She was too warm under her covers so she pushed them aside, eventually forgoing all attempts at sleep. A few moments later there was a knock on the door.
Clarke considered not answering but then changed her mind. "Come in."
The handle turned quickly and none other than the countess stood in the threshold, illuminated by the slight glow of a single candle, a red candle. Clarke sat up straighter, her heart suddenly pounding. The countess had never come to her room before. She swept into the room, the purple train of her evening gown dragging out behind her. The countesses bosom seemed to be more on display than she previously recalled, and Clarke was having trouble keeping her gaze at an appropriate level.
"I heard pained noises whilst in my study. Are you quite well?"
She nodded dumbly as the countess moved right up to the side of her bed.
"You appear to be feverish, Miss Griffin." The woman placed the back of her hand to Clarke's forehead and Clarke sighed at the contact. "You are positively burning up! I shall send for the doctor straight away!"
The countess tried to leave but Clarke clasped the hand to her forehead, keeping it there. The countess turned back, giving Clarke a confused look.
"I do not require a doctor," she informed the other woman. With a burst of courage she added, "I only require you."
The countess raised both eyebrows. "Miss Griffin, you are clearly unwell and speaking nonsense."
Clarke took the hand from her forehead and kissed it.
"Miss Griffin..."
"Clarke, call me Clarke," she muttered, brushing her lips against the countesses knuckles again. "I assure you I am of sound mind."
"Roan? What of Roan?"
"I only require you," she reiterated, looking up into the darkening depths of the stock still, breathtaking beauty before her. "Come to bed, Alexandria."
As if in a trance, the countess placed the candle on the bedside table and then allowed Clarke to pull her into the bed with her. Clarke turned her arm over and kissed her wrist, moving her lips ever upward, past the crook of her elbow. They stopped briefly at the beginning of her sleeve and then moved to her collar and finally her neck.
"Oh Clarke," gasped Alexandria, breaths increasingly laboured. "Clarke...Clarke."
Clarke pulled back to gaze at the breathless wonder kneeling before her. Clarke decided to help her alleviate some of the strain on her breathing apparati by removing her corset. In order to accomplish this, she needed to first get Alexandria out of her dress.
She reached up behind the woman and began the unbuttoning process. The countess did not object, in fact, she seemed even more thrilled at the prospect than Clarke was. Alexandria's eyes opened to stare back at her, black as night. The transformation was complete. The passive participant suddenly took action.
She placed firm hands on either side of Clarke's neck and kissed her soundly on the lips. Clarke moaned, briefly forgetting about the buttons. When they parted, both panting, the countess fairly well gasping for air, she remembered her task and redoubled her efforts. As she began unlacing the corset, she moved her lips to Alexandria's chest, kissing and suckling what skin she could find. Alexandria thrust her hands into her hair, moaning, shoving Clarke's face still closer into her bosom. It was all Clarke could do to breathe herself. Thankfully the last of the laces were now undone, and the countess realizing this, released her head and slipped her dress from her shoulders. It pooled around her waist. She maintained eye contact as she pulled away the corset too. The countess smirked as she removed her hair pins and tossed her head back and forth, the sensual nature of the act exciting Clarke greatly.
Alexandria joined their lips anew, lowering Clarke onto the bed as she did so. Clarke wrapped her arms around her back, pulling her flush against her. Due to her chemise and Clarke's nightgown, their bare chests were not yet touching, and still the feel of the woman atop her was exquisite. Clarke shivered in anticipation for when they did touch fully. For the moment she was content to just hold Alexandria and stroke her lovely hair and-
A loud knock at the door startled her awake. For of course she were dreaming. Clarke felt foolish to believe otherwise. She was rather hot and bothered, a throbbing and wetness between her thighs further confirming that, yes, she had enjoyed the mere possibility of being intimate with Alexandria. This was not the first time she had dreamed in this manner, though it was perhaps the most distressing because a woman had been involved...a woman who just so happened to be her beau's dearest cousin.
"Yes?" she called.
The door opened a crack. "I heard strange noises whilst in my study. Are you quite well, Miss Griffin?"
Clarke was now mortified beyond compare. "Perfectly well, thank you," she rasped, silently praying the countess would not open the door further and see her disheveled state. Clarke did not suppose she could handle anymore embarrassment for the night.
After a lengthy pause the countess said, "If there's anything at all that you need, do not hesitate to ask."
