Chapter 23

Aldburg, August the 1st, 3018

Dúnor was less than impressed with Endien. "Cats are boring. Éomer should have gotten you a hound instead!".

"You just said you never had a cat, so how can you say they are boring?".

"They just are", he declared with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, like he was stating something so obvious it hardly needed an explanation. Endien being a cat however, she was just as unimpressed with Dúnor's scorn: she yawned at his clumsy attempts to play with her and when he wouldn't let her go, she rewarded him with a bloody scratch that taught him a lesson about the importance of respecting a cat's personal space.

"When a cat says no, it's no".

"She sleeps the whole day and never wants to play. How can you say she's not boring?".

"She does not sleep the whole day and she plays a lot. You just need to let her decide when it's time for one or the other".

"Does she play with you?".

"Yes".

"With Éomer?".

"Yes".

"Am I the only one she doesn't want to play with?".

Oh dear. "Of course not. She's not particularly fond of Runhild either", admitted Lothíriel. Indeed, the two of them had been blatantly ignoring each other. According to Éomer, it was because her friend had a temper too similar to that of a cat to actually like them, which - she had to admit, might have just been true. Seeing her reassurance did nothing to lift Dúnor's spirits however, Lothíriel moved to safer topics: "Someone told me you've been practicing a lot with your sword. Would you like to show me what you've learned?".

The boy's eyes lit up: "Yes!", he howled. He retrieved his swords – which Lothíriel supposed he never parted from, not even when he went sleeping, and passed her one. He took place in front of her and went to great lengths to explain what Gárwine had taught him in terms of proper feet position, before finally swinging his weapon. Lothíriel evaded his first attack and parried the second one, but even she could see he had improved much and it wasn't long until she found herself cornered. "You're too good for me!", she laughed.

"Need a hand?". Lothíriel whirled around to see Éomer leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. He took her sword and tap Dúnor's chest with the blunt tip: "Show me what you've got".

A month earlier, the boy would have charged blindly at him. But now, he took his time to test his opponent with controlled, measured strikes. Lothíriel observed him with interest and was surprised when after a series of attacks aimed at Éomer's upper body, he suddenly ducked and went for his left calf in an attempt to throw him off balance. Éomer was not caught off guard however and no matter what Dúnor tried, his sword never managed to land a single strike. Hoping to shift the odds in his favour, Lothíriel waited until Éomer was giving her his back and took a cautious step towards him. It appeared however that her husband had eyes on the back of his head too: "Two against one?", he asked without even bothering to turn around.

"It's called team play", Dúnor informed him.

"Is that so?".

Lothíriel tried poking his side, but he warded her off like she was barely more than an annoying insect. She kept trying in the hope that forcing him to guard two fronts at the same time would give them an advantage of some sort, but it did not work. At least not until help came their way in the form of a tiny shadow darting between Éomer's feet: "What the…", he muttered while he tried to avoid stepping on Endien

Lothíriel seized her chance: "Now!", she cried.

Dúnor threw himself against him and managed to lock his arms around his neck. He started squirming like an eel, not enough to throw Éomer off balance but plenty to give her the opening she needed. She charged at him with all the strength she had and pushed him backwards, but when Éomer's legs impacted against the backrest of the couch, the unexpected happened: his eyes widened in surprise and both she and Dúnor let go of him just in time to save themselves from following him into a disastrous fall. He fell on the sofa, feet flying up in the air, before toppling over and landing on the floor with a loud thud that sent Endien running for dear life. Dúnor gasped and hid behind her, as if terrified of what was about to happen, and when Éomer growled and scrambled to his feet, Lothíriel did not think twice before sounding the retreat: "Run!".

She grabbed Dúnor's hand and rushed out of the study. They had almost reached the hall when she heard the sound of Éomer's heavy steps picking up behind them. Trying to think of a good place to hide, she dashed outside and very nearly crashed into Ides, who was entering the hall at that very moment. When her eye fell on the bucket of water in her left hand and the basket loaded with feathers she was carrying under her right arm, a master plan formed in her head: "I'm sorry, Ides. I swear I'll make it up to you!".

She grasped the basket and passed it to Dúnor, whose expression went in the blink of an eye from horrified to wicked. As for her, she took the bucket, shoved Ides out of the way and flattened against the wall. When Éomer came running through the door, too late he saw her standing there: the water splashed him squarely in the face, followed by a swirling cloud of feathers.

