Hello everyone and thank you for your patience! Many things had happened, family reunions, a little bit of sickness (still a bit recovering), and I was unable to write for a time. Not to mention I was dissatisfied with this chapter.

I'm still very much unsure. But here it is, and I hope you will like it anyway. Next one will be better, I do believe so.

Oh, and by the way, dear guest, don't worry, I know you don't intend it as a reproach. It is me who reproach it to myself when I see I can't be as regular as I would want to.

As always, thank you for your support and good reading,

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There are ages when you're allowed to be silly and superstitious, in particular when you are a girl. From the cradle to the lovely wake of a seventeen-year-old, a girl, provided she be from the right class and with good fortune, may have some lack of good sense if she can at least preserve the limits of decency.

She may be mocked after that, but this was another thing.

No matter what, silly girls or not, they all went someday in the summer to Mammy Jincy's to get their future revealed to them.

It was a deep, damp cabin made of wood that reeked of rot and something wild and unknown. The planks were spare, bound by rusty nails, and sometimes let out a hint of sky, stars or even some sun, which had the perverse effect of making the darkness even more present. The sweat-stained from the roof to the floor, even the carefully placed decorative tiles, which the girls used to avoid putting their delicate mules to the horror of dust and dirt.

No one was ever to know that such a horrid place was not Mammy Jincy's place of living. Clever and with a good sense of showmanship, Mammy Jincy knew just how to create the atmosphere of a good reading, one that terrifies as much as it excites.

The gift had been passed generations after generations, and no one really knew at which time it became something magical.

And now, three girls were visiting her, each one different.

The first had been easy. Fierce, surly and insolent, and with wild curls of auburn hair, it was clear she would not keep the interest of many Southern men, and that she was not interested in it anyway. So spinster seemed not such a far-fetched interpretation.

The second too. Words had been spreading like wind after all.

The big woman grinned.

"Izzy. Ye will marry a tall gempmum, wit a big black mustach'."

Green irises sparkled at this, and the former slave blinked, sure of some familiarity, as if in another life, she still had made the same answer.

"You might as well say she's going to marry one Rhett Butler." The girl with auburn locks rolled her eyes and stifled a yawn. "I think a lot of persons think it. Or at least that..."

"Randa!" The raven-haired girl protested, dismayed.

"Now, that has to be wrong. After all, Scarlett is in love with Ashley!" Another protested, much softer-spoken, yet plainer in appearance.

Scarlet winced, a dismayed pout drawing on her lower lip.

The lie had come easily on her lips, and as soon as it has been uttered, Melanie Hamilton seemed to have forgotten her own burgeoning fancy to focus on the happiness of one she admired, like every person with a shy nature looks up with envy to one more assured and extravert than them.

For Melanie Hamilton, in all her candidness, craved the loves of others, and her innocent heart, though it dreamed of the flames of romantic love, had not yet been touched, and loved everyone just the same. In her mind, there were no thoughts of possession and jealousy.

To be sure, against the joy of a new friendship, Ashley stood no chance.

Scarlett pursed her lips.

"Of course, I am, Melly."

"Ha!" Randa bit back a full-blown laugh.

Mammy Jincy frowned. Suddenly, she had a headache, looking at these green eyes. Could it be? Her voice came weaker.

"But beware, gurl. We all rip what we sow. Love bigit love... n'd oder things as well," The old woman's eyes brightened mischievously as a vision came in her blurry mind. "Hate bigit hate. Mistrust bigit mistrust. To get, ye hav' to give. Too praidful, ye be. 'nd when too many pipole git in de way, ye maight git lost in a mewy hell."

A bark of laughter came out from the auburn girl, and the two began to quarrel.

The third one smiled softly looking at them, and Mammy Jincy felt in her heart a warmth. She gestured her closer reassuringly.

The poor girl had no mean bone in her body. She trusted easily, and her little hand was easily given.

Mammy Jincy marvelled at the delicate lines.