Distracted by the ache in her loins, she only nodded.
"Miss Griffin?"
Clarke licked her lips. "I won't hesitate, countess," she said. "And I thank you for the concern, though it is unwarranted."
"You are my guest, Miss Griffin, your well being is my primary concern."
Once the footsteps had retreated, she put her hands on her flushed face, groaning. She had thought of Alexandria every day since first meeting her that fateful night, desperate to determine her identity and simply be in her presence again. Though she tried to deny it, she yearned for Alexandria's touch with the same intense passion that inspired her artwork. Clarke had never been so prolific in her life. Alexandria was her muse and Clarke never wanted that to change. She never wanted to be parted from her again.
She was in quite the predicament now. If she chose Alexandria, she would break Roan's heart and ruin the cousin's relationship forever. If she chose Roan, she would break her own heart. What on earth was she supposed to do?
In the morning, as she was grooming herself, her mother came to speak with her. It was not a wholly unusual occurrence, but given her disgraceful behaviour the previous night, she braced herself for the chastisement.
Clarke sat in front of the ornate mirror, brushing away while her mother stood behind her, staring.
She was quite taken aback when her mother said, "You do not have to accept Mr. Hawkins proposal if you do not desire to, Clarke."
Clarke stopped brushing and swiveled to face her mother. "How did you come to know about that?"
"Mr. Hawkins has been courting you for months, Clarke. It was a reasonable assumption given your...behaviour last night." Her mother smiled ever so slightly. "And I suppose his asking your father for his blessing shortly before we came here also helped my assessment of the situation."
"Oh," was all Clarke could think to say. She stared at her bare feet.
"You know my opinion of the man so I shan't say anything more on the matter."
Clarke looked over at her. "Yes, you have made it quite clear you don't approve even though he's been nothing but a gentleman. It makes me wonder if there is anyone you would approve of."
Alexandria perhaps? That would be quite the laugh. She would definitely know she were in the dreamworld if her mother gave her blessing to start a sapphic relationship.
Her mother moved nearer, placing her hands on either side of her face, kissing her forehead. "I only desire what is best for you. The mere fact that you hesitate to accept tells me that you do not wish to...has he finally told you more about his secret past?"
"Well, yes," she admitted.
"And?" her mother prompted, eyebrow raised.
"And it's nothing of consequence," she lied.
Her mother was a shrewd woman and could usually tell when she was being less than truthful. It was the main reason she hardly ever got away with her 'bad' behaviour.
"Clarke, if he has done something horrendous-"
She stood up, staring her mother down. "Frankly, mother, it's none of your business what Roan has or has not done."
Her mother glowered at her. "Do not speak to me so, daughter."
"I shall speak to you however I choose."
They remained in this unfriendly attitude for some time, until her ankle twinged and she felt compelled to sit down again. Clarke went back to brushing her ample amounts of hair, and her disgruntled mother left shortly thereafter.
Since there was plenty of room at the estate, the guests from Christmas Dinner were still present during breakfast. Clarke kissed her father on the cheek, ignoring her mother altogether. Then she sat beside Roan and picked up a piece of a cut orange. Fresh oranges in England. In the winter. Yet another indication of just how wealthy the countess was. This morning the woman was eating quietly while everyone around her rehashed the frivolity of the previous night. No one mentioned her disgraceful exist, though doubtless they had gossiped enough amongst themselves, noting on how it was typical low born behaviour.
She was conversing politely with Roan about nothing of consequence when there was a clanging for attention on glass. Everyone looked towards the source of the commotion, to find The Duke already on his feet. If this was to be yet another of his long winded speeches, Clarke would likely attempt to flee with all haste. Judging by the countesses rigid posture, she was just as unimpressed with the prospect as she was.
As if reading everyone's minds, The Duke chuckled lightly to himself and said, "I shan't hold your attention long." He looked to the countess who was discreetly clenching her jaw and then back towards everyone else. "I was forbidden from saying anything earlier, however, I find I cannot contain myself any longer. As you all well know, I have been infatuated with our hostess for quite some time," he beamed, "so it is with the greatest of pleasure that I announce our engagement!"
This announcement was met with utter silence for several seconds that felt more like eons to Clarke. Surely this was a joke? Or she was dreaming again? This couldn't possibly be real!
The nobles began congratulating the pair, and Clarke felt sick to her stomach. She glanced at Roan who appeared to be just as mystified as herself. "I don't understand," he muttered.