That was it. Lothíriel knew she was supposed to run, and so did Dúnor. But staring at Éomer looking like a plucked chicken, they started laughing so hard they both collapsed on the floor, the boy literally rolling around, her kneeling and trying to breath in some air while caught in a hysterical fit of laughter. When Éomer picked them up and tucked them under his arms, she didn't even try to fight him back, didn't even care for trying to figure out what he was up to, until she landed with a surprised shriek into a pool of horribly cold water.

A trough. The scoundrel had tossed them both into a trough!

She writhed and cast Dúnor a shocked look, but the boy had enough attitude for them both: "A refreshing bath, just what we needed on such a hot day!", he declared, his arms resting on the edges of the tub like he was thoroughly enjoying it.

Éomer started tickling him but as more and more children gathered around, the whole situation soon degenerated into an all against Éomer kind of game. Lothíriel barely managed to make her escape in time. She slipped away and observed from a distance the ruthless fight which had soon Éomer covered in a layer of mud and dirt in addition to the feathers. He was laughing though. Laughing like he rarely did those days and sweet Elbereth, she'd have gladly jumped into all the troughs of the city if that meant seeing him so!

The past two weeks hadn't been easy. She had hoped that appointing Elffa as Caerdydd's ealdorman would have given Éomer some peace of mind, but fate was a consumed trickster and for one problem they had managed to solve, dozens more kept popping out: a long string of orcs' sightings had forced Éomer to spend most of his time on patrol; similarly to what had happened in the Westfold, more and more farms were being abandoned, with the result that Aldburg's streets were getting crowded and their stocks of food scanter; and a week earlier, a furious summer storm had wreaked havoc on some settlements located on the slopes of the White Mountains, causing a landslide which had killed six people, injured many more and destroyed a few months' worth of grain and other supplies.

Winter was still months away, but it was painfully clear that if things kept deteriorating so, making it through the cold season was going to be a challenge. Lothíriel had spent entire days in the cellars together with Meregith, trying to come up with a way to ration their supplies without straining an already weary population. But there simply wasn't one.

The only positive note of those gloomy days was the drastic turn for the better her relationship with the housekeeper had taken. Since she had gotten Endien, Meregith had somewhat softened towards her: time and again she had helped her and supported her, and her advice that they should call on Gondor for aid was a sensible one. After all, wasn't that the very reason why she had married Éomer in the first place – strengthening the alliance between their two countries and so forth? They didn't even need to beg for help, for her hand in marriage had come with a hefty dowry which would surely come handy now. But when she had told Éomer, he had started shouting at her: apparently, Grima had made it known Rohan must be self-sufficient and any trading with their southern neighbours was subjected to the Council's approval. That itself hadn't surprised her: a starved country is a weak country, and a weak country it's easier to be taken advantage of. What she had found hard to understand however, was the fact Éomer had for once agreed with his uncle's advisor, as if his own pride as a Marshall – and therefore Rohan's pride, depended upon being able to fend for themselves, no matter the cost.

Since the discussion they had had that day, things between them had become tense. One day they'd jump at each other, only barely managing to keep themselves from tearing each other's clothes off because if they did, there was no way Éothain wouldn't get wind of it. The next, they would argue over the silliest things. The one after that, Éomer would ride away to fight Valar knows what hideous creatures and upon returning, he'd avoid her for a couple of days before getting back to his usual self so that the endless loop could start over.

Lothíriel was at loss. Éomer's openness had been the very foundation of their relationship. Even at times when she had felt insecure, he had always found a way to get through her walls and reassure her things were going to be alright. Now, she felt like it was her turn to do so, her turn to be his strength at a time when he was struggling, but she obviously had no idea how to do that. Éomer was more and more withdrawn into himself, there were more and more things he refused to talk to her about. And because if she ever dared asking, he'd either answer with a shrug on good days or – on bad ones, he'd get angry and crabby, she had taken to tip toe around him and simply indulge his swinging moods.

Observing him laughing while he tried to toss as many children as he could into the trough, Lothíriel let out a long sigh and headed quietly back towards the hall. Meregith was standing by the doors and when she saw her approaching, she shook ruefully her head and handed her a towel: "Dry yourself before you get in".

Lothíriel dabbed her hair and looking over her shoulder, she couldn't help but chuckling: "Éomer will need more than one towel I'm afraid".