"Oh, deer lam'! You are as swit as a flowar, and as fragile too. Yit yer mind's strong, and wander more dan it ought! Ye were on one patt, and now, yer on anoder. Perhap for de best. Yell find love as ye deserve, a love laike in de books. An equal in min' 'nd strenght, and wid un ye'll grow. Yet, dat kind of love's not widout trouble and torture. Far from it. Yell suffer, love. But den, if ye kare for ye heart, 'nd less to oder's, ye'll finally get it, yer happy andin'."

Hope sprang in the brown eyes, and she was about to ask more, when suddenly, the other two turned.

"Well, love and torture for Melly, a merry and very predictable hell for Scarlett, and a joyous life as a spinster for me," Randa mocked. "What else is there? A world-ending war?" She blinked, before remembering. "Oh, blast."

"Randa!" Melly's voice raised, shocked.

"Men are stupid," Scarlett only commented, raising as if she knew all about it.

Fiddle-dee-dee, that was all nonsense.

Yet, her heart beat so at the remembrance of the fortune! Maybe, in Saratoga…

Oh, but if she was in Saratoga, Melly would go back to Ashley!

Scarlett's eyes widened.

And by her side, Mammy Jincy continued to look, then laughed.

She already knew the rest. She could hear it clearly, like the girl's voice asking her dearest Pa with her sweetest smile if Melanie Hamilton could go with them to Saratoga.

He stood not a chance.

….

August 1860, Saratoga

Melanie Hamilton was no silly girl, though she tended to think so. From early girlhood, she had been tenderly looked after by Uncle Henry, Uncle Peter, Aunt Pittypat, and her beloved brother Charles, and never had had to raise her voice more than necessary. The hardships had been smoothed for her, by worry her fragile constitution would not bear the test.

No one knew underneath that exterior lain a strength of steel, that would blossom when it needs to do so.

That being said, now was not that time, and she sat silently, her mind vibrating with the experience of friendships with people more outgoing than she, and her sweet nature and innate curiosity accommodating with each novelty with wonder and joy.

Needless to say, with all the changes in her life, Melanie Hamilton was a very happy girl. So happy that she could not even begin to process that her path may have been changed forever.

And that had begun with her own cousin, Ashley. From the crib, she had been told she would marry him, and be happy with him, for they shared the same love of books and poetry, and had the same calm nature and dreams. She had seen him a few times when children, and she had been mystified by that beautiful boy, that grew a beautiful man, beautiful like these princes in the fairytales. That beautiful prince she would be the wife of, she, plain girl that she was, without any coquetry and beauty to please.

Not only beautiful, but he was kind, with a sort of aloofness that hinted at a personal depth.

Suddenly, it felt as if she was more than she thought, or at least she had something to work up to, to deserve such a man.

And then came Scarlett. Pretty, vibrant Scarlett, charming and elegant like these princesses in fairytales, and she knew she stood not a chance when she finally heard of her feelings. Scarlett, stronger and bolder than she, who told her the truth when no one truly did, and talked to her like an equal she could tease out of her reserve.

Naturally friendly and self-sacrificing, she knew the higher purpose was to reunite the two fated lovers.

'Dearest Ashley,' She remembered saying. "I know your dilemma, and I assure you it is no use, for I accept it. I won't get in the way.'

And then, she would not admit it to anyone, but Ashley's reaction to her soft encouragement to give up on their betrothal had upset her self-respect.

For he did not even fight. He looked at her and said nothing, or maybe just a nod, and an uneasy, thankful smile with eyes sparkling begrudging admiration and something that looked a little like a hurt pride.

No one was here to tell her it was more than possible he took her encouragements as her acceptance to him to look elsewhere before their marriage.

Had she known it, she certainly would have been horrified.

But now, she just wanted to be happy, with her friend being happy with her.

Scarlett was upset today, she could feel it. She would not say it, but Melly had heard it a little.

She did not intend to. She was no eavesdropper, and it was in fact as she tried to dismiss Suellen that she became one, to her utter shame.

