Duncan was trying to sleep. It wasn't his fault he kept waking up from dreams of white weddings and lips meeting from long ago. He had basically forgotten about that. Basically. Until tonight. Such a lovely Christmas Eve.
Deciding sleep was a pointless pursuit; Duncan got up, slid on his slippers and trod downstairs. He wished he had never gotten that phone call. It wasn't to be helped, wasn't like he was going to go to Quigley's wedding in any stretch of the imagination. Passing the door, he noticed that somebody was outside it. It was somebody who looked quite similar to him.
It wasn't Quigley. It would be great if Quigley had come to the door to tell him he'd never dream of getting married, that he had never really loved Violet anyway. Duncan never had that kind of luck. It was however, Isadora, buried up to her knees in the sparkling snow, which Duncan hadn't bothered to shovel off the walk.
Walking over to the door and yanking it open, cold air rushed in with the snowflakes that were falling down.
"Duncan." Tears were streaming down Isadora's face.
"Isadora." His breath caught in his throat as what could only be described as de-ja-vu struck him.
"Did you hear? About Quigley? He's-" a racking sob interrupted her sentence, "getting married tomorrow."
Duncan nodded, and, realizing he hadn't yet invited her inside, stepped aside to let her in out of the bitter cold. She kicked to rid herself of the built-up snow around her ankles, and walked inside.
"I'm really very… happy for him." Duncan said, sighing, yet feeling he should acknowledge her statement somehow.
"Yes. Happy. It's… great, isn't it?"
Isadora fell forward onto Duncan's shoulder, crying. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her hair reflected the Christmas lights from outside, a glittering display of colors.
"You look just like him, you know," she said softly, leaning in. She traced her finger on Duncan's cheek and their lips were almost touching. And then they were, and the lips of his assailant muffled the words he was trying to say. He felt his lips being parted by her tongue, and felt it slip inside to dance with his.
She moved to his neck, nipping and sucking at it, and sending a shiver of pleasure down Duncan's spine. A sigh escaped his lips.
He leaned in to her touch, then stilled as if realizing what was happening, "I'm not. I'm not Quigley."
"I know." She closed her eyes, slowly stepping back. She sat and began to undo the lacings of her boots. "I love him."
"Of course, Isadora. I love him too, he's our brother." He looked down at Isadora and she was shaking her head. Duncan didn't say anything. He knew.