"Éomer can bathe in the trough for all I care. I'm surely not letting him in in that state!".

Lothíriel took her drenched slippers off and entered the hall. She stopped by her room for a quick bath - this time in a proper tub, and a change of clothes, and spent a few hours working in Éomer's study before moving to the solar in the hope she could finally finish reading the last book of the Vultures of Silver saga she had started months earlier.

It was there that Éomer found her later that day: "You seem to have recovered from your earlier swim, I see".

"It takes more than a few inches of water to embarrass an Amrothian", she informed him. She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and followed him outside: "What about you? Last time I saw you, you were sputtering feathers…".

"I wouldn't be that cheeky, if I were you".

"After you tossed me in a dirty trough, I'm quite confident I can be as cheeky as I want".

"That was a legitimate retaliation after you, Endien and Dúnor very nearly had me killed. The feathers' incident however, that has yet to be fittingly punished".

"I had no idea a kitten, a child and a harmless woman was all it took to take you down…", she teased him. Éomer gave her a side glance and Lothíriel deemed it wiser to tread more carefully her next words: last thing she wanted, was to be drowned a second time on the same day!

They strolled through the streets in companionable silence and the moment they came in sight of the Green Gate, it became immediately clear Éomer had kept faith to his promise: half of the city had gathered there and judging by the racket coming from the tavern, the other half must have been already inside. When they got in, Lothíriel was almost swept away by the deafening noise and the amount of people squeezed in there: "I got us a first-row seat, don't worry!", yelled Éomer. He draped an arm around her shoulders and shielded her with his frame as he worked his way towards the counter. Gárwine, Eofor and Balláf were sitting all together at a broad round table and the moment they saw them heading their way, they unceremoniously forced two poor fellows to relinquish their chairs.

"Good evening everyone", Lothíriel greeted them. She took a seat and noticing how everybody was staring with a big grin at something – or most likely someone, behind her, she turned around.

Words failed when she saw the wench approaching their table.

That was indeed the tightest, frilliest dress she had ever seen! Not only that, but it was pink. Like, really pink. And truth to his gall, Éothain wore it with absolute ease: he swung his hips while he walked through the room, sparking a slew of catcalls and other indecent remarks. As he got closer, Lothíriel noticed he had stuffed his corset with enough cloths to give the resemblance of a generous bosom. Someone had also braided his hair, his lips were suspiciously red and when he leaned over her, she found herself engulfed in a cloud of the sweetest, most nauseating scent she had ever smelled: "What can I get you, sweetheart?", he asked in a squeaky voice.

At first, Lothíriel wasn't even able to laugh. But then she looked at him up and down, and upon seeing his big, hairy calves sticking out from the flounced skirt, she covered her face and started shaking with laughter.

"The dark ale is particularly good", Éothain pressed her, pushing his chest out and rubbing it against her shoulder in what she supposed was intended to be a seductive move.

"I don't recall any girl ever doing that to you", muttered Éomer behind her.

"No, and it's a rightful shame!".

Lothíriel wiped the tears from her eyes. "You are…", she tried to say between the breathless gasps.

"Charming? An eye candy? A feast for the eyes?".

"…vile. The vilest thing I've ever seen", she blurted out, causing Éothain to step back in mocked offence while everybody else roared laughing.

"Alright then miss, watered ale for you!", he declared as he marched towards the kitchens, shaking an admonishing finger in the air and drawing once again a shower of howls and calls.

Éomer waited until he was gone before pulling her back against him, his arm wrapped casually around her chest: "Shall we tell him, or shall we wait until his shift is over?", he asked whispering in her ear. Sitting at the other end of the table, Gárwine's eyes were shifting suspiciously between the two of them.

"I think as good friends, we ought to tell him right now and apologize for deceiving him so. On the other hand, with half of the city in attendance, I wouldn't want to strip anyone of the chance of a good laugh…".

Éomer's breath tickled on the skin of her neck: "Very thoughtful of you". Lothíriel realized she was holding her breath while she waited for him to kiss her and be done with all that silly charade, but his lips never found hers because all of a sudden, a wet dishcloth landed on her head.

"I knew it!", cried Éothain as he came barging out of the kitchen. He slammed two mugs on the table and really, seeing him angry while dressed so was if possible even more hilarious.

