DISCLAIMER: The Sound of Music and Hummingbird aren't mine!

The villa was quiet only twice a day, this Maria learned within her first week of being a governess—at night, once the children were in bed, and once in the afternoon, when the sun is golden, and everyone decides that it's time to rest and breathe. Just for a moment.

Now, it was night time—the children were fast asleep in their beds (or at least, the little ones were), and the lights in the hall were dimmed. The Captain had announced that he will be retiring early. The Baroness and Herr Detweiler decided on a nightcap—they never did make too much noise when they did. Hushed whispers and silent laughs, pouring brandy and wine as glasses clinked silently behind walls. So the villa was quiet. Only the very soft sound of footsteps coming from downstairs echoing quietly. But one could only hear it if they tried hard enough.

Yet the thundering noise in her mind disturbed this supposed silence—thoughts and words and sentences and pictures and thunder and lightning that screamed and boomed. And consumed and haunted. And veins like thin, shriveled fingers, sharp, pointed nails that seemed to claw, and claw, and claw.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she stopped by the door leading to her room. Letting out a loud sigh, slowly turning the doorknob, pushing the door open, knuckles turning white as she clutched onto the brass. Eyes scanning. The room was dark, and the window was still open—she had forgotten to close it before dinner—letting the moonlight pour inside. She entered slowly, closing the door behind her, and sat on her bed gently.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of an orange-coloured piece of paper sitting quietly on her Bible. Biting her lip, she walked over to it and held it in her hands. The folded piece of paper—resembling that of a hummingbird, decorated carefully by the artful hands of Gretl. The children had given it to her just this afternoon, and she couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Brigitta says that it symbolizes healing and luck, Fraulein Maria! So you have to keep it with you always."

She pressed the piece of paper to her chest as she allowed herself to fall back onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling, somehow expecting to see stars, yet only seeing the expanse of white—dull, and clean, and empty. Blank.

Healing.

Luck.

These two were what she needed most at the moment, she thought—both healing, luck. Healing to move forward and forward and forward, to not tear open old wounds, peel the scabs, and watch it bleed. To ease the pain and learn to live without its shadow—without the jolts of hurt she felt throughout her body, throughout her soul. To leave the past behind her and do something just—

And luck.

But she didn't know if she believed in luck. Perhaps she used to—when she was but a little girl, folding pieces of paper into the shape of animals. Perhaps she used to—when she was but a little girl, with a father and mother—with a family who loved her and cared for her. Perhaps she used to, when she was but a postulant, sneaking outside to feel the wind on her face, and coming back without anybody realize she had gone. But she did not believe in luck anymore.

She knew too well that everything that happened in life was never by chance. That there were no mistakes or accidents—everything intended. Everything planned. Everything had a meaning. Everything had a place—yet why did she feel as if she didn't belong anywhere? Why—

She rose from the bed, back slightly hunched, mouth slightly frowning. She set the hummingbird down on top of her Bible once more, smiling sadly as she stared into its beady, seemingly-knowing eyes—drawn with crayon, coloured in—dark and shiny, heavy and waxy. Pulling herself up on her feet, she sighed, and carefully made her way outside the door, carefully down the stairs. She needed air. She needed to breathe.

Because it was easy to forget everything whilst she was walking by the lake, to let go of what she was and all the worries in her mind. Washed away by the cool breeze from the water—carried away by the soft summer air. Her hand gripped the cool metal of the gates, eyes shut.

But it was difficult all the same.

Staring at the lake. Thinking of what it represents—of whom it reminded her of. Of the last time she had stood here, feeling a chill up her spine, feeling cold. Feeling everything, feeling nothing.

"The most important thing is that Father's going to be married."

Why had he asked her to stay?

She wondered. So many times.

So many times, he asked her to stay. Why did he? She wondered, biting her lip. What did he take her for? What did he make her out to be? Why did he ask her to stay?

Her grip on the iron gates tightened, knuckles turning white as she tried to banish the memory from her mind. Twice, she told him she couldn't. Please let me go, she pleaded him. Begged of him. She could still feel him—around her, against her. The rise and fall of his chest, the faint scent of his cologne, the soft tone of his voice—everything. The sound of his footsteps echoing in the lonely hall. Grey and dark and dull. Why did he ask her to stay?

