Prompt: Sheryl died, leaving Sharon in Rufus's care—his love, bordering on obsession, carries over to her.
Rating: K+
Warnings: Nah.
I'm trash and my Rufus Barma is trash.
In her poise and commanding grace, she is the spitting image of her grandmother—it must run in the blood, he thinks, to completely captivate the eye like that, for her to carry herself at all times as though her body remembers that it is royalty.
To him, that she is royalty might be an understatement.
For Sheryl became his entire life, a pure love that consumed him and his calculating, logical senses; she gave him such joy without ever saying she returned that love, leaving him hanging on her dress train and wishing that one day, she would offer him such words even as he failed again and again in gestures of love.
Sharon doesn't really look like her grandmother, though, in her features—she has her father's wide eyes, a form much more petite than he ever knew the late Duchess to have. Still, merely being around her brings forth those happy memories without difficulty or provocation—she is Sheryl's child, a generation removed, a true Lady of Rainsworth.
He may be an elderly Duke, but he still bows to her without hesitation.
"Duchess Rainsworth," he calls her from his knees—he cannot yet bring himself to only call her Sharon the way he always only called her Sheryl, but perhaps that day will come yet. He takes her hand in elegant, long fingers and kisses the back of it, steel gray eyes turning up to her face in complete respect and adoration.
"I promised your grandmother many things, as you may know," he tells her, expression level as ever despite the softness in his gaze. "I promised her that our houses would always be allied—and, even if I had to appear as if I would break such confidence, I held fast to that. I hope that you will allow that vow to remain strong."
She smiles sweetly, and he's certain he can see the sun shining in it. "Of course, Duke Barma," she agrees, though he knows she must harbor some dislike toward him yet—she has been prone to proclaim such feelings. But he is willing to put the past behind them—because it is her, because she is her granddaughter, and for little reason else.
Rufus stands, finding himself quite tall next to Sharon, but it isn't unusual—she was bound to a wheelchair in the last many years, after all. He still holds her hand, gently, as if it is the most precious thing in the world. "It is… inconvenient that my true form is now well known, but despite that, I wish to remain at your side as I would with hers, when I am able. There are many things I may wish to impart to you."
She sighs a bit, and he is sure that she's remembering her beloved Hatter—he would be lying if he said it didn't bring a bit of pain to his chest, but he has long learned to ignore such meaningless things in the name of a pure and true love. "I thank you, Duke Barma—there is much I have yet to learn of being a Duchess, is there not?"
He smiles a different smile from the wicked grin she's surely seen before—it's the smile he discovered through Sheryl, one gentle and warm, unusual on his stern face. Once more Rufus lifts her hand to his lips, barely placing a kiss there before releasing it—it is a gesture like fealty, but also one of deep and gentlemanly caring, as he sees it.
"I believe you already know how to play your role—such a thing is writ deep in your blood. I merely wish to assist you where I am able."
He was asked, once, if he was exactly like Jack Vessalius—and maybe, just a little, he is. He is a human in love—and even if that would lead him to madness, or drag him to destroy the entire world for her sake, then he would not hesitate, not even slightly.
Yes, he surely only has a few years to live, after all—he should do his best to spend them at the side of his beloved, even if she is but a spirit that supports this young Duchess.