❝ Have you ever loved a rose,
and watched her slowly bloom;
and as her petals would unfold;
you grew drunk on her perfume.❞
- Lang Leav, The Rose
[ copyright ]
- w. herondale x oc
- plagiarism...
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AS EVERYONE SAT PEACEFULLY in the dining room, Tessa came midway through their breakfast—Charlotte in a plain grey dress, spreading jam onto a piece of toast; Henry half-hidden behind a newspaper; Rosela in her favorite blue dress, drinking her tea then engulfing into her well cooked bacons; and Jessamine picking daintily at a bowl of porridge.
Across Rose, Will had a pile of eggs and bacon on his plate and was digging into them industriously, Rosela shook her head at him and greeted Tessa with a nod, “Tessa.”
“We were just talking about you,” Jessamine said as Tessa found a seat. She pushed a silver toast rack across the table toward Tessa. “Toast?”
Tessa, picking up her fork, looked around the table anxiously. “What about me?”
“What to do with you, of course. Downworlders can’t live in the Institute forever,” said Will. “I say we sell her to the Gypsies on Hampstead Heath,” he added, turning to Charlotte. “I heard they purchase spare women as well as horses.”
Rosela shot him an incredulous look, rolling her eyes, and returning her attention to her meal.
“Will, stop it.” Charlotte glanced up from her breakfast. “That’s ridiculous.”
Will leaned back in his chair. “You’re right. They’d never buy her. Too scrawny.”
Rosela stifled a chuckle, “You couldn’t have sugarcoated that a little?” Their eyes met, sharing a similar glint of amusement in their orbs, Rose’s grin reached her ears sheepishly.
“That’s enough,” Charlotte said. “Miss Gray shall remain. If for no other reason than because we’re in the middle of an investigation that requires her assistance. I’ve already dispatched a message to the Clave telling them that we’re keeping her until this Pandemonium Club matter is cleared up and her brother is found. Isn’t that right, Henry?”
“Quite,” Henry said, setting the newspaper down. “The Pandemonium thingie is a top priority. Absolutely.”
“You seem distracted.” Rosela glanced at him from her tea.
“You’d better tell Benedict Lightwood, too,” said Will. “You know how he is.”
Charlotte blanched slightly, Rosela groaned at the mere mention of the Lightwood man, reminiscing a certain memory that included one of his sons. Shaking the smile that drew in her lips from the thought.