If all he had said were true, if everything was true, if what she had seen in the wee hours of the morning had meant something—

Her heart pounded against her chest wildly as she closed her eyes.

If it had, indeed meant anything, then why—

Why had he proposed to the Baroness?

Why had he asked a woman whom he didn't love to marry him? If anything he ever said had meant anything to him, then why would he—why did he? Why did he ask her to stay?

Did he ever think that she would drop everything in a blink of an eye? Did he ever think that she would willingly tell him that she would stay—for the children, for him? Did he ever think that she would smile and tell him that she loved him? What did he think of her? What did he make her out to be?

She wanted to scream.

Heart quickening, feeling cold. Feeling so alone—drifting, lost. Caged. Closed in. Distraught. Used up. Fed up. She breathed—feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the wind on her face, the drops that fell on her cheek. And she stared at the lake, watching as ripples formed across the smooth surface. Growing wider and wider and wider and wider—distorting the image before her. Rounded moon—perfect circle, destroyed—hazy. Shattered. She sighed.

But she had sought him out in her dream, still. Why did she?

Nothing is more irresistible to a man than a woman who's in love with him.

Are you in love with him?

Do you love father?

Her head turned ever so slightly, wanting to look back behind her. Somewhat knowing—

Somewhat knowing—hoping that he'll be there, behind her. Somewhat knowing—hoping that he'll be watching her. Somewhat knowing that if she looked behind her, he would be there. And she would tell him—

And she would tell him that she would stay.

She looked at the lake in front of her once more, not taking it to turn her head.

Because she can't.

She couldn't do that to herself—to love a man who would always only half-love her for the rest of their numbered days. She didn't deserve that. So she would go. And she would go.

Away. Away. Away.

So she walked away.

But one half of my senses
Silently wishes
You were still with me

She travelled in the dark—eyebrows furrowing as she was unable to find the familiar golden glow of the gazebo. Why she felt the need to see it, she didn't know. Mind thinking back to that night—memories vividly playing in her mind. Thoughts running through her head and—stop. Now that she stood there, in front of the gazebo, mouth slightly agape, as she looked at it under the light of the moon. Dark. Cold. She turned away.

She sighed, choosing to rest on the stone bench by the gazebo. She rested her forearms on her thighs, biting her lip. So, what now, then?

What would she do now?

After everything, would the sisters still want her? Would she ever have the heart to return? Would she want to return?

Or would she begin again? Start a new life—maybe in Vienna. Or perhaps, the coast of France. Or maybe Italy. Somewhere far from here, maybe. Somewhere new, somewhere refreshing. Somewhere different. Somewhere wild and exciting. Somewhere… where she can leave everything she has ever known. Reinvent herself—wholly, fully, immensely, thoroughly.

Perhaps—

"Hello."

Her heart quickened. Taking in a sharp breath. Head turning immediately. Jaw tightening, attempting to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

"I thought I just might find you here," he said, a small grin on his face. Eyes focused on her. And her. And her. And she felt so bare before him—him reading into her every thought. Under his scrutiny, under his gaze. Softening.

She stood.

"Was there something you wanted?" The words sounded accusing in her mouth—stuck in her throat, hoarse, tired.

"No, no, no. Sit down, please." One step. And another. And another. And another. Stay where you are, please, she wanted to plead. One step closer, and—her eyebrows furrowed, her fingertips touching—thumb picking on her nail, fidgeting. "Please." His eyes never leaving hers as she sat down, biting the inside of her cheek, the stone, so cold to the touch. "May l?"

As he sat on the seat, his gaze holding hers, giving her a lopsided grin. A knowing smile. Him turning away as her breath caught in her throat. Blood pounded in her ears, and she looked forward—ahead of her. Watching as the grass swayed gently in the summer breeze. Biting the inside of her cheek once more. She unconsciously moved to her left—farther from him. But will he ever be too far away? Will he ever be too near? She pursed her lips. He laughed briefly, pulling her from the thoughts she threatened to drown in, making her head turn towards him with curiosity.

"You know, I was thinking and… I was wondering two things,"—his hands fidgeting as he found the words to say—the words to form the questions he would ask her—"Why did you run away to the abbey? And what was it that made you come back?"