Clarke looked to Alexandria, willing her to make eye contact, but the tense woman was forcing herself to smile and accept the congratulations all around. Clarke wanted nothing more than to flee but she would not make a spectacle of herself again. Instead, she numbly took Roan's arm and moved to the head of the table to say the appropriate words. The countess stiffened further at their approach, eyes only briefly connecting. When she was closer, Clarke could see the rage at being disobeyed simmering just beneath the surface.
"I must say, cousin, this comes as quite the shock," said Roan with a frown.
"Yes, well, it is entirely true," she returned tight lipped. "The Duke and I are to wed in one months time."
"Would that it were tomorrow," lamented the foppish man, taking her hand and kissing it.
The urge to unleash hellfire on him was nearly overpowering. Clarke was quickly becoming light headed again like last night. Somewhat dazedly she gazed at the countess, wondering how she could have so completely misinterpreted their interactions. Where there really no signs to indicate Alexandria was attracted to her? Had she misunderstood her own attraction? Had she made everything up in her head?
There was only one way to know for sure, and since Clarke very much doubted the countess would outrightly tell her, she had to resort to an alternate method...that of breaking into the countesses study and reading her journal. Surely if there was anything about her in there, it would be very telling.
The only saving grace in this unbearable moment was that she did not faint after all, and indeed, managed to say a few kind words before going to sit back down and finish eating her breakfast as if her world were not fracturing around her.
The party planned to play Pinochle after a walk around the general vicinity of the estate, and Clarke used this time to her advantage. Feigning a headache, which was not far from the truth, she managed to be excluded from the proceedings.
To her surprise the study was unlocked. She hastened inside, closing the door behind her. At the countesses desk, however, lock picking was required. Clarke did not have the faintest idea how to go about something like that. If there had been some sort of instantaneous way to communicate with Octavia, perhaps she would have been able to tell her. But such a notion was preposterous, so it was left up to her to figure it out. She looked on the desk for anything of use, but none of the objects were long and slender enough. It took some minutes of pondering before she had the bright idea to use her hair pins. But of course her hair was down and braided today, so none were within reach. Thankfully her bedroom was close at hand and it was a simple enough matter to dash along the hallway and back to the study. Still, the short excursion had caused her heart rate to accelerate and now that she was actually attempting to break into the countesses personal discourses, it would not slow down.
She inserted the pins and fiddled around, not expecting anything to happen, but then miraculously the lock clicked and the drawer popped open slightly. Stashing the pins atop the desk, she pulled the drawer out fully and found what she was looking for straight away. When she lifted the journal up, she found a stack of papers beneath it, bound together by string. The top of the stack read, Allure and Consequence, and Clarke immediately realized this was Alexandria's novel. The temptation to read it was strong, but that was not why she was here. So she left it where it was and instead opened the journal and flipped through until she reached the date of their first meeting, September twenty-sixth. Skipping through the non-pertinent material, it read as follows:
I just had the most unusual meeting whilst out on a late night hunting excursion. There I was ready to take the shot when piercing screams broke the night. I am ashamed to say I debated even getting involved, but then I thought of my brother and his unerring courage, and knew I could not turn a blind eye. So I rode straight off towards where I estimated the source of the disturbance had come from, and lo and behold I located it! A number of evil looking brutes were assaulting two women! In that moment my heart froze, as I was vividly reminded of Roan's own unfortunate altercation. I had no idea how they might be armed, and unlike Roan, I was vastly outnumbered, for both women had fainted, or were otherwise knocked unconscious. Still, I found the courage to raise my rifle into the air and fire a warning shot. All four men's heads turned in my direction. At first they seemed frightened, but when they realized I was a woman, they only laughed amongst themselves and told me to 'piss off.'
Rather irritated by their cavalier attitudes, not to mention their despicable actions, I then pointed my weapon at them in turn. I told them how I would not hesitate to put them down like the animals they were if they did not immediately release the women and flee. To make my point crystal clear, I shot off one of the men's hats, the one holding the blonde haired woman (whom I would later come to know as Clarke Griffin). He yelped in fright, and possibly even soiled himself, and let the girl fall unceremoniously to the ground. Seeing that I was deadly serious now, they finally acquiesced my command.