"You deceived me!", he accused them while he wrestled out of his dress.

Left with nothing but a light shirt and a pair of white breeches, Éothain dragged Éomer out of his chair and drunk his ale. When Éomer made for protesting, he tossed the empty mug at him: "You want something to drink? Go get it yourself! I know this was all your idea!".

Oh, if only he knew!

Éomer scoffed and was soon swallowed into the crowd as he went on a quest to refill his drink. Staring at Éothain's sulking face, Lothíriel couldn't help but feeling a little remorse: "I'm sorry", she apologized, though the corners of her mouth were still twitching in amusement.

Éothain shook his head. "I'd expect such a thing from that brute of a husband you got there, but you? I thought better of you!"

"Actually, this was all my idea. While we were in Edoras, I overheard you talking about betting on our relationship and once I returned to Aldburg, I told Éomer and suggested we could make a fool of you".

Poor Éothain was honestly shocked to learn of the active role she had played in his deceit. He snatched Gárwine's mead and careless of the man's complaints, he gobbled it all down: "That evening in Caerdydd", he asked scratching his chin, "you were in the stables, weren't you?".

"I was", she giggled.

"I am very disappointed of you".

"Come, it was an innocent jest. After all, you have to admit that gambling on us wasn't a very polite thing to do either!".

"Polite?! Half the city was wagering on you and Éomer, including those two over there!", he said pointing at her two guards.

Balláf didn't even bother to defend himself, while Eofor blushed to the tips of his ears: "It was Ides' idea!".

"Ides is involved too?".

He groaned and buried his nose in his mug: "I will say no more".

Lothíriel should have probably known. Her relationship with Éomer had always been the subject of gossip and seeing how things had changed between them, it was only natural that people would start making assumption on what would happen next. And knowing the Rohirrim, she felt incline to consider their wagering well-intended, a sign of hope rather than malice: "You are right to be angry, Éothain. Will you at least allow me to atone for my sins?".

"Depends on what you have in mind…".

"How about you tell me what you'd like to drink – may it be beer or the most extravagant liquor you can think of, and not only it'll be on me, but I'll be your personal maid for tonight?".

That was an offer he could not possibly refuse: "The barkeeper has a few bottles of aged schnapps hidden under the counter. I'd like to get one, and I'd like you to drink it with me"

"Right away, good sir!".

Lothíriel headed for the counter and returned moments later with a bottle of fruit brandy – the most expensive liquor in whole Aldburg according to the barkeeper. She filled two little cups and seeing Éothain emptying his all at once, she followed his example and very nearly threw up in the process: "What… is… this?", she asked, coughing and feeling her throat in flames.

"It's made of raspberries, you of all should like it!".

Some good soul handed her a jug of water. "I only taste alcohol, a lot of it!", she complained. When the burning feeling faded however, she was left with a sweet aftertaste that left her wanting for more. She refilled her cup and this time, she only took a little sip.

"And?".

"In the right dose, it's actually not that bad!", she conceded. She made for offering the liquor to her friends, but her guards refused while Gárwine suddenly leaped on his feet and strode towards the entrance with a thunderous expression that looked so unlike him: "What's happening? Where's he going?".

"To give Háca a piece of his mind".

"Háca? Why? What has he done?".

Eofor and Balláf exchanged a baffled look. "You mean to say you don't know what happened during the Midsummer tournament?".

"I know he won – after I returned from the Westfold, Dúnor barely spoke about anything else for an entire week at least. What else is there to know?".

"That he won is hardly surprising - with Éomer gone, he barely had any competition at all. During the qualification matches however, he became involved in a… disgraceful fight".

"Disgraceful?".

All three men stared into their cups and it was Éothain who spoke at last: "Dernda".

"What about him?".

"He joined the tournament too".

Lothíriel was surprised. Dernda was a fool, but after all the insults he had thrown at her that day in the hall, he must have surely known that showing up in Aldburg and – even more, taking part to the tournament and risking crossing paths with Éomer, was a terrible idea. "Why would he do that?".

"I have no clue", said Balláf. "If I were him, I'd dig a hole and hide in there for the rest of my days. Instead, the idiot thought he could use the tournament as a chance to show off and perhaps charm some lass. He's not that bad with a sword and might have even made it until the quarterfinal. But whether out of bad luck or something else, he had his debut fight against Háca".

"… and?", she prompted him.