She blinked—once, twice, thrice. She met his gaze—blue glowing under the moonlight—sparkling, holding in, somehow as if extending a hand. Seeing right through her—but waiting for her, waiting for her, waiting for her, waiting for her. Waiting for her to say it out loud.

"Well, I had an obligation to fulfill, and I came back to fulfill it," she said simply. Giving out enough, not too little, not too much. But it was true, wasn't it? To him, it may have seemed that she had come back to fulfill her duty—as governess. Until the end of the summer—or… perhaps until he married the Baroness.

He needn't know the obligation she withheld herself—of the promises she made to the Reverend Mother—of the promises she made to herself. Of the decisions she had made. Of everything she had given up. Of everything she left unsaid. Of everything she would leave unfulfilled.

"Is that all?"

He needn't know. Yet, a part of her knew that he understood. Without her saying a word.

"And I missed the children," she answered truthfully.

"Yes… only the children?"

She saw the children every night in her dreams—their laughs and their smiles forever ingrained in her memory, yet—

"No... Yes! Isn't it right that I missed them?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course," he smiled—widely. Genuinely. Yet his eyes fell, as he struggled to find the words, shifting in his seat—"I was only hoping that perhaps you… Perhaps you might… "

(But she read through him—plain and clear as he read her. Whether she wanted to or not—whether her heart could bother taking it or not.)

"Yes?"

(I need you to say it.

And I shall.)

"Well," he sighed, head turning away as he shrugged. "Nothing was the same when you were away, and it'll be all wrong again after you leave," he said, words softer and softer and softer. And her heart—"And I just thought perhaps you might—uh—change your mind?" He turned to gaze at her once more. Eyes vulnerable—like mirrors that looked deep into his mind, into his heart, into his soul. Like lakes of water that go deeper and wider than anyone could ever see. Like the sky—going on and on and on and on—holding the secrets of the universe.

Did he ever think that she would drop everything in a blink of an eye? Did he ever think that she would willingly tell him that she would stay—for the children, for him? Did he ever think that she would smile and tell him that she loved him? What did he think of her? What did he make her out to be?

"Well, I'm sure the Baroness will be able to make things fine for you," she stood, refusing to see any further. Refusing to acknowledge that whatever she may be seeing is real—tangible. As if she could hold it in her hand and not let go. As if she, too, could feel the same thing in her heart as it beat together with his. As if—

"Maria," he called to her, and she closed her eyes, listening to her own breath as she struggled to comprehend the matters of the heart that she had never wanted, that she had never asked for, that she had difficulty to comprehend—the absolute absurdity of it all. As she struggled to comprehend why he said her name so softly, so tenderly, as if her heart hadn't been broken apart—picked apart, shattered and scattered. As if—"There isn't going to be any Baroness."

Why had he asked a woman whom he didn't love to marry him? If anything he ever said—if anything she ever saw—had meant anything to him, then why would he—why did he?

"There isn't?"

"No," he said—casually, politely—

"I don't understand."

He came up from behind her, and as he walked to the gazebo, she couldn't help but follow him—eyes trained on him. Questioning. Curious. Unknowing.

"Well, we've called off our engagement, you see, and—"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said—apologetically, sadly. After all, the children were supposed to have a new mother, were they not? What now, then?

"Yes... You are?"

We've called off our engagement, you see.

"You did?"

Her lip trembled as he looked at her—with ferocity and intensity, and tenderness and gentleness she had never known before. With feelings and emotions she had not allowed herself to understand—to comprehend. Yet she understood them now, under the light of the moon—in the darkness. Under the blanket of stars—under the sky that held the answers to the questions of the world. It was now—and only now—that she brought herself to understand and acknowledge her epiphany. When she had understood that he was wholly, immensely—

"Yes. Well, you can't"—her breathing hitched as he moved towards her, stopping mere inches from her—"marry someone when you're... in love with someone else, can you?"

Wholly, immensely… dare she say… hers.

His fingertips touched her chin lightly—the lightest of touches, yet it seared something within her. Awoke something within her. Created something within her. Her heart beating wildly as he led her towards him. Lashes fluttering as he pressed his lips to hers—softly, tenderly, sincerely, fervently. Tasting of chocolate and wine—and heart, and soul. Lips moving against hers—telling her, with all the words in the dictionary—and beyond, of how much she meant to him, without saying a single word.