Once I was certain they were not returning, I dismounted my horse and went to attend the poor women. I held the lantern aloft as I beheld Miss Griffin's state. She appeared to be unharmed, for which I was glad. When I gazed upon her face, my heart froze anew. Her beauty was striking and left me breathless. She was serene and reposed, not unlike a princess straight out of a fairytale. Her hair, like soft spun gold, begged for my fingers to caress. Her rosy lips cried to be tasted.
But I am not a prince in shining armour, and I do not take advantage of vulnerable women, so I mastered myself and retrieved the smelling salts from my bag.
Clarke had to laugh at the abruptness of the change in tone. More than that though, her insides were squirming pleasantly. Just this one passage all but confirmed that Alexandria was attracted to her, and far earlier than Clarke would have supposed. Technically, she had discovered what she came in here to discover, but now that she was here, she figured she might as well get the entire story. Scanning ahead, she periodically read passages that stood out to her.
...Despite my best efforts, I find myself thinking of her continuously since that fateful night. My thoughts, particularly the unworthy ones, are driving me to complete distraction. My soul cries for the dulcet sounds of her smile, her laugh. It would be ever so simple to call upon her tomorrow, but I see little point. Even on the off chance she were of the same persuasion as I am, my position does not afford me the luxury of such a dalliance, something I have already learned to my detriment...
...I wondered at Roan's sudden transformation into refinery. He had not cared to keep himself gentlemanly whilst on our travels, and indeed, this was a necessity for myself to remain incognito...
...Roan has mentioned his utter infatuation with a charming girl dressed as a man he met at a fight club. I asked him if he were quite well in the head and he reassured me with a smirk that he was. When I inquired as to this unusual girl's name, he replied Clarke Griffin. I was momentarily stunned and could scarce believe my ears. Surely it was not the same Clarke Griffin that I had rescued? But how many women in London are named Clarke?
...Roan seems quite intent on courting her, and I do not blame him. If I were free to do so, and she had desired me in any fashion, I surely would have attempted to soon after our first encounter...
...Hosting this confounded ball was vexing enough. Now I learn that Roan has invited her! Well of course he has! I should have long since prepared myself for our inevitable reunion, but I simply do not know how...
October thirty-first
...she looked like a lion queen, ready to devour what was left of my heart. I have little clue as to how I kept my pent up emotion in check...I said I would attend them later, but I could not bring myself to be near her further, especially not whilst on the arm of my cousin...Naturally she found me, and got very near. I felt as though I should expire on the spot. Thankfully that dimwitted nincompoop, Rothenberg, started a kerfuffle and brought an end to our unbearable proximity. Unfortunately, the drunken fool then turned his sights on Clarke and laid violent hands on her. I was livid and ordered him to be taken away so that I may have a private chat. The temptation to dispatch of him was strong, but I mastered myself and only gave him a good tongue lashing...
Clarke was impressed and saddened by the level of external control the countess had on her features. There had been little inkling of what laid beneath. She debated reading still further, the rest would surely be even harder to take. Curiousity trumped the pain of it and she turned the page.
...Previously Roan informed me of her talented hands, and thusly I sent her a care package. It was only later I realized I signed it using my Christian name. I do not know what possessed me to do that. It was very inappropriate...
...she has sent me a portrait of myself in my ball attire. It is fantastic! Roan was not exaggerating her prowess. I am far from stunned that she is so talented. I would showcase this masterpiece to the world but I am selfish. I want it all to myself. So I will hang it in my bedroom so that I may look upon it every morning and every night...it is the only means by which I dare be close to her...
...Roan has come to bother me about the upcoming holiday season...I feared he may wish to do something like this. It will be very trying on my nerves to see her once more, no doubt more gorgeous than ever, but I shall endeavour to do my best. Roan seems to think I am regressing again into my drunken ways...and he is correct, I am, and he is the one to blame!...That is not quite fair of me...I should have told him right from the beginning that it would trouble me if he courted her, but how could I deny him happiness after so much strife?
Clarke had to pause after reading that last passage. This story of woe was also trying on her own nerves for a number of reasons. At the moment though, she was absorbed with that last sentence. It very much sounded as though Roan was aware of Alexandria's prediliction for women. That would explain why he seemed just as shocked as she was at the engagement announcement. Clarke supposed it was hard to spend nearly three years with someone and not get to know their darkest secrets.
With a sigh, she commenced anew:
...the day of their arrival draws nearer, and with it, a greater urge to flee, to head into the mountains and never return...Roan has informed me of his intent to propose to her whilst here. God have mercy on my soul...