"He beat the crap of him", said Eofor, to which Balláf shook his head.

"Not only that. Look, we were all more than happy to see someone give Dernda a lesson. But Háca played with him like a cat with a mouse: he could have easily gotten rid of him but instead of doing so, he dragged the match for what felt like ages, humiliated him and yes, he also beat the crap out of him. Suffice to say that at some point, Gárwine almost stepped in to interrupt the fight! Following the match, Dernda had to spend an entire week under Frumgar's care: a broken nose, a sprained wrist and two cracked ribs as far as I know. Háca went on to win the tournament and when later that day Gárwine sought him up to deal with him, he found him totally drunk right here, at the Green Gate, boasting about his deeds and proclaiming he should have killed the bastard instead of just bruising him. Gárwine was furious: he gave him one month of the worst possible assignments – cleaning latrines and so forth, and ordered him to stay clear of the training grounds and also of any tavern for the whole duration of the summer. Háca has done so without as much as one complaint, until today…".

"I told Éomer he should send him to Caerdydd and let Elffa deal with him", snorted Éothain, "but he thinks it would be a terrible idea".

Lothíriel turn around and stretched her neck, but she could not see Gárwine – nor Háca for the matter: "Last thing Elffa needs is a troublemaker among his ranks", she mused, "Éomer is right: it'd be wiser to keep Háca in Aldburg rather than passing the buck to someone else".

The night was still young when Éomer set off towards the hall. He left behind the boisterous tavern and climbed the street in long, impatient strides, barely acknowledging the guards standing by the doors and heading straight for his room. He kicked the door open and was surprised to find Meregith there, kneeling by his bed: "What are you doing here?".

The housekeeper rested a hand on her heart and exhaled: "Béma, what is that for a way to enter a room!".

"I hardly need to knock to enter my bedroom".

She looked at him askance: "Still in a bad mood I see. I could not sleep and since the maids have been complaining endlessly about what a mess your room has become, I decided to come and clean it up".

She stooped and collected a few crumpled papers from under his bed which really, was quite embarrassing. "I can take care of it…".

"We both know you won't. And you also don't want the maids to stick their noses into your documents", she said stressing the word enough to have it known garbage was a way more appropriate term for it, "so I thought I'd collect them and store them somewhere safe until you've decided what to do with them".

"They're nothing of importance, you can toss them into the fire. I should have done it myself but…".

"… but you're a mess".

Éomer felt like a naughty child caught with his hands in the jam. Meregith was right though: his armour, sword and riding gear were the only things he kept in impeccable, pristine conditions. Everything else he couldn't care less and if it weren't for the tireless effort of the maids, his clothes would be an unruly pile of intertwined fabrics lying on the floor!

He waited in silence until Meregith was done and once she had finally left his room, he flopped on his bed. Lying sprawled, with his arms and legs spread wide apart, Éomer stared at the ceiling and realized with a disheartened sigh he wasn't even tired.

What am I doing here anyway?

He did not know. He should have stayed at the tavern with Lothíriel instead of making excuses and retiring earlier than anybody else. He should have stayed until the last customer had left – or at least until Lothíriel had wished to, and then he should have walked her back to the hall, locked her in his room and made love to her until morning. Bema knew if they had waited long enough!

Yet he felt like it was never the right moment, like he was never in the right state of mind. In the past few weeks, any precious time he had got to spend in Aldburg had felt like rushing between one bloody patrol to the next, like briefly returning to the surface to fill your lungs with a breath of fresh air before diving again. He didn't know whether he was getting tired or simply old, but he found it was getting harder and harder to remain himself, to retain a shred of goodness and kindness when all around him was blood and death.

Not all, he reminded himself.

He thought back of Lothíriel and Dúnor sparring in his study, of their laughter upon seeing him covered in feathers. He thought back of Éothain and everyone's merriment when he had appeared at the tavern clad in the most ridiculous dress he had ever seen. He thought back of the finally completed orphanage and how happy the children and their governesses had been when they had first entered their new home. Yes, there was much to rejoice about.

But then why the thought of it only made him all the more miserable?

Éomer swung his legs down the bed and rubbed his face. He knew Lothíriel was worried for him, he knew it was his fault if in the past couple of weeks there had been more downs than ups between them. But how could he hope of sorting things out with her, when he himself did not know what was wrong with him? He stood and splashed his face with some cold water. Get a grip of yourself, he told the blurred reflection in the basin. But he found no solace nor council in the tired eyes looking back at him.

