Marisa was barely awake when the zeppelin carrying her husband touched down. She was in no fit state to play the loving wife, but for the sake of everything she would have to conceal her sleep-deprived state and the emotions boiling inside her from last night.

She wore his favourite dress and her horrid red heels that pinched her feet, and held the golden monkey in her arms, stroking him gently to keep him calm. There was a small cluster of other people at the zeppelin-port, a few talking to each other but most keeping themselves to themselves as they watched the passengers disembarking.

"Edward!" she said as soon as she saw him, with as much false enthusiasm as she could muster. "I missed you so much!"

The golden monkey leapt down from her arms to scratch his vixen-dæmon behind the ears. Edward smiled. "I missed you too, Marisa."

"How was Sweden?" she asked, as they walked out of the port and along the main street.

"Boring, and cold," Edward replied. "But I managed to negotiate a reduction in the wool tariffs, so at least I got something out of it."

"Glad to hear it," said Marisa, a sweet smile fixed on her face. She still couldn't get thoughts of Fëanor out of her head, and even though she knew he had no way of telling she was terrified he'd be able to find out. "Let's go."

They walked home together, hand in hand. Marisa felt uncomfortable: she'd fooled her husband for the last few years into believing she loved him, but it was altogether different when every step he took, every word he spoke, reminded her that he wasn't Fëanor, would never be even close to him. That the child growing inside her wasn't his.

She barely knew what he was saying to her, even as the correct and proper responses slipped easily from her tongue. All she could hear was Fëanor's mocking voice. You don't love him. You don't care about him. Your child isn't his.

Her free hand gripped the fabric of her dress as if crushing it would rid her of these terrible thoughts. She felt lost, helpless, out of control. What had Fëanor done to her? What had happened to the perfectly poised woman, saying the right words to the right people to get what she wanted?

Maybe she should have gone with him. Maybe then she wouldn't be driving herself mad, thoughts wandering around in meaningless circles. But the thought of going to him, admitting that he had been right, she had been wrong, she was too weak to control her feelings and stick to her chosen path… no. She couldn't do that. Never, ever, ever.

Before she knew it, they were at home. Home? It might be his home, but these walls held no warmth, no happiness, for her. Even behind these walls she could never let her mask down. Never be herself.

Sometimes she wondered if her inner self even existed any more.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "I've been planning a party to celebrate your achievements and your safe return, but that's not for another few nights – I thought I should give you some time to recover and go over the plans yourself before then."

He smiled. "That's my Marisa – keeping everything shipshape and organised so I don't need to waste my time worrying about these things."

Marisa barely managed to keep her sudden burst of fury under control. "It's my pleasure," she said with a smile, seething inside. "Shall we have some wine?"

Edward nodded and offered her his arm, which she took, allowing him to escort her to the dining room.

She'd already got the servants to fetch the bottle and glasses, so she could pour two glasses. It struck her how easy it would be to slip a poison into his glass and set herself free. Such a pity she didn't have any with her. Where did you get poison these days?

Her dæmon shook his fur as if these madwoman's thoughts could be shaken off like dust mites. She knew they couldn't.

Her own wine tasted sweet and light and heady, but it reminded her too much of Tokay, and Fëanor, and everything that she was trying to forget. She tried to throw herself into the part of Edward's loving, devoted wife, in the hopes that she could fool even herself into forgetting.

"Another glass?" she asked.

Edward nodded curtly and she poured out a second glass for both of them and began slowly sipping. She wanted to gulp down the whole thing and more, and it was all she could do to keep herself under control.

She needed to do something drastic, to make someone hurt to stop herself hurting, but she couldn't, not while Edward was here. She was falling apart, breaking.

It was all Fëanor's fault. From the moment she'd first met him she'd been out of control, and now that she was pregnant it was even worse. She couldn't take it any more.

Her arm slipped out and "accidentally" sent the wine bottle smashing to the floor. It made a satisfying-sounding crash as it landed. Shards of glass fell everywhere and the deep red liquid spilt out onto the floor, looking almost like bloodstains.

"Sorry – " she said, "so sorry. My arm must have slipped. I'll ring for Mary to come and clear it up."

Edward could see her distress, but he thought it was because of the wine. "It's quite alright, dear. Accidents happen."

His innocent words took on a whole other meaning to Marisa: this accident of an unwanted baby, half-immortal, that was going to put her through so much pain and humiliation in these coming months.

"Yes," she said. "So they do. That's life. We just have to cope as best we can."

She was going to cope, going to get through this, if only so she would be there when Fëanor fell from his mighty pride.