December Eighteenth and onwards
...she complimented my figure today...I think...I am not entirely sure.
...I've noticed her staring at me on more than one occasion. However, I do not know if that signifies anything of consequence...or if I should even hope that it does...
...couldn't help myself while we were skating. It was so unfair that Roan should have her all to himself, so I rectified the issue, at least temporarily. She seemed to enjoy herself tremendously as we skated circles around him, but that could well be the entire reason...
...it was all I could do not to laugh in Roan's irritated face today as I stole his tree chopping glory and secured yet another wide eyed stare from Clarke. Perhaps she just thinks I am the strangest woman she has ever met?
...no one ever lets me put candles in the tree!...he embarrassed me in front of her...in retaliation, I had the kitchen staff figure out how to make popped corn. I was beyond pleased with myself when Clarke fairly well shoved her face in the bowl...
Clarke blushed again at the memory of her shameful conduct, but also because Alexandria took such pleasure from her bad behaviour.
Her intelligence and wit are just as radiant as her beauty...she shines as brightly as the star atop the tree, bringing joy to all those that see...She reminds me of Costia...
...she is not only a remarkable painter, but chess player. I have rarely come across someone as strategic as she, and terrible as it is to say, a woman...we shared a beautiful moment afterwards. Unfortunately it was ruined by the sheer proximity of my other guests. I took the opportunity to excuse myself, before I did something incredibly stupid, like bow or intone a romantic poem...
...Clarke wore men's attire today. It fit her quite snugly. Her golden locks were down too. Let us just say that I was more than a little aroused by the sight. I could barely focus on our intercourse about women's rights...thoroughly ashamed of myself...and then she asked about my novel and I couldn't possibly talk to her about that, so I lied and said I hadn't completed much of it. When that failed to produce the desired effect, I firmly cut off all discourse, though it pained me to cease her lovely voice...She missed on purpose, I am sure of it. Her heart is too gentle and unsullied by the cruelties of this world...unlike myself...I had quite the fright when she tumbled down that hill. Thankfully she appeared largely unscathed...My fingers were trembling something fierce as I unlaced her boot and touched her bare foot. Clarke gasped at the contact, and I assumed it was due to the sensitive nature of her injury. Now I am not so sure...we shared another moment once she was in my arms...and again when I stupidly dropped her. I cannot believe I stroked her hair!...I am afraid I have given myself away completely...
...I went for a ride to clear my head and ended up in town. Inevitably, my feet led me back to what was once Costia's home. There is a new family living there now and they appeared to be very happy...I was ashamed of nearly forgetting to make my donation to the orphanage this year. It's been too long since I was last here. The children only wanted to play, so I obliged them, though I was hardly in the mood. Some are still here from three years ago. It is heartwrenching to see them so unloved...sometimes I think of adopting all of them. There is plenty of room at my estate...
...she came to my study last night. For a moment I thought I was dreaming when I found her in my arms again. I did not want to let go, but somehow I did. The tension was suffocating and I didn't know how to be around her, so I pretended to be furiously writing in here...we somehow always talk about the dead, and I cannot stand it, not when she is so full of life still...I was furious with myself for paining her...I was shocked when she stroked my hair. Perhaps she did it in jest...perhaps not? She remains unperturbed by my increasingly obvious attraction to her. Does this signify anything? Or is she simply the non-judgemental sort? Or is she biding her time for Roan's sake until she can leave the estate and never return?
...After embarrassing me in front of her once again during charades, I had planned to outstrip Roan by an embarrassing amount on the snow, but due to Clarke's injury, that was not a feasible plan. Thankfully Roan supplied the perfect alternative for exacting my revenge...perhaps I became a little carried away, but she was watching and I found I couldn't stop myself...Titus was perceptive as always...with his guidance I have begun to remember my place. I must stop attempting to sabotage Roan's courtship. I am grieved that I even tried to knowing how much she means to him...
...I am very distressed at the moment. What I have long since feared has come to pass. Roan has proposed to Clarke, and I had the misfortune to witness it! I could scarce breathe, let alone flee...
'I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw in gradual vision through my tears
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years -
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
"Guess now who holds thee?" -"Death," I said. But there
The silver answer rang -"Not Death, but Love."'
Clarke took a moment to breathe deeply, to attempt to quell the rapidity of her heart and the trembling of her fingers. She was about to turn the page when she became cognizant of the fact that she was being watched. Arms crossed over his chest, Roan looked at her in surprise and disappointment, and she snapped the journal shut right away and pushed back from the desk.
