I'll not pretend this is a happy story. It's also very dramatic and probably not very realistic, so you have been warned. That being said, I've always wanted to try a character death, so I challenged myself to write one with absolutely no dialogue ( something I've also wanted to do) and obviously the ridiculously dramatic side of me choose the character whose death would be the result of romantic entanglements. Sorry about that.

This could really be set pretty much anywhere in series 2, in my mind it's after episode 8 but there are no spoilers for those who have yet to see the whole series. Please review, I really don't know what to think of this and your opinion would be very much appreciated.

Get out your tissues and enjoy!

Lady Mary sat in her father's library staring at the wall. She hadn't even bothered with the pretense of a book, she just sat and stared blankly as she vaguely listened to the sounds of the house and all its inhabitants move around her, all completely unaware of the silent prison she was trapped in. Her father came in and sat down at his desk. She didn't say a word. Her mother and Grandmother came in and sat on the couches by the fire, gossiping madly. She didn't say a word. Carson walked in and began to talk to Lord Grantham about some matters of the house. Mary didn't say a word. For reasons unknown, it wasn't until she heard her Grandmother's disapproval of Aunt Rosamund's new beau, did she come out of her trance. Mary remained silent but her eyes darted about the room with growing panic as she felt her whole world seize her with a suffocating grip; the new beau, the matters of the house, her duty to the estate, her duty to her family, Sir Richard, Pamuk, Matthew. Her eyes flew to the old tome of Greek myths. Andromeda, sacrificed for her family and her kingdom; Andromeda chained to a rock. Suddenly the room was unbearably hot and stuffy, the voices of her family painfully loud in her ears. She felt as if the room was closing in on her, the weight of the great house falling onto her shattered spirit. She had to get out. Trapped in her silence, she stood, swaying dangerously with the rush of blood to her head. Mary walked slowly out of the room but broke into a run as soon as she was out in the corridor. Her feet pounded on the polished floor, echoing off the walls and filling her head with noise. She flew down the stairs and pushed her way through the heavy front doors, feeling no relief in the rush of cold December air. She continued to run, starting to feel the effects of skipping breakfast and not touching her lunch as blood was frantically pumped throughout her body. She didn't know where she was going; only that she had to get as far away from the house, from her life, as possible. Her feet carried her across the fields and off the grounds, into the village. Her vision blurred until she could no longer see, and blindly, Mary continued to run. Out of the village, back into some fields, she no longer had any idea of her location. Her dress became torturously heavy and the pins in her scrapped against her head as they came loose, letting large sections of hair fall out of the tightly twisted bun at the nape of her neck. Someone called out to her, someone out walking in the fields. It was a familiar voice, one that sliced open her heart every time it graced her ears. The voice broke her concentration now, causing her to stumble and fall wildly to the ground. Mary heard footsteps approaching her and again she felt crushed, bowing over as if the weight she felt in the library had followed her, merely waiting for her to stop running so it could smother her once more. That voice called out to her again and Mary's stomach turned over. She threw up violently on the ground before her. Over and over her stomach retched, ridding her of every last morsel of food in her, and then the convulsions continued, trying to rid her body of all the heartbreak and misery that plagued her soul. Mary's throat and nose burned, her body shaking uncontrollably with every retch. She wasn't getting enough air, desperately gasping for breath whenever her body calmed for just a moment. It wasn't enough. Finally, when her body gave up and there was nothing left inside, the retching ceased and Mary fell limp, becoming aware of the strong hands that held her up, the voice which had previously torn her apart torn her apart now talking to her and soothing her with its rich clarity. As Mary felt herself being cradled in his arms, being warmed against his chest; her breathing slowed and faltered, the crushing weight lifted as a glorious lightness came over her body. Feeling completely calm and content for the first time in God knows how many years; she cleared her vision and stared up into the eyes that had haunted her dreams for the last five years. Lost in the intense crystal blue of Matthew's eyes, she felt no pain or hurt or resentment, just love. And it was this honest, pure love that occupied her last thoughts as the life that had pushed her past the point of endurance slowly left her. She was finally at peace.

Lady Mary Crawley would remain forever silent.

I am sorry. This is of course, not at all what I want (or wanted) to happen. The idea was just bouncing around in my head and refusing to go away, so I tried it out. I have never written anything like this before and I'm not sure that I am completely satisfied with the last few lines so, if you don't already hate me, reviews would really, really mean a lot to me. I was just so fed up of Mary never doing anything rash and always holding that perfect mask of composure, I suppose I just really want to see her crack; I think it would make her character a little more human in a way. I am also thinking of doing something on Matthew's reaction to Mary's death, so if you would like to see that, please let me know your thoughts. Suggestions are greatly encouraged!

ATudorRose