As the sky outside darkened the study, Charlotte Branwell was filling out paperwork. That was all she had been doing recently. Will was in the training room, Jem in his bedroom, Tessa in the library, Sophie cleaning, and Henry... Well besides their bedroom he spent every waking hour in his laboratory, if not to come up and have dinner. Her heart sighed in lost affection, for she knew that her husband did not return the same feelings as she beheld for him.

She couldn't concentrate on the paperwork any longer, the pages blurring as one and the writing too dark to see in the unlit room. And anyway, she didn't want to write anything more, for her hand ached and her mind was too preoccupied.

Charlotte quickly shuffled the papers and set them down neatly beside her, before leaning back in her chair in a most un-ladylike manner, though at this time she didn't care.

She knew, hard as she tried, that Henry would never love her. He was too busy with his inventions that he spared no time to be with his wife. A single tear rolled down her eye, splashing onto her dress. She shouldn't be so sensitive, yet it seemed as if she couldn't help it. More thoughts intruded her mind, of Henry. And before she knew it, tears were rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably, but she didn't wipe them away, just sat there with her eyes closed, trying to think of different things.

'Mrs Branwell!' called a familiar voice. Charlotte turned in haste and embarrassment, and saw Sophie at the door.

'Mrs Branwell, what's wrong? Why are you crying?'

'Its nothing, Sophie, really.'

Sophie crossed the room to where she sat in the opposite seat from Charlotte, and set the tray of tea she had been carrying down.

Charlotte took the cup of tea gratefully off the tray and slowly sipped it through pursed lips. It tasted sweet and strong, how she liked it, with the salty taste of her tears mingling with liquid.

Looking concerned and slightly shocked, she asked the question Charlotte didn't want to hear.

'What is the matter Mrs. Branwell?' she said, her tone soothing and kind.

'I just... I can't cope Sophie. I can't cope anymore.'

She put her head in her hands, her tears staining her fingers, her eyes shut tight.

She felt her hands draw aside, and she looked up to see Sophie look at her, concerned. She held Charlotte's hands away from her face, and produced a handkerchief. She took it gratefully, reducing the tears that still escaped from her eyes.

She knew she had made a fool of herself. She couldn't let Sophie see her like that, so weak and dependant, crying in such a bad state. She never really cried much generally. And even if she did, she preferred to cry in private. She straightened back up, her cheeks blushing slightly.

'Tell me what's on your mind. Please. Why can't you cope Mrs. Branwell?'

'Too many reasons Sophie. Some which you won't even understand. Some which pressure me everyday. Some which shouldn't even bother me. Some which fit each description perfectly.' Her hand balanced her head, her posture terrible, but she still didn't care about anything as small as manners.

'Everything is completely messed up. I can't cope with everyone. I can't cope with the Institute. I can't cope with the hopeless mess I've made with the Enclave and the Mortmain business, I can't cope with my life.' She said it so despairingly, it was hard to believe it was she who was saying it.

'I can't cope with the man I married.' Her voice cracked at the end, and she lingered there for a moment, her hand on her face. And then she strode out, leaving Sophie there looking completely astounded by what she had done. She left the room, and walked down the hall, no particular destination in mind. She ended up in the training room, leaning against the back of the wall, her feet tucked in beneath her. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks, her hands running through her hair in distress.

'Mrs. Branwell. Please. You've been hiding all these feelings. You need to talk to someone. It will make you feel better.'

It was Sophie, walking towards her carefully, and sitting opposite her on the wooden floor.

She said nothing, only sighed.

'Im sorry for walking out like that Sophie.'

'It was understandable.'

After a while of silence, she spoke.

'There is no denying I've made a mess of this. All of this. Searching for Mortmain, the Enclave, the Institute. All this political business. It makes my head spin. I'm forever working late into the night and in the early hours of the morning, trying to solve what little information we have.'

She paused, looking at Sophie expectantly, as if waiting for her to say something. Finally, she continued on.

'Everybody here...I love you all as much as a a mother would love her sons and daughters. I care for all of you, I want everyone to be safe, yet Jem is dying, Tessa is being hunted by Mortmain, Jessamine cares only for luxury, Will...I've known Will for years, but not once has he cared for anyone or shown the slightest bit of interest in anything. No one appreciates anything I do. No one thinks about the impact they make before they do it. It seems like I am the only responsible person here.'

'Thats not true. Everyone appreciates what you do, you keep us all together. You're the head of the London Institute and Enclave, you make a difference.'

She shook her head, strands of hair falling into her eyes.

She got up as Sophie did, and they walked back to the study, where she collapsed into her chair.

'I feel like I'm a failed Shadowhunter. I can barely manage my own life, never mind the lives of others. I haven't been in battle for ages, how do I know I can defend everything, how do I know I'm good enough to even be a Shadowhunter? I haven't been useful at all.'

'You're a great Shadowhunter and you have been useful. We wouldn't even be here without you. I know I definitely wouldn't be here without your kindness and hospitality.'

Charlotte looked into her eyes, and she saw the young girl with nowhere to go, lost and confused, desperately seeking work. She smiled.

'You really have a way of persuading people.'

'There's still something your not telling.'

She sighed.

'He's always in the crypt. He doesn't care about anything except his inventions. He can't even bear to be in the same room as me. He never notices anything I do. He's never helped me run the Institute, never helped me when I needed help. I know I come second for him - if at all. He wouldn't even hold my hand if his life depended on it. He wouldn't do anything for me.'

She didn't say his name, it caused her too much pain. But of course, Sophie instantly knew who she was talking about anyway.

She stared at Sophie blankly, her hands shaking, her eyes blurry.

'Mr. Branwell does care for you. I just think he hides his affection. He's not the type of person that shows his feelings. And Master Jem told me that when Nate died, and the automaton threw you to the floor, Mr. Branwell went crazy, launched at the automaton, and protected you. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't care about you.'

'It might prove care, but loyalty? Love?' She questioned.

Sophie just sat there, her expression blank.

'He would give me up in a second before he lost his inventions.' She said miserably. As soon as the words left her mouth, Charlotte regretted them instantly. Her hand went to her mouth in shame, shocked at what she had said. Guilt flooded through her. She knew Henry wasn't a bad person or a bad husband. She felt her face blush violently, and knew Sophie was looking at her, though she kept her head down dismissively. She shuffled her notes dismally in her hands, still avoiding eye contact.

'I'm sorry you had to hear that Sophie. It shan't happen again. I know Henry would never do that. It was entirely silly to even think that.'

'I know. You're just upset... and you have every right to be.'

She picked the empty tray up from the table, nodded, and said 'If you need anything else Mrs Branwell...'

She started toward the door just as Charlotte muttered her assent and left the room, taking awkwardness and company with her.

The silence in the room was deafening, though Charlotte had endured it many times before. And although she pulled out her paperwork and started with her pen, she still couldn't stop thinking of Henry.