𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐑 || 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐚 [ II ]

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖛𝖊: 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖓𝖊𝖘

SHE HAD FOUND THE LIBRARY.

She stumbled upon the comfort, the silence and warmth as if they beckoned to her, as if they knew when she needed the space to calm down. She always found her way back. It was in those environments Muriel felt at ease, where she could empty her mind and for a second forget the worries that plagued it.

It was there that she'd finally allowed herself to cry. As the big oak door had closed behind her and she'd made sure there was no one there, big, angry tears had spilled over her cheeks. The salty drops of water had stung the slight cuts on her face, but she was numb to the feeling. Her face was hot, her nose runny and her eyes burned, but it had felt good.

She had cried until it had felt as if she'd outed all of her frustration and boiled up anger. Like she'd finally mourned the loss she'd felt these past few years. Losing grip of who she was, the hope that had once guided her, the confidence in her plans, not having the same firm grip on the memories of her mother and Dar and with it a normal childhood. She'd lost her friendship with Caspian, and now she was afraid to lose another friendship that was very dear to her. She had not truly sat down and thought about what was hiding behind the anger towards Caspian. She had loved him and it had been unrequited. It had been fine, he had remained her friend and she had been alright with that.

But oh, had it hurt.

She had completely thrown herself into the role of adviser and princess to avoid that consistent nagging feeling. Every time they'd seen each other it was like another dagger through the heart. And then after truly devoting herself to peace treaties and putting out trade routes, the man she had loved acted on his own accord. He had played with her heart, for the second time. He had made her feel like a fool, as if she were that little girl again. One without friends, while the children at court laughed at her. As if she wasn't a grown up who could take care of things herself, but rather a desperate princess, waiting for a knight in shining armour to save her.

She had been so angry with him. But most of the anger had been directed at herself. For no matter how much shining armour she put on herself as to not need anyone else, it was so easily pierced each time he had so much as smiled at her. And when he had fought with the Calormen, at her expense, and she had yelled at him and he had been angry at her too, she still could feel the point of a knife dig into her heart. She despised the feeling and had grown to ignore it for the most time.

She had insulted him, ignored him, glared at him, given the cold shoulder, challenged him. Everything to make him as angry as she was so that, hopefully, he would lash out as well and change her opinion of him entirely. But it never had.

She had been lying to him, but mostly to herself. She was angry, most definitely, but her sadness weighted heavier. Mourning their friendship for what it had been.