Eyes fluttering open, she saw him smile at her, moonlight painting his face. Passion and relief, and mirth and love etched in them. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, moving gently down her back, as he pressed his lips to her forehead, gently, softly. Bringing herself to him once more. Her head resting on his shoulder, hands finally around him—feeling him—the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, the press of his cheek against her head.

"The Reverend Mother always says," she started softly. "When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

Did he know?

Did he know that when all the doors felt like it slammed upon her face, it was his letter that brought her to these haunting realizations about herself? That it was because of his letter that she realized how life could be so colourful and bright without the need to hide it behind lock and key? That it was because of his letter that she realized that love… that love isn't something that you can stop in its tracks just because you think you don't want to keep it. Or hold it. Or have it. Or something you're not supposed to have.

That everything had its own special place in the world—

"What else does the Reverend Mother say?"

"That you have to look for your life."

And she had looked for so long—in everything and everything—and—

"Is that why you came back?"

Yes.

"And have you found it, Maria?"

And when she found it—her place in the world—

"I think I have. I know I have."

Everything would fit together like puzzle pieces. Everything would make sense. And everything would be brighter and happier and livelier, and more colourful. And denying oneself of one's rightful place in the world is the most cruel thing one could ever do to oneself. Most cruel.

"I love you."

And I love you.

And he brought her to him once more, slowly brushing his lips against her cheek, caressing it slowly, tracing the line of her jaw—her eyes fluttered shut—and down her neck. Instinctively, she pulled him closer to her.

"I've never felt this way before," she whispered. "It feels like a dream—"

"If it is, I never want to wake up from this," he said, hands brushing her waist, lips still on her skin—searing—as her hands felt the expanse of his back—feeling the line of his shoulders—to his spine. Yet, her eyes fluttered open, and she pulled away—gently, slowly.

"But I do," she said softly, watching as his eyebrows furrowed. "I—I want to live in certainty. I've been in many worlds—all of them creations of my mind. I've lived as queens and princesses and nuns and servants, and though those had been temporary pleasures, I've… I've lived in a world where I had forgotten you, and forgetting you… losing you… I don't want to go through that again," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "I would rather have you with me," she admitted shyly, softly. "More than anything—I don't want you to fade away or want you only in the middle of the night—I want you, wholly, irrevocably, thoroughly."

"You do have me—and I promise you, my love, you will never lose me again," he said softly, promise whispered to the air, held by the stars, by the sky. He held her closer to his chest—and it was then. Only then that she had felt it—safe and secure and everything else. Together, they swayed slightly, the wind enveloping them softly in its embrace. Silence engulfing them, as they basked in the soft moon glow that streamed through the glass panes of the gazebo. Softly, she began to hum—the same song that she had been singing that fateful day they met here, in the gazebo—

"Parlez-moi d'amour, redites-moi des choses tendres
Votre beau discours, mon coeur n'est pas las de l'entendre
Pourvu que toujours
Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes: Je vous aime"

(Speak to me of love, and say what I'm longing to hear
Tender words of love, repeat them again
I implore you speak to me of love
Whisper these words to me, dear: I adore you.)

He smiled and whispered to her hair, "je vous aime, Maria."

And pulling her closer—

"Je t'aime, Maria."

"Je t'aime, Georg."

END.

*slightly inspired by BenBen's new song, Elyu, from their new album, Pebble House. An excerpt from the lyrics (very roughly translated): "What I see, in the crash of the waves, is you / I ask of you, please leave my mind as my heart arises from your shore." Heartbreaking, I know! I am A Mess.

*Song is Parlez-Moi D'Amour by Lucienne Boyer!

A/N

Oh gosh, this was so fun (and emotional) to write! I'm so sorry it took so long—I had so much real-life... things going on that I couldn't ignore, but I'm glad that it finally sorted itself out. I hope this chapter made sense, eek, and that you liked it as much as I loved writing it.

Thank you so much for going on this ride with me! It was so weird to be posting again (especially as I had mentioned more times than I should that I was going on a break... that I did not take), but thank you for all the love you've sent the past few weeks—it really does mean so much to me.

And big thanks to A and L for getting me out of my (nonexistent) cave, and constantly cheering me on. I owe you both! Big time!

Je t'aime, everyone! Sending so much warm hugs :)