A good marriage was usually the main topic along with: grandchildren, responsibilities, her friends, wearing more pink and carrying less pointy things. Usually they skirted around the real issues but this evening, had been worse, a lot worse. When she saw the letters, saw what her mother had done to them she'd been shocked, the violation was pure and painful, too acute to form anything more meaningful than rage. She stared at her own brisk HAWKE followed by the florid swirling Amell in her mothers writing and her stomach contracted; her breath slowed and deepened as she carefully and deliberately tore the letters into four, eight, sixteen pieces, letting them fall across the desk, fall to the floor; eyes unseeing, focused on the need to destroy, to obliterate.
She stalked to the library, let herself in quietly wanting more than anything in that moment to smack her mother, to shame her. Instead she settled for near growling disapproval in the face of self-righteous do-gooding;
"How dare you"
"Pardon?
"How Dare you"
"Lower your tone"
"I am not an Amell."
Her mother looked at her, brows crumpled with confusion; "Of course you're an Amell."
"I'm a Hawke or have you already forgotten dad?"
"You leave your father out of this"
"How dare you claim me as Amell property"
"Makers sake, keep your voice down, Bodhan will hear you."
"I've done this, I got us this far, and now you want to pretend that I'm one of you? I'm not Beth."
"You'd have better manners if you were."
This? Again? Beth - the perfect mix of her dad's magic and her mothers looks. Beth – the ideal daughter who stayed at home and deferred to her mother on all things. Beth – everything she wasn't, "Excuse me if I want people to think of dad and not Gamlen when I give my name."
The slap is sudden, it's sharp shock causes her to blink. "Don't bring your father into this, I'm doing this for your sake you selfish girl."
She holds her cheek, resisting the urge to strike back, her arms and legs twitching from the effort, "I see I'm the only Hawke left."
"And whose fault is that?"
She'd left, she had to leave the room, afraid of what she'd say, afraid of what she'd do. And she needed to do something, anything, and walking seemed like the safest option, or at least the option that left the remains of her family in one piece. Pulling on her boots she thought to go to the pub, drink a lot, swear a lot, and please let some idiot bandits try it on tonight, please. She needed to rid her body of the energy swirling uncontrollably in her gut.
As she left the estate her mind rolled, images tumbling uncalled to the front of her mind, the people she cared for, the people she loved, had a way of dying just out of her reach, of being just beyond helping, and always she was left wondering what she did wrong and how to make sure it didn't happen again. She reached an entrance to Darktown before she realised she'd over-shot the pub by quite some distance, pausing at the top of the stairs she tried to remember where she was heading.