Following the 6/28 ledger entry...
Clara paused, pen nib poised over the ledger page. After several moments' hesitation, she tossed the pen carelessly aside, allowing it to bounce off the edge of the book and onto the wooden tabletop. Droplets of black ink splattered over the scored surface, but she paid them no mind as she slumped heavily in her chair and scrubbed a hand down her face.
It didn't seem right to summarize the events of that evening in those two simple sentences, but really, what else was there to be said? She wasn't entirely sure she could do justice to anything more descriptive, regardless. Her mind felt full and unwieldy. Even had she known what to write, there was always the risk of another finding the ledger. That -- well, it simply couldn't happen. Best to leave it vague. One disclosure was more than enough.
"Tate, Albrand didn't miss."
...'disclosure', indeed.
Clara tipped her face to the low beams crossing the cottage roof and groaned. She had always known how improbable it was that she would be able to maintain the charade, especially after her tour with the Wardens and the... incident surrounding her injury and eventual discharge. Eventually, the truth would have outed. She simply would never have chosen for it to be like that.
Moon and stars, what had she been thinking? Sitting abruptly upright, Clara shoved her chair back from the table and rose. A few quick paces brought her to the window with its pool of soothing moonlight. She leaned forward and rested her head against the cool glass, making a mental note even as she did so to remember to clean it in the daytime.
"Y'gotta consider th' big picture!"
In truth, she knew what she had been thinking. She was scared, and she was angry. She'd watched him fall ill with that awful plague and then spent two weeks anxiously awaiting word that he had survived, in between hallucinated reminders of everything she'd previously held dear. To have him back, to know he was well, and to then learn he again insisted on running off to risk his neck playing the hero? Yes, she knew full well what she'd been thinking.
"You'n confide anythin' in me. I promise y'this."
Granted, he'd invited the confidence, but that was only a justification. He couldn't possibly have been expecting the history he received in response, and she should have known better than to push as far as she did, much less in that manner. She'd lost control, and while she was grateful that hadn't crossed beyond inability to govern her mouth, it still should never have happened at all. At least she hadn't changed. That in itself was a small blessing.
He'd certainly appeared calm enough during most of what she had to say, but she couldn't quite make herself believe that meant anything. That sort of control wasn't so very difficult, after all. She only practiced it daily herself, earlier that evening excepted.
"You're still Miss Clara. Always have been, always will be."
He had surprised her, there was no disputing that. He always did seem to manage as much. There certainly had been several awful minutes of painful silence as he took it all in, but he hadn't fled. Yet, anyway. She wouldn't have blamed him if he had, truthfully. There were certainly enough days she felt like doing the same, and had it been physically possible to escape her own skin, might well have done. Some part of her, to her shame, almost wished that he had taken his leave. It would be far easier than trying to live up to whatever image he saw when he looked at her. He still saw her as Miss Clara, he said. An admirable sentiment, but one she would have found far more helpful had she any sense of just who that woman was anymore.
Clara straightened her stiff neck with a wince and muttered oath, then carefully boosted herself onto the creaking windowsill. With ginger movements, she rested her back against the old wooden frame and gazed out at the stars in the clear night sky, looking for any kind of guidance in their brightness.
"Thank'ya fer trustin' me like y'do."
He trusted her so simply, even after knowing of the curse. It was touching and frightening all in one. She wished she could return the favor, or even extend herself a similar courtesy. Maybe it was for the best that he did enlist and was sent far away, despite her protests on the issue earlier. She'd not have to watch him back away in horror as Geoffrey had, and he'd be at less risk of being harmed if she lost control again. Perhaps. It likely wouldn't signify much in the end. He'd come to his senses in short enough order.
With a resigned sigh, Clara tugged a handkerchief from her sleeve and began swiping at the smudge marks her forehead had left on the pane of glass. It would be business as usual. It had to be. She only wondered how long it would take this time. This particular wolf always ran alone in the end.
It didn't seem right to summarize the events of that evening in those two simple sentences, but really, what else was there to be said? She wasn't entirely sure she could do justice to anything more descriptive, regardless. Her mind felt full and unwieldy. Even had she known what to write, there was always the risk of another finding the ledger. That -- well, it simply couldn't happen. Best to leave it vague. One disclosure was more than enough.
"Tate, Albrand didn't miss."
...'disclosure', indeed.
Clara tipped her face to the low beams crossing the cottage roof and groaned. She had always known how improbable it was that she would be able to maintain the charade, especially after her tour with the Wardens and the... incident surrounding her injury and eventual discharge. Eventually, the truth would have outed. She simply would never have chosen for it to be like that.
Moon and stars, what had she been thinking? Sitting abruptly upright, Clara shoved her chair back from the table and rose. A few quick paces brought her to the window with its pool of soothing moonlight. She leaned forward and rested her head against the cool glass, making a mental note even as she did so to remember to clean it in the daytime.
"Y'gotta consider th' big picture!"
In truth, she knew what she had been thinking. She was scared, and she was angry. She'd watched him fall ill with that awful plague and then spent two weeks anxiously awaiting word that he had survived, in between hallucinated reminders of everything she'd previously held dear. To have him back, to know he was well, and to then learn he again insisted on running off to risk his neck playing the hero? Yes, she knew full well what she'd been thinking.
"You'n confide anythin' in me. I promise y'this."
Granted, he'd invited the confidence, but that was only a justification. He couldn't possibly have been expecting the history he received in response, and she should have known better than to push as far as she did, much less in that manner. She'd lost control, and while she was grateful that hadn't crossed beyond inability to govern her mouth, it still should never have happened at all. At least she hadn't changed. That in itself was a small blessing.
He'd certainly appeared calm enough during most of what she had to say, but she couldn't quite make herself believe that meant anything. That sort of control wasn't so very difficult, after all. She only practiced it daily herself, earlier that evening excepted.
"You're still Miss Clara. Always have been, always will be."
He had surprised her, there was no disputing that. He always did seem to manage as much. There certainly had been several awful minutes of painful silence as he took it all in, but he hadn't fled. Yet, anyway. She wouldn't have blamed him if he had, truthfully. There were certainly enough days she felt like doing the same, and had it been physically possible to escape her own skin, might well have done. Some part of her, to her shame, almost wished that he had taken his leave. It would be far easier than trying to live up to whatever image he saw when he looked at her. He still saw her as Miss Clara, he said. An admirable sentiment, but one she would have found far more helpful had she any sense of just who that woman was anymore.
Clara straightened her stiff neck with a wince and muttered oath, then carefully boosted herself onto the creaking windowsill. With ginger movements, she rested her back against the old wooden frame and gazed out at the stars in the clear night sky, looking for any kind of guidance in their brightness.
"Thank'ya fer trustin' me like y'do."
He trusted her so simply, even after knowing of the curse. It was touching and frightening all in one. She wished she could return the favor, or even extend herself a similar courtesy. Maybe it was for the best that he did enlist and was sent far away, despite her protests on the issue earlier. She'd not have to watch him back away in horror as Geoffrey had, and he'd be at less risk of being harmed if she lost control again. Perhaps. It likely wouldn't signify much in the end. He'd come to his senses in short enough order.
With a resigned sigh, Clara tugged a handkerchief from her sleeve and began swiping at the smudge marks her forehead had left on the pane of glass. It would be business as usual. It had to be. She only wondered how long it would take this time. This particular wolf always ran alone in the end.