Virginia was used to being underestimated. First of all, by the natives, and she proved them wrong. So wrong they believed her to be a goddess, and she was barely out of her childhood. Then, by her Elder Master, let his soul rot in whatever Underworld Shadowrealm he got in. He was a means to an end, immortality, and now she had it. But the person to underestimate her the most in her long life had been doctor John Dee.
Seriously, he definitely should know her better (Before the whole marriage thing went all wrong. Neither of them wanted to talk about that). Yet, every time the doctor spoke, she could almost taste the condescending air with which he spoke. He wasn't used to being challenged. Not by anyone other than the Flamels. Not even that damn slimy Italian Machiavelli. Like, how does anyone ever put up with his unresolved anger issues?
More importantly, why did she? Dee had never done anything remotely charitable for her ever since the incident that ruined their wedding. He had never repaid her for the countless years of loyalty, or at least the closest thing to loyalty she ever gave someone. Surely, the loyalty may have been out of a mutual agreement to the benefit of both and not actually charity, but either way...
Why was she thinking about Dee, or, more appropriately, John? She was the only person in the small funeral she arranged for him. Not exactly a funeral. A stone in which she carved his name, and buried alongside the grave of someone named Charity Lambert (The irony was quite appealing).
She couldn't dare think of him, not right now. Not with anything other than spite and snide remarks, or else she'd bring herself to tears. Virginia Dare, in tears? Laughable. No one could ever stir such reaction from her. No one ever had. She had always denied the possibility, claimed she was above it, that it held her back, that it made people fools. Did she love him, most definitely so. But not in that way. The wedding was just a scam and she planned to bail on it anyway. She wasn't in love with him. Not with Dee.
But with John.
And wether or not she liked the idea, there was nothing she could do. She fell for the most despicable, arrogant, self-entitled, clever and resourceful man in London, possibly in history itself. And the tears fled from her face, not for Dee. She couldn't allow herself to care for the foolish bastard, not right now, but for herself, and the flow of emotions that she wasn't sure were good or bad. Virginia Dare walked away from the makeshift grave, and into the embrace of the hooded figure, metal hook reflecting the sunlight.