Scarlett had been quarreling with her mother. Quarreling over a suitor Mrs. O'Hara did not approve of.

Ashley, most certainly. Though why Mrs. O'Hara would not approve, she could not know.

Maybe because it was because she was not aware that she, Melanie, had already given up her claim.

But when she would know the truth… oh, it would be quite the happy ending!

Or would it? Her mouth pursed as she went back to Romeo and Juliet.

"Oh, Melly," Scarlett's voice broke her thoughts. "How can you read such a thing?"

"But, Scarlett," Melanie protested, closing her book abruptly. "it's one of the greatest love stories of all time!"

"Fiddle-dee-dee! Had that Roselyne never said no to Romeo, he would never have looked twice on Juliet, and that's your great love story?"

She blinked.

"I've... I've never seen it like that..."

"No man can ever write any good love story," Scarlett continued, and her eyes went to Mr. Butler, who was looking at her with amusement. "They all are self-pitying, and the woman to them is either a trophy or a monster."

Melly tried to protest, but then thought against it. After all, loving like in Jane Austen's novels was better than love in R.D. Blackmore's Lorna Doone, which she could not help but believe that man did not respect women very much. At least women like Randa and Scarlett. And if there was one thing Melly did not bear, it was the thought of one disrespecting her friends.

Friends! Melly's eyes sparkled. She still could not believe it.

She nodded, and let her gaze wander. How beautiful it was, to live that day with Scarlett, and an interesting man like Rhett Butler! He had so many stories to tell, held himself like a true Byronian hero, wounded and proud.

And she could not help but notice the soft eyes he had when he looked at Scarlett, when she herself was not looking. And that was the easy way to Melly's heart.

The three of them had been resting in a meadow with some of the O'Hara's domestics, after a pleasant afternoon wandering in the springs of Saratoga.

For a moment, Melanie was conflicted. She was so sure Ashley and Scarlett belonged together. But now… She was not that sure, for there was certainly a beauty in that story, perhaps far superior than the one she had envisioned. And then it would prevent everyone else's disappointment if finally Ashley's and her engagement took place…

Yet, it held no attraction to her now.

Was it such a foolish thing to want to be the one in someone's heart?

Dark blue eyes met hers from under the shadow of willow tree, and she blushed, unused to a male's scrutiny. Oh, she had thought no one went there but them!

It was insistent, yet not impolite, with a curiosity and a soft admiration that unsettled her.

Then recognition. He had realized she was staring at him. Shared unease, and warmth. Melanie went still, knowing she should look away, but she couldn't.

When these eyes went down, she allowed herself a moment to see the intruder on her thoughts.

He must have been twenty, or maybe a little more. There was still a hopeful youth on his face that called to her as kin, with a mouth that seemed to be used to be pursed in concentration, not that kind of easy smile the boys in the plantation had, or that drowsy smile his cousin tended to have. This one seemed dedicated, and if his gaze was anything to judge him by, he was not prone to any daydreaming, but rather tried to see the world as it was, without any hazy veil that could make him blind. There was a strength in that, a maturity, and she could not help but admire it. In a way, it made her remember Uncle Henry.

She tried to see if he was tall, yet his crouched position, and the distance, made it difficult to judge. Most certainly he was, for his chest was wide and lean. His head, with that tuft of hair that was neither red nor gold, something in between was still leaned down to a roughly leatherbound sketchbook, on which his hand, that held tightly the charcoal, furiously continued to go up and down, up and down, with sometimes the novelty of a curve, or an insistence to a part that seemed to fascinate him.

An artist, most certainly.

She wondered what these stained fingers were drawing, and a silly little thought came that he was drawing her, and she felt a funny little squirm at the thought.

No, of course no. There were so many pretty things around. Why would he draw her?

She looked down, pensive, her cheeks blossoming under the heat.

Scarlett looked up, and a scowl came to her face, roughening the edges that her education had tried to smoothen. Her hand gripped the round wooden canvas, the other tight on the needle.

She had looked forward for this afternoon, and almost pleaded for it. And now, she was left unsatisfied.

