Lady Victoria Cromwell

'I am a stranger here,' she said sadly, glancing out the window towards the gardens. 'I walk amongst the grounds and do not know the faces I cross. There is a great deal of laughter here, of warmth and kinship. And yet I am cold, melancholy thing that I become.'

Marlunden shook his head, moving to sit beside her. "You know me, so that is one." His lips cracked into a smile, "Besides, I imagine myself rather excellent company thus I count for at least four ordinary acquaintances…well, at least a solid three!"

His desired effect was granted as her expression lightened for the soft peals of laughter that filled the hall. 'I suppose, Sir Ibirejan, two at the very least.'

He nodded, appearing thoroughly pleased with himself. "Aye, and so you see, you are actually quite beloved and popular here."

'I can all but HEAR the grin in your words, sire. Stop, I beg of you,' she spoke through her laughter.

"On one condition milady!"

Victoria merely looked towards him, her features fidgeting upon her face as she sought to quiet her laughter.

"That you tell me one thing that brings you joy."

'Well, that is an easy question with a likewise answer. I find joy in reading.'

And yet it remains such a seeming impossibility, to look upon such a gaze without fear striking within my breast.

I know my expression betrays my unease.

Winter approaches, each passing day growing shorter than its predecessor.

In my prolonged imprisonment indoors, I have discovered a familiar sense of comfort within the estate's library. Perhaps it is the smell of aged parchment, or the shelves of literature that continue on up towards the heavens or maybe it is something far more commonplace...the roaring blaze of the hearth that has proven itself far too inviting perhaps?

I find that my time spent inside has stricken me with wanderlust. The windows provide an excellent vantage point of the surrounding forest and I often fancy myself within the woods, stepping along the weather-beaten paths.

The air is brisk, a chill lingering with some measure of persistence…yet I find my onsetting cabin fever beginning to outweigh my better judgement. To my great fortune, the handmaiden has proven herself once more a godsend - happily obliging to my requests.

He was calm, a gentle breeze that caressed in its passing. Humanity reclaimed, calming the unrest of a beast's heart to give over to the warmth of his heart.

How many years had passed?

How often had he returned to her thoughts, a pang of sadness for the loss of her dearest companion.

He was peculiar and yet he, a gypsy, had managed to procure her friendship.

Sir Ibirejan remains within the manor, I believe he takes quite seriously the vow of seeing me kept safe from harm.

I find myself surprised in the comfort I have in knowing that he has not simply departed the moment the option offered itself.

While I do not know him overly well, he is at least a familiar face in this new 'world' of strangers. I desire to know them, to walk amongst them unguarded in manner but that pleasure is not yet mine.

The lord of the estate seems to enjoy his privacy, often shut away within his rooms or within his private study. I cannot understand what past wounds would make any seek solitude over companionship...but...I suppose such is but another curiosity of this place.

His form seemed to materialize from within the darkness of the hall, the vivid amber of his gaze burning fiercely, twin pools of illumination that seemed to sear with purpose.

He was a substantial bulk of a man - a towering presence that moved with a remarkable dexterity. Immense shoulders squared a broad frame of solid muscle. The way that he moved...each motion, each gesture, seemed by design as his lengthy stride drew him nearer. 

She knew who he was.

She knew what he was.

But such knowledge had not prepared her for the reality of the man, the reality of the feral gaze that focused upon her now.

Driven.

He was.