But Jane is already halfway down the path, and does not hear. It is probably for the best.

Margaret goes through the rest of her day quietly. She does not return to her garden, nor does she sit at the table and cry. She is done with tears. Done with being the tragic heroine, the abandoned lover.

Her father died in the war, but she still has his dagger, put away in a drawer with the keepsakes that belonged to her mother. It will be sharp enough for what she plans.

That night, while Paul sleeps in the room below, she unlocks the drawer. Her fingers still have the habit of sewing, though her stitches are clumsy now. But they are clever enough to fashion a pocket for a dagger, even in the dark.

(Everything is dark, and soon it will be darker.)

The pocket will fit under her cloak nicely.

Are you sure that this is what you want to do?

Yes. Baptiste deserves to die.

Actually, no. It’s kind of enjoyable to think about stabbing him, but realistically, this is not going to end well for me, either. And I deserve better.

[I do not like the look of where this is going. Take me back!]

[Take me back to the start]


Michel-Ange – Auteuil fleur9left Jasmin fleur9right Ranelagh

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