Oh, if only that quarrel with Mother hadn't happened!

For she knew, of course she knew, of her feelings for Rhett. She knew and she disapproved. But she…

Scarlett shook her head. No, she would not think about it.

Before they went, Mother had put needlework on her hands, with a telling look that was as remonstrative as her melancholic black eyes could manage to be. A remembrance of what she should do, what she should be, yet, the young woman had barely managed a few stitches.

Scarlett sighed, trying to forget words that echoed with her own doubts. She eyed Melly, most certainly lost in one of her foolish fancies. She tried to go back to her stitches, yet her gaze wandered in irritation as Ash whined against her, eager for the caresses she was not in the mood to give. She put it down for a moment.

"Melly, don't tell me you're upset by what I said! That's silly."

"That's enough, Scarlett," Rhett said quietly. "Stop upsetting the girl. Or at least give her time to recover."

The corner of her mouth went up, deep dimple showing. She turned toward him and tilted her head in a jest.

"I've heard there's a pleasure in corrupting innocence."

Something rang in Rhett's mind, but he dismissed it.

"Whoever told you that is not a good person."

"I know that," Her eyes darkened, dangerous emeralds that cut and sparked ominously. But like every spark, its reflection came back to his, and he smirked, begrudgingly amused. "But I'm not either."

He let out a bark of laughter, and she was tempted to join him.

"Now, why don't you soothe me?" She complained. Another stitch, clumsy, and quite out of where it should have been. She pouted. "Aren't you my self-proclaimed brother?"

He could not help but smile.

"My dear, you have a poor experience of brothers."

"I know Ashley Wilkes is a good brother."

"And God helps me if I become like him," There was a burn in his words, and she stared at him in surprise, and almost sting herself.

"My, had I been conceited, I would have thought you jealous," She jeered, uneasy at the easy hope it brought.

His brows waggled comically.

"Oh, but you are. But no. Have I disappointed you yet again?"

"No," She cut, huffing. "For that, I would have to expect something."

This time, he truly frowned, his eyes piercing.

"This reeked terribly of disappointment and bitterness, and I want to know of it. Dear girl, what have I done for you to express such a lack of faith?"

She bit her lip and tried to focus more on her needlework.

"Nothing."

"I'll know of it. Sooner or later. So why the lie?"

Vexed, she straightened herself.

"Well, if you're so knowing, why would I take the pleasure from you to find it on your own?"

Red came to her cheeks and she cursed herself inwardly. She did not want to snap at him. She wanted all of this to be pleasant and carefree. Yet, her tummy ached with unease and anticipation, and she was left unsure.

Oh, she terribly wanted what that woman said to be true! She wanted it so bad!

But what if it wasn't?

And what if it was? How was she supposed to get it?

And then, these words, these terrible words Mother said…

And now, she was getting him angry. Oh, why was she like that? Everything seemed to irritate her. She wanted to hope, feared to do so. She wanted to scream her love to him, yet could not bear the possibility of a very indulgent gaze, telling her she was a child, and he loved her that way.

She bit her lip, and lowered her gaze.

"I know young ones tend to be quite insolent to their elders before becoming adults," He said quietly. "For some, it never stops. Is this it? No, it seems something else entirely. Then what is it?"

His fingers caught on an erring strand, and she almost shivered. Too close, he was just too close.

"Then, what is it?" She echoed, breathless.

See me, she wanted to say. Please, take all of my questions and injures away and take me in your arms. Tell me I'm not alone in this.

He took her hand in his, and she froze. Among all this bittersweet cynicism, a light of vulnerability appeared, and it warmed his heart. His thumb grazed her index, drawing the line of the thin and delicate bone. Thick, black lashes fluttered as the chest heaved under the tight bodice, attracting the eye to the creamy flesh. Blood boiled, instincts screaming.

