the whisper between passed drinks makes edwina still, as benedict says it with that careless charm of his, shoulders easy, smile half-mischief, half-escape. as though the world were a ballroom and he merely meant to dance through it without ever being asked to lead. she does not scold him. she never has. instead, she studies him the way one studies a painting that hides more shadow than it first admits. there is truth in what he says, yes, the structure of their world rests on such distinction, but there is also something quieter beneath it. something that sounds suspiciously like longing disguised as laughter. she's the spoiled second daughter, the crown jewel of the sharma empire. but she's never quite shared in....fun. edwina folds her hands lightly before her, the gesture instinctive rather than rehearsed. she has spent enough of her life being measured against expectation to recognize when someone is pretending not to feel its weight. ❛ how fortunate for the second sons, then, ❜ she replies gently, her smile small but knowing. ❛ to be spared the burden of legacy and instead entrusted with delight. ❜ a pause, soft as silk. ❛ though i wonder, ❜ she continues, tilting her head just slightly, ❛ whether it is truly so simple. ❜ her gaze does not accuse; it invites. ❛ responsibility may wear a crown, ❜ edwina says thoughtfully, ❛ but freedom wears its own kind of pressure. to be charming. to be effortless. to never disappoint by caring too deeply. ❜ she has seen the way benedict deflects seriousness with wit, the way he floats just outside the frame of expectation, admired, adored, yet never fully claimed by it. there is privilege in that, yes. but also invisibility. she too understands what it means to be invisible. ❛ fun, ❜ she repeats, almost amused. ❛ can be terribly exhausting when one must always provide it. ❜
