WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 1 | THE CURO SOCIETY

[LOVEY]

⚘

SOMEONE'S FOLLOWING ME.

It's a courageous thing to leave the country on your own, but it's quintessentially terrible to be on your own all together. Bravery is only applauded when you disregard the things that are out of your control. Someone following me is exactly that.

There are many things running through my mind, but I can't distract myself from the shadow trailing my footsteps. A thin, unidentifiable stranger was a few steps behind me, intentions unknown but unwelcome.

I noticed them only a few minutes after I entered St Pancras International, shaded by the large, glass dome overhead. Anything else in my frantic life should have been clouding my thoughts—not the idea that I could be kidnapped or murdered if I made the wrong move.

Gripping my hand around the handle of my suitcase, I glanced down at the pavement beneath me, taking note that the shadow was still there. I was too afraid to turn around—perhaps I was too afraid of what I might see. Growing up a woman made me cautious of being alone, even in crowded spaces like this one.

It wasn't the first time I had been followed, but most of the occurrences had to do with swarms of paparazzi or cat-callers. My privacy diminished after my relationship with Percy had been announced; his title as the Duke of Allerton was worth quite a few articles in the papers. I had no idea why I was being followed this time, but I had a feeling it wasn't for an autograph.

I exhaled in relief when I saw my train sitting promptly on the tracks. I was to be engaged—\Percy was photographed in a Swarovski shop a few weeks ago, and few days later he asked me to meet him in Paris. All a woman has to do is put two-and-two together, really—assuming I can make it that far. This stranger was making me question that.

As I trailed my suitcase towards the doors of the train, I turned my head, catching the first glimpse of my follower. The tinted windows of the carriages it hard to depict them clearly, but I saw what I needed.

A man. Dark brown hair. Mustache, beard, and cigarette hanging on his lips like a toothpick set aflame. He was unfamiliar and he wasn't carrying any luggage; clearly he wasn't here for a train ride.

He was here for me.

"Terribly sorry," I said, approaching one of the Station Guards outside of my car, "but may I ask you a favour?"

I would have consulted an officer sooner, but my fear of missing my transit was too great to bear. At least I was only a few steps away from the train doors, and could hop on when the final whistle blew.

The station guard, whose name tag read 'Brian', adjusted his checkered cap and furrowed his brows. "Everything alright, Miss?"

"I think I'm being followed," I said under my breath.

Under the bustling noise of the terminal, I was surprised he heard what I said. Pursing his lips, he straightened himself, scanning the area around me for anyone of great suspicion. I looked back to where I came from, searching for the mysterious follower in the hopes to point him out.

But he was gone.

"Mind describing them to me, Miss?" The station guard asked, "I'll need the most accurate description you've got."

My eyes were still trained on the crowded platform, searching for traces of cigarette smoke. I'd seen my follower with the cigar in his mouth, and yet, as soon as I went to report him he vanished from sight. He must have known my plan, and escaped before he could be exposed.