Swiftly, he took the needle from her fingers. She startled. Shock, numbness. Then dismay.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

"Giving you a lesson on softness. You know, for my fellow men's sake. I worry for their hearts if you keep that sharpness," He was towering over her, a burning shadow which made her insides tingle. The needle between his fingers, he pointed it to her. "See, dear child, being sharp can help you create a masterpiece. Yet, too much sharpness, and no softness at all will hurt you as much as it hurt others."

Then he pierced suddenly the canvas, and the fingers underneath. She let out a cry of pain, bringing the bruise to her eye while the needlework tumbled from her hands, down the white cotton skirt.

The lesson had been learned. That was Rhett she was with, after all. He was no gentleman and would not be tamed. He just kept reminding her that. She was a kitten between his paws. He kept putting her back, and still she wanted to reach him.

She raised her green eyes at him, glaring.

"Are you lecturing me on softness, Mr. Butler? Fiddle-dee-dee, you're quite a brute. Teaching me to use a gun would be more useful," She huffed. "After all, you did say there was going to be a war."

A drop of blood grew on the tip of her finger. His gaze shifted.

"Give your hand back, I'll help you," He said quietly, and even if she wanted to refuse him, she realized her body had reacted before she even decided it. It could not resist the touch of his warm, rough palm on her, and the almost soft pat of his handkerchief over her wound. She wondered if he saw the same lines on her palm as that woman had seen, if it would ever matter to him. "I'm a brute, but a well-meaning one. At least in your case. And I'm not sure your little Ashley would like even the thought of you holding a gun, my dear."

Why would he bring up Ashley?

She frowned, before dismissing it. An easy smile came to her lips.

"Oh, Rhett, let's stop this silly talk. It won't go anywhere. Now, are you going to tell me about your travels? I know you have so many interesting stories!"

A hint of white teeth came glinting back at her.

"Well played, my pet, to play on my ego like that, to divert me from finding your dirty little secret..."

"A pet? Now, dearest Ash is a pet," She kissed the placid dog soundly, one eye closing, the other twinkling mischief. "I am not."

"I'll go tomorrow."

It was shot abruptly and she stared at him, at first not comprehending what had been said.

"So soon?" Her voice was blank, ending in a shrill note. She bit her lip.

"Is it disappointment that I hear?" His brow lifted in interest. "You knew it, and still you seem surprised."

"You did not stay long."

"Oh, definitely disappointment, then. Is it my gifts you will be missing, greedy one? Or is it poor dear me?"

"The gifts, of course, you know it," She let out a coquettish little smile, hoping to see him falter. He didn't. She pouted. "Where will you be going, this time?"

"London."

"For what?"

Twinkle in his eyes, a sharp drawing of his too sensual lips.

She faltered.

"Curious. Darling girl, do I have to share all of my secrets with you?"

You've never shared your secrets with me anyway, Scarlett thought.

"I'll tell one of my secrets to you though," He said, winking pleasantly. "I think I will shave that mustache soon."

She widened her eyes, horrified.

"No!"

She reacted so swiftly her hands went on his suddenly, her body leaning in his direction and green eyes pleading.

"Alright, I won't," He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Strange, that reaction to such a little thing."

She backed down, looked away, a poor attempt at indifference.

"I like your mustache. So, don't," Said she hurriedly. "Well, I'm going to put my toes in the water, and you can't stop me."

"I did not intend to. In fact, I will accompany you," He replied. "No doubt young Miss Melanie will like the adventure."

The girl in question seemed to awaken at this mention. She jumped a little, then looked at them with wide eyes.

"Oh... Indeed, I think I need to walk. Somewhere…"

Scarlett blinked.

"Are you alright, Melly? You're very red."

The brightness of the soft brown eyes had faded a little through the reverie. Now it held a certain fever, sudden and unknown.

"It's alright. I guess I feel a little faint."

"You better rest, Melly," Scarlett exclaimed, dismayed. "You know you can't bear the heat."

"Oh, but Scarlett…"

"No but. I won't have you fainting on us."

"I'll just rest a little…" Melly looked up, hopeful, then down, blushing once again. "Would it be so … oh, but I can't…"

Scarlett raised her eyes to the sky, irritated.

