doxies had complained that they were out and bird had gladly volunteered to be the one to fetch it. there was always teasing and talk about how tallmadge was giving her special treatment since she stumbled into camp, but the others had quickly taken the little fledgling under their wing. they taught her how to nurse soldiers back to health, warned her which soldiers might get handsy, and overall treated her as a sister despite the ruckus she caused when she arrived.

still, bird had been determined to prove herself seeing as she wouldn't be traveling home anytime soon. if she wasn't needed to take care of troops she was fetching things for the other girls and assisting in any way she could. even in the evenings she was mending clothes while the others went to rest. it wasn't as if she was going to get any sleep anyways.

but that morning she had gone to the stream alone - tub in hand with a skip in her step. it was an opportunity the queen's rangers had been waiting for.

bird woke some time later. her hands were bound and eyes covered with a cloth. somewhere in the woods... or so she thought. but between the ringing in her head and the rustling of leaves a chill ran down her spine as a voice cut through it all.

(Modern AU)

Cat's palm felt along the damp, stone walls, feeling every bump and crack as she did. Her cell had died just minutes prior, and the enveloping darkness immediately after was practically claustrophobic, despite the castle's spaciousness. She wasn't one to panic, but she had snuck into the castle in the middle of the night, and nobody knew where she'd gone off to, nor even that she had gone. For all the Allens knew, Catherine was still in her bed at the fancy hotel they had taken her to.

Her parents' friends had been generous enough to take her on this trip to Austria, and here she was, alone in an abandoned castle. Or so she thought. After reading about witch trials and werewolf lore, as well as possible hauntings, there had been no way she would pass up a chance at exploring it. What she hadn't counted on, was that someone else was already inside. Multiple someones.

The ruins were in disrepair, and therefore unfit for public exhibition. Cat had willfully ignored any sign she came across, believing herself to be a competent enough adventurer to take care of herself. Being in one's early-twenties gave that level of undeserved confidence in one's capabilities. However, when she had stumbled upon a group of people in the depths of the ruins, her big head shrank right quick.

With no knowledge of whom it was she had found, all she knew was that she had almost been caught. Could these people be the real reason rumors still spread about strange happenings within the castle? Cat didn't stick around to find out. Instead, she had fled down a hallway, away from the room where their voices echoed, and ran pell-mell up a flight of stairs on the opposite side.

She only realized the stairs led to a lookout tower, after her phone had died, stealing away what little light the screen had offered. She hadn't dared use her phone's flashlight, so as not to risk the others finding her location. Who knew if those people were friendly explorers, like herself, a freaky cult, or some form of organized crime? As it was, her frantic footfalls thundered through the inky blackness.

Her lungs and calves were on fire, but she couldn't stop until she found the hatch that opened to the top of the tower. Unfortunately, this meant she was trapped. Who's voice had she heard faintly following behind her? Could it have been a ghost, or perhaps one of the people she was fairly sure were having a secret meeting of some kind? Her mind reeled with the possibilities of what fate might befall her if she couldn't escape. How could she add this story to her podcast, if she wound up d.ead???

emma looked the gentleman up and down ❝i hear you are from the americas, what brings you so far? across the ocean to hartford?❞ emma had never been anywhere too far from home, and hearing that some one would travel across the ocean seemed both interesting and almost mad. she hadn't heard about the american colonies, well former colonies, but she couldn't completely act as if she wasn't interested. however she did not want to give this man the knowledge that she was interested.

The cycle kept persisting. Despite desperately clutching onto the belief that it would be the last time, a poor decision on a whim had followed after another, each accompanied by the same hollow promise of change.

After each downfall, she would find a way. Something promising that would eventually still come to unravel everything she had built so beautifully elaborately at the seam, making all the hope that had ignited within her seem shamefully naive.

What if she was being punished?

Rumjana gaze drifted across the dark tavern room she was in. She hadn't left a trace. Hadn't moved anything. Hadn't stumbled over an object entering, nor made much noise breaking in. The past few years have taught her better than that. No more silly mistakes. Wasn't that right?

It had to be in here somewhere. Her flute. If it could be considered hers. Nothing truly belonged to her. She had nothing left to live for, always finding herself trapped in new ways. Even performing music had become a sombre chore that left her heart aching as much as it had fulfilled it once

They would find her. Sooner or later. To think of the humiliation she would face if the proprietress found out she had allowed some cul to steal an object a month's worth of food..

No. Wasn’t gonna happen.

Drawer after drawer was opened more harshly than she intended to. How she wished she could tear them out. Or that thief’s throat. Though, she would be quick enough in her retrieval to avoid confrontation. Gaze drifting to the piece of paper in one of the drawers, she noted the neat handwriting, finding herself reading a few lines. Rumjana stopped her skimming as soon as she realized the pointlessness of reading anything that man had left, merely focusing on what was written in the corner.

1778.

Faith resisted the urge to roll her eyes, leave it to a man to underestimate her.

"Is this land not mine sir? Put my sex aside, would you say the same to any man?" He would not, of that Faith was sure, Bree had told her about what America would become, of the world this revolution would create.

She wanted that future.

Faith was as fiery as her hair, the blood of Scots flowed in her veins, she was not a woman to be underestimated.