the sun was unusually warm on euphemia’s face as she sat on a blanket in one of the cherry orchards; the breeze was also calm and if this had been only a month beforehand the woman knew she would be very pleased indeed. but david’s death had drawn a shadow over euphemia, dark as the black dress she wore, and it was only her love for patrick that had pulled her from her mourning and out into the fresh air.

though there was to be a wedding the next day -- one that euphemia knew she’d be required to attend -- she had done little to prepare for it. she supposed she ought to worry about such a thing, but there was so little energy with which to do so. her eyes were heavy with sadness, the loss affecting her more than she’d thought possible, and it was only upon looking at patrick’s profile that her lips so much as twitched. “you were right. it is good to be out of doors, if only for a short while. i can almost...forget.”

the lamplight was low in the parlor attached to euphemia’s bedchamber. she had little space to herself here in switzerland, as part of the english contingent, but she was thankful for what she had as she sat in her chair, dressed already for bed with her hair loose and a heavy robe cinched at the waist. the book in her hand, the lives, detailed biographies of italian painters, sculptors, and architects, and though she had read it so many times before, she devoured the words written on the page.

the sound of the door opening from the hallway surprised her and euphemia’s head turned toward it, finger keeping her place on the parchment before her. her husband had stayed with his current plaything and even if he had not, he would not grace her domain without first being announced. euphemia was not one to expect a visit from her son this late in the evening either, and her brow furrowed, wondering if something had happened with arthur. the man who stepped through the threshold, however, was neither of those and once she saw his profile, she stood quickly, setting the book beside her barely touched goblet of wine on the table.

“mo chridhe,” the gaelic endearment was little more than a soft breath escaping her lips and one hand reached up to cup his cheek. “how i have missed you.”

(daydreamed them in the way I do for writing projects rather than in a MADD/ID way)

Also wanted to post about them all day but have absolutely nothing to say. I would love to say "omg!!! daydreamed Matthew going to Patrick's for the first time and omg met his wife for the first time and it was cute af!!!!!!" but then y'all would need like a two page backstory to why the hell we would care about this

(but like it was cute and you just gotta believe me on this k)