"Just lay your head on my lap, Melly, don't make a fuss. No one will think badly of you if you do. There's no one else to see anyway."

She just did so, her eyes bright with gratefulness, and as the companionable silence grew, Scarlett found herself petting her, that lusterless brown hair tied in such a sober way.

Ash had taken refuge in her skirts, certainly like his counterpart would if given the chance.

"She's asleep," She sighed after a time with begrudging tenderness. "Pork, would you mind bringing her back home? She'll be thirsty when she woke up."

"But Miz…"Cheyenne protested.

Pork only smiled. "Faine, Miz Scahlett. Ahll come back do. Do Tis yer moder who won't like it. Chiyen be stayin wid ye."

Pork lifted Melly as if she weighted nothing, and perhaps it was so. Melly was so thin and small! Like a child, with no curve at all!

The dog whined, and jumped back to her, forcing Pork to take him too. But still, she would make not a sound.

Scarlett's mouth pursed as she watched them go, the sun faltering around them. Where was everyone suddenly? Her skin tingled.

"Not afraid to stay with the big bad wolf?"

Hair raised at the back of her neck. Still, she met his eye fearlessly.

"Do you want to eat me?"

Oh, definitely.

He looked away and crossed his arms.

"So, you can be soft, after all... Surprising."

"Tsk. Beware, Mr. Butler. I might just scratch you for thinking so good of me," She retorted, beamed under the sunlight and raised. Red tainted the lustrous ebony of her hair, and for a moment, she seemed like Diana. Lovely and deadly. From her eyes, the arrow was shot and hit its mark as she whispered mischievously to him. "Catch me if you can!"

"Miz Scarlett!" Cheyenne hissed.

But none of the two heard her.

The mules slipped from her feet as Scarlett ran from him, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress to make her flight easier. He was behind her, for sure, perhaps barely walking, so sure that he would get to her easily, and perhaps he could. But the thrill was in the chase, and she wanted it to last. At least to the river, where it was fresh and tepid, far from the excruciating heat.

She felt like a girl, and she delighted in it. She should be it, and not worry about anything. She should be careless and free, with nothing to bind her.

She sighed as she finally felt the water on her feet, and washed her white hands with a hum of delight.

A crack behind her, she grinned, rising to face him. She was disheveled and wild, but who cared? Who was there to see?

He stopped and looked at her for a moment. Too proper, too clean, when she knew he was so different than that.

"Afraid of a little water?" She drawled.

"Scarlett…" He warned.

Her grin went wider.

She splashed him.

"Oh, you minx!" He cursed, before joining her and splashing her back.

She laughed and laughed, the echoes of it trembling all over her body until her knees fell. He chuckled as he caught her in his arms, all wet, with the end of her petticoats muddy and her naked feet kicking at the grass.

"Now, look what you've done!" Yet, the laughing mirth was too evident in his voice to be severe, his embrace too tender. "How am I going to explain to your father and mother the state you're in?

She only smiled wider.

"You naughty girl."

His voice was warm and husky and felt like a caress to her ear. Oh, she had always hated the Charlestonian accent. It was drawling and uptight, and almost always forgetting the 'r' in her name. But when it came to him… Oh, it drawled smoothly like a panther's purr, and it thrilled her to the core.

There was something raw and primal in his eyes, and it made her tremble. She looked up, almost timidly, her mouth opening slightly to ask him… ask him what? She did not know. In her belly, a hearth was building, embers glinting and teasing.

She gasped softly. His eyes were so big and so beautiful, like a warm night full of stars, and for a moment, she thought there was something for her in there.

But as suddenly as it had appeared, his grip on her loosened, his eyes went up, behind her.

"Scarlett. Go back to your father." He said, still not looking at her.

"Rhett."

"Do it."

He let her go, and she stared, begging him to look down at her. But he wouldn't. He continued his way, and she felt the cold of his absence.

So she did the only thing that seemed to matter at the moment.

