#rexspeculis

She had been determined to not tell him, to spare him of her private hell. She could handle it herself, she had dealt with worse. What was this if not another bump in the road of life. 

At least, that was what she had thought the first time she miscarried. It had been sudden, and when she had herself checked by the physician and he told her, she was heartbroken, but was also thankful that she hadn’t told Hans yet... so he was still unaware. But then she became pregnant again, and it happened again. 

The second time was much harder on her. She was frustrated ---- she wanted at least one more child before she declared herself done, and Noelle was getting older. She wanted to hear the running of little feet against the wood floors once more, and it saddened her that it looked like it might not happen now. 

Still, she got pregnant a third time, yet on the very day that she was planning to tell Hans she was pregnant, she felt it again. Sure enough, when she had been checked out by the physician again, he told her she had miscarried a third time and that maybe it was time to accept that her body wouldn’t produce any more children. No, she couldn’t tell Hans now. She had dealt with the heartbreak twice before by herself, and she could do it again.

She hoped. 

However, she was a heavy sleeper and hadn’t noticed him slipping out from under her grasp early in the morning until she smelt food -- eggs, toast, berries, tea, porridge, and other foods she didn’t currently have the level of alertness to identify. Sitting up with bleary eyes, she rubbed at her eyes as they focused in on the tray of a rather large breakfast in front of her. 

“Hans... what is all this?” She asked with an amused but tired laugh, raising an eyebrow as she pulled the tray closer while trying to keep the blanket covering her bare chest as secure as possible.

Okay, Alex, if you’re gonna keep playing at this game, I’m just gonna answer it publicly, since it seems I can’t reply privately to you.

What are you hoping to accomplish with your continued correspondence? You can go on and on about me being the one who ‘keeps opening the door,’ and yet here you are, still sending me messages two weeks after you blocked me on this account. Like, who does that?

What, are you hoping you’ll strike a nerve and make me upset? Or cry?

Are you trying to get the last word in so you can gloat about it like a child to your peers?

Your continued messages are getting you nothing but reports to tumblr support for continued harassment and all they’re getting me is a good laugh, knowing that you’re still trying so hard to make me mad and you just can’t anymore. (Sad, I know) And it’s pathetic that you keep trying to get a rise out of me. I can get good laughs, and better arguments, elsewhere.

The year was 1945. The club, while being underground, was still extremely respectable. The air was thick with the smoke and stench of cigars, the sounds of men gambling, and the band that played in a corner. 

There were a few couples on the dance floor, but not many. Most came for the gambling, not the dancing. There were other, better clubs for that.

A lone microphone stood in front of the band, with no one behind it. Presumably there would be someone singing there eventually, but the party of thirteen men who walked in for a stag party certainly didn’t care. Most were only there for the alcohol and gambling, as were many of the other customers. 

Linus, the third youngest Westergaard boy nudged his youngest brother as they walked in. He was the one getting married in a few days, and this was his last night of fun before he became tied down. “Come on, Hansie, don’t look so down! If you’re gonna keep frowning, your face is gonna get stuck like that, and then no woman is going to want you. Your playboy days will be over, though I dare say Mother and Father would be pleased about that. What’s got you so bothered?”

rexspeculis

He didn’t care. Not really, anyway.

That was what the fairy decided when she left the pirate ship, the one she had called home for the last year, one she had called prison six months prior to that, and to the man she once called her Jailer.

Now she didn’t know what to call him, or what to say other than Goodbye.

She thought they had worked past it, she thought she was special to him, that they loved each other in whatever twisted fashion they could. But Xarina was wrong.

She hated being wrong almost as much as she hated having her heart broken.

So she slipped away in the dead of night, all her possessions packed into a small duffle bag, a few journals, some glowing viles of glowing dust, a change of clothes and a telescope. It wasn’t much, but these things were hers and hers alone. All gifts given to her throughout her time were left behind.

She had no need for bribes to weigh down her bag.

And without so much as a goodbye to anyone, she left.

Over time she was sure her broken heart would mend, and the strange dream of his pirate ship would soon fade away into a distant memory. She would find herself again, be someone she could be proud of. Not tied down to any man, constantly waiting for the hope of catching his eye in a crowd of his many mistresses...

Xarina was going to be her own person now. Because she didn’t need him.

rexspeculis