All characters that are used in this story belong to Mr. Jullian Fellowes.
Hope you enjoy it :) this is a one shot, and my first fan fic ever. Reviews are appreciated .
Cora
The morning after Sybil died, she didn't eat. No. Eating was out of the question. So was leaving her room. It was her sacred grieving sanctuary. She could stay there, balled up under the covers, and be mad. Mad at Robert. Stupid Robert. He choose someone with titles over someone with skill. And it had gotten her killed. Her was Sybil. Their youngest daughter. Her baby. Cora couldn't speak her name though. Her dead daughter's name cut like knives into her skin. So she stayed in her room, only knowing grief,pain,anger, and sadness. She would have to come out eventually. Eventually. Eventually the funeral would come,and she would go to give her baby a proper send off. Cora wondered if her dead daughter's yet-to-be-named newborn child would come to the funeral, dressed in a tiny mourning gown. If nothing else good had happened that fateful night, at least the child had. Robert would be there too. She knew she couldn't talk to him. Or look into his sad blue eyes. He had killed their baby. Sir Phillip had killed her, and Robert had backed him. He had ignored Clarkson. Ignorance and pride had killed their daughter. Robert had knocked on her door. She couldn't say when, but she could hear him knock. He almost never knocked. And she had almost never denied him entry to her room. But she had. And she would,until Sybil was alive and well again.
Robert
Guilt. And tears. He never cried in his life, except for when it was necessary. This time was certainly necessary. Sir Phillip had told him she would live. He had guaranteed it. Now all Robert want to do was to cry, like he never had before. And so he did. He cried. Alone. In his dressing room. Not even when his father had died did he cry so much. And also, he wanted Cora. Very badly. But she wouldn't let him in. He didn't know why. He supposed it was just something women did. Especially American Cora was not like other women. They would usually cry together in grief, their burden shared, their tears merging into a single steady stream. But that was not the case. Sybil was gone, and so was Cora, it seemed.
Tom
Dream. Sybil had dreamed. Dreamed of raising their child. The only child who would be a mix of Sybil and him. He wanted to scream. He would've liked to have smashed something, but that might not sit too well on his already delicate relationship with Lord Grantham. He knew all he needed was a good scream. So he screamed. He ran out of the house, and all the way to Sybil's favorite hill on the Downton grounds. She had told him that she felt like a goddess, looking down at all the countryside visible from the hill, the house a tiny speck. " The world seems endless here, and it reminds me of how insignificant and small we really are," she had said. Then he had kissed her. So, he screamed there, on that hill. For that Sybil. For their daughter. For Mary. For Edith. For Cora. For Robert. For all the maids. For all the footmen. For all of Ireland. And lastly,for himself. It made him feel better for a moment. Only a small moment. Then he realized that he still was going to have to live in a world without her, and all he had done was make unnecessary noise. And it dawned on him. She was gone. It hit him like a ton of bricks. She was gone, and he had a newborn girl to name and raise. He suddenly knew what he would call the child. Sybil. Now the child had a name. Sybil. And he would show this child all the love he could muster. He would. That was she would've done. His darling, his dead wife. His Sybil.