She followed him discreetly, to see what could have distracted him so when she thought he would kiss her.

Then stopped, realizing as a hint of red hair caught her eye.

She went still, until a hand came to her shoulder. She jumped.

Cheyenne had followed them as well. Forgotten, yet now there. What had she seen? What could she tell?

"Miz…"

"Hush, Cheyenne," She pestered, before wincing at the hurt in the woman's face, feeling as if she had kicked a puppy. Damned the Wilkes' blood. "Please, just for a moment… I need to…"

"Miz, I think you know already what it be," Cheyenne said softly, recovering.

And indeed it was.

'He's a womanizer, Scarlett, Mother had said. 'He has a mistress in every town! Why, it is said there's one that is almost always by his side!'

I don't care, she had replied. I don't care, I don't care, I don't…

But she did. She really did.

She kissed him, that red woman, not so far from the place when he had been with her. She kissed him, and he kissed her back, with a passion that seemed to surprise her.

The red woman. It was she. Red like anger, red like blood.

Red, red, red…

Red like… love.

Did he love that woman? Love her to the point he could not resist her call?

Love her like she loved him?

White. Piercing white. Weakness.

Scarlett froze, as if hit by a bucket of cold water.

Take what you want, Scarlett, rang Mother's weary words as she stared at her daughter with faraway eyes, subdued after having argued more than she should have. Never let your heart die with an unfinished story. Take what you want from him and make your own way. For he'll get his, and one day, never return.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

She turned away, in her dismay refusing Cheyenne's help.

Yes, she'll make her own way.

It was dark as Scarlett slipped from her hotel chamber, trying to make as little noise as possible.

It was familiar, too familiar, but she took no heed of it. She would see him. She would see the truth.

She knocked on the door, her heart beating, then almost snarled as she saw who opened it.

Of course, she should have known it. How swift she had been, to make her way in like that!

The woman looked at her up and down with a critical gaze, but she did not care. She was a paid woman, and she was a lady.

Yet, what she wanted to do, no lady would do so…

Something alit in the woman's eyes. A cold understanding.

"Oh, ye look like trouble. Are ye sure about what ye want to do, girl?" The woman mocked her with her shrill voice. Of course she was!

Scarlett raised her chin. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Suit yourself."

As the door opened more with a cynical nod, she could not help but shiver. She went still for a moment, then continued her way.

The room was more luxurious than the others, and as she went closer, she saw the tubs of cigars, and the bottles of whiskey near the bed.

He had been drinking. That was… good, well, it had to be…

And when she saw him… How, there was only him!

She looked at him, his manly body sprawled over the bed, disheveled and wild like an exotic animal. His dark mane was unruly, and she wanted to run her fingers through them.

Rhett! Her heart cried. Rhett, Rhett, Rhett…

His arms crossed under his head with a blindfold on his eyes, and from his lips, he whistled a tune.

"Belle, I must say it is rather strange of you. But I don't mind the novelty."

Her fists closed, the long nails hurting the skin.

In her mind, love and lust went in hands, and the idea was even more painful.

Take what you want, Scarlett. Never let your heart die with an unfinished story. Take what you want from him and make your own way. For he'll get his, and one day, never return.

"Where did you find that perfume?" He said suddenly, as if troubled.

She faltered, then found back her courage. After all, he would not see… He was not interested in seeing…

He would be gone by tomorrow, she thought. He would be gone, and I'll have nothing.

Nothing but this.

She put her lips on his, softly, timidly. A light pressure, which gave her a warm and heady sensation, and a hint of sweetness on his mouth which surprised her. She pressed another kiss, opening her lips but a little to graze the deep slit. It opened, welcoming, and she let out a gasp as Rhett's hand raised to grasp her nape and force her closer.

No, no, it was so unlike the other kisses she had accepted, brief tokens on the lips which made the boys grin as if they got a high prize. Here his tongue... His tongue met hers, and teased hers, and she did not understand! She did not understand but...