Luckily though, a scratching sound came to distract him and when he opened the door, Éomer's lips twitched: "So here we go again".

Endien took a sneak peek inside his room, then looked up at him and sat right in the middle of the doorstep.

"You either come in or you stay out. Decide already!".

She licked her paw, obviously unconcerned with him and his silly requests. The moment he made for closing the door though, she slinked in and headed straight for his bed. She spent a good while kneading on the light cotton sheet, her black whiskers almost glinting in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. Once she was finally satisfied, she curled up on his pillow and let out a long purring sigh.

Éomer joined her on the bed and as he slowly drifted off himself, he pondered Lothíriel was right after all: there really was something strangely soothing about a cat's purr…

Author's notes: a bit delayed but here's a new little chapter! Some light moments but also some heavier ones as the situation in Rohan is starting to get worse in the months ahead of the war. I know not much happened here, but I liked it better to cut the chapter this way and postpone to the next whatever is yet to come.

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: not just a dress, but a pink one! ;)

Ela1980: thank you! Was nice to spend some time in Italy, though there wasn't much I could do aside from staying home. Hopefully things will soon get better everywhere!

Katia0203: no, they have not ;) I guess in normal times Éomer might have at least considered Garhild but as it is, she's just not a viable candidate.

Lila: I never mind multiple reviews! :) Had a lovely time in Italy – even though going for groceries was the most daring thing one could do with the current restrictions. Fingers crossed for things to get soon better. Meanwhile, stay safe too!

Kat: thank you for your review (and for posting it here as well so that I could reply to it)! It was a long and detailed review(s), so it will be a long and detailed answer I know I need a beta but unfortunately, I couldn't find one. As I really wanted to try posting some stories however, I decided to go for it anyway. I recently re-read a few chapters from To Grow into Love and to be honest, I realized myself there were a lot of typos and other mistakes. I think back then I was being quite hasty in writing and publishing and did not give myself enough time to do a proper review. I am now trying to be more careful, so I'm glad to hear this story has been so far a little better. With respect to pretend, you are right - I know what it means and for the life of me, I can't explain why I used it that way back then. As for the plot comment, I have to disagree. I guess it's about personal preferences and it's perfectly fine if you don't like it, but in my opinion To Grow into Love was not in the least about falling to pieces without the love of one's life. If that was what the story was about, Lothíriel would have reconciled with Éomer the exact moment he came back knocking at her door. Did she despair because she thought he did not love her anymore? Yes, but something most tend to forget is that at the time she was nineteen years old and in love for the first time. I think most of us at that age (myself included) had quite an immature and "radical" understanding of love and relationships. Lothíriel wouldn't have let herself really die and though with some scars, at some point in time she'd have moved past Éomer's loss. It just so happened that Éomer found her first – or before she forsook any feeling she had once harboured towards him. As for the matter of feminism and the fact that a strong woman wouldn't be so dependant in the first place, we are talking of Middle Earth society and of a very young, sheltered princess. No one was ever going to give her the time on her own unless she took it herself. Was it selfish? Yes. Was it cruel towards her family? Yes. Could she have done it in a more thoughtful way? Undoubtedly. But here's the thing about feminism in my personal opinion: it's not about perfect women finding a way to an independent life through a harmless path because of the underlying assumption that they are sort of better. It's about acknowledging women have always had ambitions, they have always had the potential required to fulfil them, and they were never by choice what we call in Italian angeli del focolare. In English you could translate it as hearth's angels, which I think is quite self-explicatory: they were mothers and wives, their qualities were nurturing, protection, sensitivity, purity of heart. Any deviation from such qualities, was labelled a deviant behaviour. Lothíriel does something selfish, but she also comes to understand it was wrong and apologizes for it. She is not perfect, she is not without sin, because women – just like men, not only do they have ambitions, but flaws too. Having said that, To Grow into Love was my very first attempt at writing a story and I'm sure there was huge room for improvement. I'll just close it by saying I really appreciate you took the time to write such a well-thought and constructive review and that I enjoy discussing about my plots and characters, as it's always an opportunity to grow and learn. I hope in the future you'll continue doing so, as I'd love to keep reading about your opinion (whichever that might be)! Stay safe too! ;)