"Roan," she began awkwardly, voice likewise trembling as her body. "I was only...that is to say-"
"I suppose this means your headache has passed," he said in a queer voice, staring at her like it was the first time he was truly seeing her.
Arms falling to his sides, he stepped further into the study, careful to avoid the flame of the ever burning candles scattered throughout. He never once looked at the journal. Clearly he knew full well what she was doing in here without paying it any attention.
He came to stand directly before her, the better to study her. Clarke swallowed hard, her senses already teetering on the verge of distress. Her body wanted to back away, her mind told her to stay put.
"They say love blinds you to the truth," he continued, still in that odd, strangled voice. "It must be true. It explains why I couldn't see what was happening right in front of my own eyes." He clenched a fist. "You have feelings for Alexandria. Do you deny it?"
She glanced away, unable to maintain the intensity of his gaze. "Roan, I-"
"Do you deny it?"
"No," she said in a small voice that coursed like lightning between them. Perversely, voicing her attraction aloud gave her a modicum of relief.
"And this is why you have refused me?"
"I haven't refused you Roan," she defended, knowing the words were false as soon as she opened her mouth.
"But you were planning to," he challenged. "You just didn't know how. I understand. It must be difficult to refuse one cousin for the other."
"I didn't ask to feel this way!" she countered heatedly. "This wasn't planned!" She took his unclenched fist in her hand. "I am truly sorry that it has come to this. Know that I never meant to hurt you."
"I'm not so sure that's true," he replied a bit bitterly, taking his hand away. "You told me at the ball that you had met her prior to that evening. Precisely when was that?"
"It was before I met you," she reluctantly admitted, "but-"
"I've seen your sketchbook, Clarke," he persisted. "It's filled with drawings of her. You had feelings for her even before we met."
"All right, yes, I did!" she exclaimed. "But I didn't understand what I felt! I thought I just admired her! How could I not? She rescued me after all!"
"Rescued you?" he frowned, for once not ahead of the curve. "Rescued you how?"
"Suffice it to say, Octavia and I got into a spot of trouble one night, and the countess saved us."
"So you've been infatuated with her ever since, and yet you let me court you..." his voice trembled with emotion, "let me fall in love with you."
Her heart hammered at the words never spoken before, but felt in every action. "Roan..."
"I never thought you would be the sort of person to do something like this, Clarke. I never thought you were so thoughtless and cruel." His misty gaze moved away from hers and towards the open desk drawer. He frowned and then went wide eyed.
"What was the exact date? The night you met Alexandria?"
"September twenty-six," she said, confused as to why this mattered so much to him.
He chuckled lightly and rubbed at his face in a weary manner. "Of course." He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "She started writing her novel a few days later. You inspired her. Just as she has inspired you. You are each others muses." He chuckled again, though it sounded more like a sob. "It's really quite amusing."
Clarke was at a loss for words and felt particularly bad for wanting nothing more than to sit down and read said novel right now.
"It's a pity she's gone and gotten herself engaged. Though I suppose it makes perfect sense now."
"It does?" she wondered aloud. "How?"
"Ask her about Costia," he said after a moment, as if he weren't entirely sure he should meddle.
She recalled that name coming up a few times during her perusal of Alexandria's journal. From the little she had read, it didn't sound like that relationship had gone well.
"She's broken, Clarke," he continued. "She hides it well, but she is. And I don't know if even you can fix her." He bowed, mocking her. "Know that I wish you the best of luck though."
He turned to leave and she grabbed his arm from behind, stilling him. "I really am sorry."
Roan said nothing - though she could feel the sadness and hurt rolling off of him in waves - and then vacated the room.
Had to throw in a (gay) poem or something. Lexa's so extra she definitely would've had stuff like that in her journal. Tried to go with Sappho herself (lol) but it didn't quite work out. Oh and the sonnet is by Elizabeth Browning cuz Lexa would definitely read (and have access to) all of the female poets/authors of the time.
Anyway, hope the journal stuff wasn't too boring. It kinda dragged on there, but I thought this was necessary for the story, to get a somewhat different perspective.
Jackson and Lexa. Who ever would've thunk? O_o
Ah, poor Roan. Feel bad for the fella. But someone was always gonna get screwed over and I think we all knew it wasn't gonna be Lexa.