❝i have you— it's alright. breathe with me, [name].❞
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN . A MOTH TO A FLAME, A DRAGON TO HIS DAME
▅▅▅
⸻ NEUVILLETTE HAS NEVER trespassed. The rules of the law are final, and he has never been one to view himself or anyone as an exemption.
But how could he deny the temptation of entering [Name]'s house when the door was ajar in the first place, and when not one but eighteen pairs of shoes belonging to the Melusines were so neatly stacked on a shelf that looked like it was customized for them?
It had been two weeks since [Name] last set foot in the Palais and over a month since she had responded to any form of correspondence— including his own letters.
Letters, that were all sent and received according to the post office. They had no reason to lie to him and never had so Neuvillette believed them to be telling the truth.
Was she somehow offended by the ten pairs of shoes he sent, five different in color? That was not possible. [Name] made it clear in her last missive that she liked- no, loved his gifts. Was it her ink? No, she had just had her stock refilled as well.
"Is there anyone here?" he asked aloud.
Perhaps he was too forward with his affections? Sovereigns, could it even be considered a declaration of intention when he wasn't sure what his feelings still were? It had been a month since he came to acknowledge that what he felt for the woman was unlike anything he'd felt before, but he was nowhere near close to identifying what it was either.
Still, he could not help but worry. How could he when his every waking thought was consumed by the image of her face, the sound of her laugh, the look of her eyes, and the hurt it encased when he last escorted her home?
If [Name] intended to punish him for a misdeed he had unknowingly committed, she very well succeeded by ostracizing him from her life. He was not merely suffering, he was tormented by the very idea of never seeing nor hearing from her again.
He was going mad.
Absurdly so. From the looks of the wrathful storm outside it would seem the weather very much agreed with him.
Which brings him here.
Neuvillette had not known what to expect upon stepping into [Name]'s apartment, but it was certainly not this.
The space felt like it was alive with color and warmth- potted plants hung from all corners of the room where flowers and petals alike lay falling over the floor, her kitchen was colored in a beautiful shade of [color] smelling of warm vanilla, and there were shelves upon shelves of books installed against the walls; her apertures designed as bow windows.