She did not want it to stop. It tasted sweet and a bit bitter, the liquor perhaps, but with her inexperience she did not know what it was.

She could not think, only feel as lips met lips, her chest fell on his, her breasts covered by the bodice pressed against him, feeling the curly hair underneath the shirt, and the hard, strong muscles of the man that lured her in. Without her notice, her hands rested here, on the opening of the white shirt, her fingers grasping on his fur, the nails scratching lightly the skin as the heat grew.

And then her name came out of his lips, each consonant soft like silk, and she froze.

"Scarlett..."

Skip. Beat. Cold. From her forehead, falling down her body before gathering in a strong grip on her guts.

No, no, she could not do it. Oh, what was she doing?

Blood came to her cheeks, and her heart beat like a rabbit's.

Fool, fool, fool… Cruel fool, coward, for he did not know! Oh, if he knew! How he would hate her!

She escaped his embrace. Her heels dug on the deep carpet, and she almost fell.

"What the..."

She was already gone before he took back the blindfold. A loud, crisp noise, followed by a curse, made her realize the glasses on the stand, and maybe even the ashtray, had fallen, and he had tripped on it.

In another situation, she would have stayed to watch and laugh.

Oh my God, she thought, her heart beating. He had recognized her, and now he would call her out for it!

Behind her, Belle Watling laughed.

"Poor one," She heard her say. "You're a damned rascal, Rhett, for scaring the new girl!"

She ran more quickly.

Yet, the story was far from finished. It had barely begun.

One quarter past midnight. Ten minutes after Scarlett, her daughter, slipped from the chambers she shared with the young Melanie.

Ellen O'Hara waited in the parlor, her hands nervously busy on the needlework.

She could not sleep, knowing what she had done. Oh, what a wicked woman she had been! What a wicked thing!

Like father, like daughter, a sneaky voice came to her, so familiar.

She shook her head, missed a stitch.

No, no, she wasn't like Pierre Robillard. She was true, a true lady of the South, gentle and soft and…

And she had sent her own daughter to a trap she had orchestrated for a long time.

She faltered. Put down her work. Fanned herself.

No, she was no good person. Oh, holy mother, she wasn't! She had tried, but now her treacherous father's blood betrayed her!

Finding Rhett Butler's mistress had been easy, and sending her an anonymous letter informing him of his whereabouts was easy.

And Ellen was surprised at how easy it was.

Scarlett needed to see how depraved he was.

Yet, remembering the fire in her eyes… Would she care?

Oh, the poor child! Her poor child! She loved him!

She loved a monster…

No, Ellen had been right. Scarlett would be alright. She just needed to see…

The door opened, then closed. A thin silhouette slipped through it, before freezing at her sight. Ellen's heart went still. Doubts came. Something awakened and cried.

"Scarlett..." She cried, taking her to her arms. "Oh, thank God. Forgive me, daughter, forgive me!"

Pale was the girl, and slippery, almost like a ghost, and for a moment, Ellen O'Hara felt more alive than she.

What a terrifying thought. No, it wasn't as it should be!

"No. You were right, Mother," Whispered the girl as she distanced herself. "Good night. Yes, good night…"

Ellen looked at her daughter as she went away. Her shoulders had another burden to bear. She crouched a little under the weight of it, and the faint light in her eyes dimmed. She went back to her sofa, and let herself fade in the darkness.

As she went to her bed, Scarlett closed her eyes, but still the burn was on her lips, and she knew she would never be able to erase it. Worse than that, she craved more of it, like a child craved sweets. It gave her a taste of what could be be if... Oh, if only! If only!

Why had he said her name? Was it because he had recognized her? Was it because he wanted her?

The question gripped her insides, and she feared and hoped for the sun to come up, and the answer to be revealed.

Fear left her however when her pride in herself returned, and she decided she had nothing to be ashamed of. She loved him, and would face whatever he would throw at her.

Yet, by the morning, he was no more. Like a wandering thought, he was gone yet again, with barely a passing mention as Gerald commented he went away like a man stalked by the devil.