She was only vaguely aware of Jack as he pressed a kiss before he untangled himself and left the bed they currently shared. Reinette was too caught in that vague, distant place between wake and sleep. She could mentally acknowledge Jack's presence, even just define his words. But physically she could command her body to do very little about it
( ... )
A bag had been placed over Jack's head for the journey. It wasn't a journey he could well recall; not content to have him merely restrained and under strict orders, his captors had beat him until he'd fallen from consciousness, and so when his awareness returned he was already within the darkness of walls he didn't recognise.
When the bag from his head was removed he found himself in a room, small, with a small window, barred, a bed made of wooden slats, and a chair nestled in the corner beside a putrid bucket. None of this, of course, worried him, nothing more than a frustrating annoyance. An annoyance that was, until it became clear to him just what had been taken from him.
It might have been hard to tell, wrists shackled behind him as they were, but he knew. There was something missing. His wrist strap had been taken
( ... )
Through the course of the evening, Jack did not reappear. Reinette remained on edge through the whole of it, her attention not completely on the events at hand. As Jack reminded her, they danced at the Yew Tree Ball. Could he be there, in the halls of Versailles even now? Without revealing himself to her?
A great part of her wished it were true. But another, equal part of her did not. She found she did not long for something so subversive. For him simply to be present.
But it seemed he was not.
She did not sleep well that night.
The day had passed short and cold despite the fact that it was summer. And Louis seemed especially distant and sharp. Reinette battled a sense of exhaustion she never managed well. And then, of course, there was her bed.
It was strange enough that Jack had come to share it with her no less than three times. Only the night before had she fully confessed to him how strange, in one of the moments words were exchanged. His physical presence her in bed was something she had never experienced, even when he
( ... )
Jack did not sleep that first night. How could he even try? He didn't. He didn't even venture towards the excuse for a bed because that would be admitting, and admitting wasn't something he was about to do
( ... )
Comments 335
Reply
When the bag from his head was removed he found himself in a room, small, with a small window, barred, a bed made of wooden slats, and a chair nestled in the corner beside a putrid bucket. None of this, of course, worried him, nothing more than a frustrating annoyance. An annoyance that was, until it became clear to him just what had been taken from him.
It might have been hard to tell, wrists shackled behind him as they were, but he knew. There was something missing. His wrist strap had been taken ( ... )
Reply
A great part of her wished it were true. But another, equal part of her did not. She found she did not long for something so subversive. For him simply to be present.
But it seemed he was not.
She did not sleep well that night.
The day had passed short and cold despite the fact that it was summer. And Louis seemed especially distant and sharp. Reinette battled a sense of exhaustion she never managed well. And then, of course, there was her bed.
It was strange enough that Jack had come to share it with her no less than three times. Only the night before had she fully confessed to him how strange, in one of the moments words were exchanged. His physical presence her in bed was something she had never experienced, even when he ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment