falling-feuilles

[falling-feuilles]

it's a lot of stuff...

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 8

a/n okay so i had a couple chapters already written from a while ago so i’m just gonna slowly post those also sorry for the tiny lil cliffhanger i left y’all on that’s my bad, i hope you like it :)

Y/N didn't remember falling asleep. Lifting her head from the pillow, she noticed the lack of sunlight through her window, cracked slightly to allow the cool air in. The room faced East, catching even the slightest rays of early sun. Sitting up, she paused, a sudden, debilitating pain in her head stopped her in her tracks. Looking around the room, she noticed the figure sitting to her right, sleeping on a rigid, wooden chair.

His glasses sat askew on his nose, nearly falling from his face. His coat, discarded on the back of the chair, brushed the floor, swaying slightly beneath the breeze seeping from the open window.

Y/N made to stand again, this time prepared for the ache in her head. She stepped lightly on the floor, gently removing Pierre's spectacles, setting them on the wooden top of the nearby nightstand. After observing him for a moment, she moved to quietly retrieve a set of clothing from her dresser. She changed quickly in the washroom, skillfully maneuvering her hair into a presentable fashion.

With the staff out of the house, it was deadly silent. After determining the time as around four in the morning, she decided to make her way down to the kitchen and prepare some tea.

Humming quietly under her breath, she portioned out the leaves, moving to open the clasped window on the far side of the room.

The early morning air was wet with moisture, cool on her face. It reminded her of her night riding with Emil, the night before-

"No." she refused to indulge the thought. By no means was she over her grief, but she could not be seen as weak; with her father and sister gone, she would have to become an even greater presence in society. If high society caught even a whiff of frailty from a young, unmarried matriarch, they would pounce like a group of starving wolves.

Carrying a tray set for two, she looked into the room; Pierre was nowhere to be seen. Listening carefully, she heard the creaking of floorboards in her drawing room. Peering through the crack of the door, she saw him pacing, running his hand through his disheveled locks. If she quieted her breathing, she could make out a handful of the words he muttered under his breath.

"... saw her... should've been there... could've done something..."

Even with that handful of phrases, she had a good grasp on his state. He blamed himself. Not for Lise or her father's deaths, but for not being there for her.

She knocked. "Pierre?"

He started, head whipping toward Y/N; she stood in the doorway, tired, but much improved from yesterday.

"I-yes? Oh thank god, I woke up and you weren't there, I thought I had offended you, I'm so sorry-"

"Pierre," she moved forward, shaking her head. "You've done nothing to offend me. If anything, I should be apologizing to you."

"Whatever for?" his eyes narrowed in confusion, watching her carefully as she poured the tea, placing herself delicately on the edge of the chaise.

"You were forced to take care of me, that is not your responsibility. I'm deeply sorry to have been any sort of nuisance to you."

"Are you serious? Y/N don't be ridiculous. You didn't force me to do anything and you are most certainly not a nuisance."

She smiled, looking down at her hands. Pierre sat next to her, taking the small, porcelain cup she offered to him.

"I never asked; why did you come last night?" Y/N had been wondering that since her mind had fully blown away the fog of the last few days. A light, scarlet tint rose on his cheeks, hidden in the dim light of the candles.

"I found out about... about what happened yesterday and, when I heard people had seen you arrive, I wanted to see you, to... to help you, anything. But when I finally arrived, there was no one answering the door. I was going to leave but I heard a scream—your scream—and I thought something was happening."

"Oh... I see... well, still, I'm sorry you had to see me like... well, like that..." Y/N thought back to the crying, quivering mess she was just a handful of hours ago.

"You don't need to apologize for grieving. If anything I... I should have been there; If I'd known, I would've come to the funeral, I should've..." he stopped, looking down, "I should've been there..."

Y/N shook her head, placing her hand on his arm, "Pierre, you had no way of knowing. I'm not upset with you, you know that don't you?"

He met her gaze, laying his hand on her own. It was warm, lightly callused.

"I... yes, I just wish there was something I could have done."

"You've already done it Pierre. Last night I... I don't know what I would have done had you not been there, so... thank you, you are truly a wonderful friend."

"As are you."

"Well," she adjusted herself to be sitting more comfortably, sipping from her tea, "How is the great Count Bezukhov adjusting? It's been far too long since we've spoken."

Pierre laughed and, with the previous tension resolved, the two fell back into the habits of long-standing friendship.

_____

After nearly twenty minutes of Y/N convincing Pierre she was perfectly capable of living by herself for the next few days, he left, catching a cab at the end of the now sunlit street.

Now, it was time to plan. With her being the only remaining presence the Zhudov's had in high society, she would have to attend more fetes than she had previously. The next, conspicuously, was occurring in two days' time, hosted by the one and only Princess Helene Bezhukova. Under normal circumstances, Y/N would have observed the appropriate mourning period and returned to society in some months' time. However, if she was to be seen as the true head of the household, she would have to attend any upcoming parties. If she didn't establish herself as a prominent member of the aristocracy, she would be weak to the influence of other families.

Slowly, she made her way to the study, prepared to take on the enormous piles of paperwork her father had been too unwell to review.

Piled on his desk were countless bills, letters, and invitations, all covered in a thin layer of dust. They hadn't been disturbed since they'd been placed there, they were too neatly stacked to have been placed there by her father's arthritic fingers. In fact, most of the room was covered in a dusty film, showing its disuse.

After turning the gas for the lamps on, she began to sort through the piles. While they were neatly stacked, they were in no semblance of logical order.

The next several hours were occupied with all sorts of clerical work. Struggling tenants, business expenses, anything and everything her father failed to manage. She couldn't truly blame him of course; it wasn't his fault his health had declined so severely, but he had refused to hire any advisors who could take care of such issues in his stead.

It was mid evening by the time everything was sorted. She had taken a short break during the day for a small meal of grain bread with pear preserves. Now, with the sun setting, the ache of hunger began to set in.

Rising from her chair, Y/N left for the kitchen, peering into the pantry and the jars lining the counters. While the kitchen was well stocked with flour, sugar, and the like, there weren't really any heartier foods more fit for a meal. So, she improvised. The kitchen garden was stocked with squash, full and ripe, along with a number of other summer vegetables. The basket in her hands soon carried a small squash, a few stalks of celery, and a small number of other root vegetables.

With no sense of urgency, she began to cube them, humming an old folk rhyme under her breath. The words eluded her, but the melody was familiar. Her mother used to sing it to her when she had been ill, working herself to the bone for the sake of her child. Mother had been sick often in Y/N's youth; her body had never been particularly strong, ravaged by years of hunger and bitter winters.

But she was beautiful; long hair tied beneath her patched scarves, plump lips, and the bearing of royalty. She was kind, excessively so, always willing to help a neighbor, give what she could; she never turned a hungry soul away, even if it meant she'd have to starve herself. In the end, it was her kindness that killed her; at least, that's what the other villagers said. And, in a sense, they were right. She gave so much and, in her time of need, no one gave anything back. She'd died a starving, broken woman, forced to send her child to the man who abandoned them both.

Y/N had always held resentment towards her father. He hadn't known she'd existed. Not until she turned up at his door, dressed in rags, clutching an envelope containing her father's old seal ring as well as a letter from her mother, begging him to look after her. His wife, Lise's mother, was determined to turn her away, claiming she'd bring 'filthy blood' into the household but her father had insisted.

The first few months of her new life had been rough. Adjusting from a peasant girl living off of scraps and gruel to life as a Princess, one who was set for life.

Lise’s mother, Alyona Petrovich Meinena, was an angry woman. Angry at her husband, at her daughter, and herself. Lise, bless her heart, never quite measured up to Y/N, not where it counted, in her mother’s eyes, at least. Lise was incredibly kind, quite a gifted writer, and excellent on horseback. Her embroidery was average, at best, but still good, her musical abilities the same, her art, below average but still passable. Y/N’s wasn’t. She excelled in all those fields, not out of an abundance of natural talent, but out of fear. Fear that, if she failed to become the perfect child, the perfect heir, the perfect wife for a perfect match, she would be sent away, back to those cold forests and fields, spending hours digging at the frozen ground with her hands and a stick, wasting to nothingness just like her mother. But Lise’s mother didn’t know that, how could she? That woman had never done a hard days’ work in her life, unless you counted beating her ward, that is. The first two years weren’t terrible. The occasional slap on the cheek, ruler to the back of her hand, standard things. But then, as Y/N’s father began to travel more and more on business, leaving the girls alone with her, it got worse. While Lise sat in the music room, playing soft, little lullabies, Y/N sat on the floor of her room, denied dinner and locked inside. It was only when Alyona became sick that the beatings stopped. Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn't relieved when she'd heard the news of Alyona’s death.

After the stew had finished, she sat, cross-legged on the back steps, staring up into the vast expanse of the sky. The stars were bright, spread across the night's inky veil like dew on the morning grass. Densely packed, they shone like diamonds, illuminating the earth with the help of the waning moon. If she looked carefully, she could see familiar constellations, ones her mother would tell her stories of. They weren't the real stories, her mother would have had no way of knowing the real ones, but they still brought comfort to her on lonely nights; nights such as this.

Tomorrow, she would have to appear utterly regal and unbothered. It was going to be a long, arduous day.

[falling-feuilles]

me when i remember this fanfic i put so much effort into that i just fully forgot about for years :0

[falling-feuilles]

Take Me in Your Arms Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 7

CW/TW: General Grief

The drawing room was quiet, far too quiet to be celebrating the birth of a child.

 Little Nikolay slept, swaddled in his blanket. Marya and Bourienne fussed quietly over him, remarking over his tiny hands, his little nose; anything and everything they could.

"Il est tres précieux! He will grow into a 'andsome young man, I am sure of it."

 While the two of them chattered on, Andrei and Y/N were much less involved.

 Andrei, while clearly enamored with his son, loved him in a more silent, personal way. He was never one to flaunt his affections. Whether that was due to his father, or simply his own nature, one couldn't be sure. But do not think that he resented his son. If anything, Lise had created such a sense in Andrei that he resolved to devote himself to raising his son, rather than giving his life as cannon fodder for some foolish war.

Andrei moved forward to take the child; his child, holding the small babe gently in his arms.

Y/N, on the other hand, could barely look at the child. She hadn't held him, in fact, she'd refused when asked.

She knew it wasn't his fault; he was a child, these things happened, Lise had already been at risk and she'd known exactly what it was she had been risking.

He looked so much like her. Too much for Y/N to bear. The curve of his petite nose, the cleft of his tiny chin, even his eyes. She had seen them open for a mere moment, it couldn't have been longer than a second, and yet, she couldn't bear it. The same soft, silky blue as his mother. As Andrei quietly soothed the now fussy child, Y/N's mind began to drift back to the week prior...

~

The very world seemed to mourn with the small procession; rain fell in torrents, turning the once-brittle earth into a thick, miserable muck. Armed with umbrellas, the attendees surrounded the twin caskets. The priest began to speak, prattling on about the tragedy that had befallen the family. First Lise in childbirth, then her father upon hearing the news. His heart finally gave out. This left Princess Y/N Zhudova as the sole heir to a considerable fortune.

Y/N stood nearest the caskets, arm hooked into Andrei's. Despite the Priest's speech, people continued to talk, muttering to each other. Y/N heard it all.

These things happen... poor thing was too young... it's a shame... I can't believe he left everything to his bastard...

With those words, the funeral, instead of honoring the dead, became about her. She was inheriting the entirety of the Zhudov estate. After observing the expected mourning period, she would have find a husband of similar, if not higher, rank.

 Already, she heard fathers and mothers telling their sons of the prospects such an influential woman would give them. All this power, this influence, were her's to wield. And wield them she would.

~

Y/N had left as soon as she could, desperate to get away from that tainted place. After saying her goodbyes, making them as brief as she possibly could, she'd all but fled the Bolkonsky Estate.

With the funeral and Nikolay's baptism out of the way, Y/N returned to the Zhudov household, not as a daughter, but as a matriarch.

Upon arriving to the house, she was greeted by the housekeeper, a woman she'd known her entire life.

"Madame, welcome back."

 "Thank you Yelena, I hope you've assembled the staff inside?" Y/N pulled her gloves off, adjusting her inky black traveling coat. Yelena nodded, thin lips pressed into a sad smile.

"Yes, Madame, they're in the foyer."

"Perfect, thank you." “Before you go inside, I have some concerns.”

“Oh?” Y/N stopped, allowing Yelena to lead her away from the driver. Her tight, lined face screwed up in an expression of concern and paranoia.

“Yes Madame… I fear that some of the staff may have complaints about you being the head of the household now. I’ve heard talk that some—I don’t know who—” she interjected before Y/N could ask, “Are being paid by young gentlemen’s families who wish for you to marry their sons. To my understanding, they each intend to ruin your reputation as a means to force you into a marriage with their sons to secure your fortune.”

“I see…” Y/N was silent for a minute; one could almost hear the gears in her head, turning as seamlessly as the gears of her father’s precious pocket watch.

 “... Madame, what-?”

“Yelena,” she turned back towards the matronly woman, eyes sharpened like the edge of an officer’s saber.

“Y-yes Madame?”

“I have a plan, but I will need your help in carrying it out, can I trust you?” Yelena, caught off guard, nodded vigorously. Y/N had known her since she was a little girl, ever since she’d moved to live with her father. “Good.”

 Y/N strode inside, scanning the small crowd of household staff, made up of about twenty individuals, each waiting.

"Good day, everyone. As I'm sure you're aware, I will be taking over for my father in heading the affairs of the household. As you know, there is a lot of work to be done. However," Y/N continued, "As unorthodox as it may be, I would like you all to take the rest of the week off. You'll return on Monday. If you have any questions, feel free to give them to Yelena, who can inform me if she sees fit."

There was silence for a few moments, then quiet whispers between the staff. Then, they began to disperse, talking amongst themselves. As they left, a few sent strange, questioning looks towards the new matriarch.

Y/N beckoned Yelena to follow her, leading her into her father's... her study. Y/N shut and locked the door behind her.

"I'm going to ask you to do one small thing for me."

"Yes, Madame, anything you need." Y/N paused for a second, before continuing.

"When the staff inevitably ask you why I've done this, I want you to give each of them a different reason. I need to see who is loyal to our household; to me. I don't care what it is as long as it can be easily disproved; give me a list of names with the lies so I can keep track. In a week's time, we shall know who I can trust. Once you've given them each their stories, you are free to go as well."

"I... yes, ma- I mean, yes Lady Y/N... I will do as you say." 

Yelena left, muttering under her breath. Once the door shut behind the retreating woman, Y/N sank in her chair, shaking violently. The tears began to prick at her eyes, exacerbated by the sharp, unrelenting pounding of her head.

How am I to do this? My god, I’ve barely taken the mantle and already people conspire against me… 

 She had hardly allowed herself the time to mourn at the Bolkonsky estate. With everyone bustling around, there hadn’t been the time for it. Not just Lise, but father as well. Her only remaining family had been destroyed in a matter of days. She still had the child, of course. Lise’s child. Her nephew; the one she could hardly bear to look at. Y/N nearly broke down there and then, but she managed to contain herself. Just until they leave, you can make it til then became her mantra, whispered ever increasingly under her breath. Before she knew it, the long case clock struck twelve, shocking her out of her obsessive reverie.

Looking up, she noticed a small piece of parchment, lined with Yelena's  meticulous script. She must've placed it there while Y/N was less than mentally present.

Skimming through the list, she noted a few familiar names; Alexandra, the young girl whose mother had been suffering from consumption. She was lucky enough to survive, but the disease had ravaged her body beyond repair. Anna, the maid whose sister had been ill and on her last weeks of her life, had passed some months prior while Y/N had been away. She recognized most of the names, able to link them with faces she'd seen around the house.

Standing from her chair, she walked out into the hallway, moving to her room. It was only when she felt warm rivulets of water travel down her neck did she become aware of the tears streaming down her face. Wiping them from her face, trying desperately to regain her vision, Y/N entered her room, all but ripping the heavy dress and stays from her skin. Now, dressed in just her chemise and stockings, her knees gave out. She fell. Hard. Knees smacking against the wooden floor. She was certain she'd bruised them, but she didn't care. 

 A wretched, choked scream escaped her lips, releasing all the grief she'd hidden for the past week. By the time she'd ran out of breath, her vision was spotty, her throat raw and painfully, desperately dry. It was on her fifth attempt to stand that she finally made it back on her feet, leaning heavily against the back of a nearby chair. Her breath came in great, gasping heaves, but she couldn't get enough. It was becoming harder and harder to see, her eyes wouldn't stay open. 

 She heard rapid footsteps, but she was sure all the staff had left. They were getting louder, more frantic with each second. Soon after, she heard her name. The door burst open, revealing the familiar figure of a young man, panting with exertion. Y/N, doubled over and leaning on the chair, couldn't make out his face.

 "Y/N? Y/N, what-" he rushed forward, catching her before she could fold to the floor again. "Are you hurt?"

No response.

"N/N please..." Finally, she looked up.

"P... Pierre..."

"Yes, that's good..." Pierre looked around; what should he do? She was clearly distressed and, at the rate she was breathing, she'd pass out, "Listen, N/N, please, you have to breathe, please..."

Her hand wound into the fabric of his coat, fingers trembling violently. "I.. I-I can't, I can't-" she gulped, gasping for breath.

"Alright, that's alright, you just need to try, please just-" Y/N's knees buckled again, slumping her against Pierre's chest. 

 He lowered her to the ground, leaning her back against the edge of the bed-frame. He placed his hands on her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"N/N breathe, you're alright, everything is going to be fine..."

Pierre wrapped his arms around her, feeling her hands grasp tightly at his back. Violent, heaving sobs shook her entire body. 

~

Neither of them were sure how long they'd sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, but, when they finally parted, it felt far too short. Y/N's face was splotched with red, tear-stained; she looked exhausted. Judging by the dark circles beneath her eyes, she hadn't slept in days.

"I... thank you, Pierre..."

"Y-yes, of course. I... I'm so sorry, N/N, about Lise, about your father... I'm so, so sorry..."

She smiled softly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"As am I..."

[falling-feuilles]

Phew! Sorry it's been so long. My mental health really took a turn for the worse; that added on to classwork has just been absolutely miserable. I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to write again, but I'll be sure to keep you posted. Merci my lovelies, hope you're having a great year so far!

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 6

TW/CW: Major Character Death, Childbirth, Blood

The days following the letter's arrival were hard. To keep Lise from worrying, Marya and Y/N were forced to keep up appearances, made to quietly grieve during the night when the rest of the household slept. The Old Prince’s already miserable attitude was exacerbated to the point where Y/N refused to eat meals with the man, opting to dine in her own quarters instead.

One particular day, Y/N spent its first half attempting to write her letter to Pierre, to no avail. If only it had come as easy to her as it did to the employees who wrote to first inform them of his passing. After spending nearly an hour trying to write the first sentence, she dropped her head, laying her cheek upon the smooth chestnut, letting out a weary sigh.

“N/N, are you quite well?” Marya stuck her head through the door, noting Y/N’s disheveled appearance.

“Yes, I… I’m trying to write to Pierre to… to tell him about Andrei. He deserves to hear it from one of us rather than in passing at some ridiculous fete.”

Marya sighed, peering out into the hall once more before closing the door, stepping fully into the room.

“You’re right, it would be best to hear it from you as well, you and him are quite close.”

“Quite… I only wish he could just know without me having to tell him… it’s going to send him spiraling Marya, I almost fear he won’t recover…”

“I know… maybe you should put it off for a few more days; you, father, and I are the only people who know, not even Tikhon and the servants are aware. You said Pierre was traveling, yes?”

“I believe so, or he will be shortly, why do you ask?”

“If you send the letter and it arrives when he isn’t there, who do you think will open it?”

“Helene.”

“Precisely, and we both know she won’t be nearly as kind about it. Until we know for sure where he is and where Helene isn’t, I think you should bide your time.”

“You are right, as usual. Marya,” Y/N placed her hand on Marya’s shoulder, “Thank you, you are a true friend, I surely would have gone mad with worry were it not for you.”

Marya smiled, weary face breaking into uncharacteristic joy.

“I am merely returning the favor. Now, I should head to Father’s study, he has me working on a new lesson today, I barely understood the last one.”

She sighed, turning to the door.

“Supposing I were to go to your chambers at, say, eight o’clock? Would you perhaps have the time for a tutoring session?”

Marya nodded, leaving the room. Y/N, after ensuring Marya was out of earshot, slammed her fist onto the desk, causing the various bottles and trinkets placed upon it to jump in the air, clattering back down to the darkly stained surface.

“Damn it…”

~

The fields surrounding the Bolkonsy property were vast, colored dark emerald by the night sky. Had it been in the city, Y/N would never have risked walking at such a time. However, in the country, escorted by a large shire, she felt perfectly safe. The stars, while visible in the city, shown twice as bright in the clear skies, unclouded and free from the countless buildings decorating the streets of St Petersburg. From her perch on Emil's broad back, the rolling meadows stretched on for acres, encumbered only by the wooded groves sprinkled across the estate. The thin, winding path beneath her was neglected, unused by the members of the household. The vast property had many paths strewn throughout, only a small number remained in use. Although Prince Bolkonsky regularly walked the property, he only ever used the same trail. He was a man of habit, exact to the point of madness.

A small rustling to her left startled Emil, causing him to shuffle away, snorting indignantly.

"Easy, easy..."

Lightly, she sprung down from the saddle, landing firmly on the mottled path. Unwilling to move closer, and unable to flee her side, Emil stood perfectly still, hot air issuing from his snout.

Calmly, she moved towards the brush, noting the movement of the grasses. Carefully parting the grass, she found a small litter fox cub, rolling around in the leaves, struggling to re-orient itself. A few meters away, she noted the familiar signs of a fox burrow, tucked into the side of the small mound to her right. Kneeling next to the small creature, she heard it whimpering, calling for its mother. Gently, she scooped the small creature into her arm, creeping quietly towards the den. By the moonlight, she saw a few other small figures curled up, guarded by their mother. Her head was up, pitch black eyes fixed on Y/N, ready to pounce should the need arise.

"Don't fret, I'm just here to return this little one."

Y/N held out the small ball of fur, catching the attention of the mother. She shuffled forward, wary, but determined. Nudging her nose into the cubs fur, she bit down on the nape of its neck, lifting it from her gloved hands.

She stood to leave, but the ribs pushing through the mother's silvery fur gave her pause. Holding out a hand, hoping she would understand the gesture, Y/N hurried back to Emil; he was calmer, knowing the mysterious creature was just a fox seemed to calm his nerves, though he still watched the malnourished canine with his large, muddy eyes.

Digging through Emil's vast saddlebags, Y/N searched for the small tied bag hidden deep in its recesses. Finally, her fingers brushed the familiar canvas, drawing it out of the leather satchel.

"Here," she held out a hunk of salted meat, allowing the mother to inspect it. After a few good sniffs, she gingerly removed it from Y/N's fingers, scarfing it down. The cub was nowhere in sight, presumably hidden back in the darkness of the burrow.

Expectantly, the mother looked to Y/N again, nudging her hand. Chuckling, she held out another piece, feeling the fox's damp nose brush her fingers.

After ensuring the mother was properly fed, Y/N stood back up again, tentatively placing a hand on the fox's head, scratching the spot just behind her pointed ears.

The cubs began to whine, calling for their mother. With one last look towards Y/N, she stalked back into the den, disappearing from view. She swung her leg back over the saddle, grasping the reins with her hand.

"Come, Emil, let's head back before someone notices we've gone."

He huffed, trotting along the path, back towards the faint lights of the house.

~

The next morning, she made her way to the small dining room to break fast with the ladies of the household. Marya, seated primly at the head of the table, looked to her as she entered, gesturing for her to take a seat. Lise, seated to her right, looked highly uncomfortable.

"Lise, are you quite well?"

Y/N sat beside her sister, placing a hand to her forehead.

"Yes, yes... something in my breakfast must have disagreed with me-"

"Look at her. She's very pale!" Bourienne stood, looking closer at Lise's face.

She let out a sharp whimper of pain, dropping her spoon.

"Lise... I think it's time."

"We'd better send for Maria Bogdanovna," Bourienne moved forward, placing her hand on Marya's arm.

"Yes, I think you're right, I'll go and see to it." Marya sped away, muttering frantically under her breath.

"Courage, mon ange!" Bourienne pressed a kiss to Lise's cheek,

Lise was in clear distress, grasping her sister's hand. Y/N stood by her side, brushing Lise's blond locks away from her damp face.

"No! Can it be, so soon? But surely it's just a stomach ache?"

"It's best to be on the safe side, ma cherie."

With help from Bourienne and another of the maids, Y/N managed to get Lise into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed.

"Lise, look at me, you have to breathe, you'll be just fine."

~

The next few hours passed in a miserable tirade of screaming, stress, and no small amount of fear. Like her father, Lise had a weak heart; while not nearly as detrimental to her health, it was the main reason physicians were so insistent she rested frequently, even more than the average expectant mother would. Y/N, although she begged to be let inside the room, she was denied each time. Instead of being by her sister’s side, she waited by the window, eyes searching desperately for the carriage bearing the doctor. Marya stepped nearer, lowering herself to sit beside Y/N.

“Have you heard anything from the midwife?”

“No,” Marya placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, “But, they did say you could see her for a moment or two.”

“Truly?” Marya nodded, moving so Y/N could pass her, making a beeline straight for the room.

Inside, Lise lay sprawled on the bed, coated in sweat, face twisted into a pained grimace. Her breath came in short pants, dry and uneven. Y/N dashed to her side, nearly pushing over a nearby maid. Lise reached out her hand, grasping tightly at Y/N's as another painful contraction wracked her frail body.

"Sister... you... y..."

"Shhh, hush, my darling Lise, all will be well, you're doing wonderfully, I'm so proud of you."

The midwife moved to Y/N's side, all but shoving her away.

"My lady you must leave."

"I... yes, of course, Lise," she bent over her sister's prone form, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek, "I will see you as soon as I can, alright? I love you."

Y/N was pushed from the room before Lise could murmur a response. Down the hall, she noticed Marya jump from her seat next to the window, dashing down the stairs. Y/N followed on her heels, skirts bunched in her hands.

The night air was fresh and cool, a drastic change from the warm, stale air of Lise's room. Stepping outside, Y/N could see what drew Marya out the door, the doctor's carriage.

"Thank god, what took so-" Y/N stopped, eyes catching the face of the man exiting the carriage. "A... Andrei..."

Marya rushed forward to embrace her brother, leaping into his arms. Y/N stood back, eyes wide, open-mouthed.

How?! I thought... she said...

"Andrei, Lise is inside." Her voice was quiet. Even. But dreadfully quiet. Was it the shock? Fear, even? Regardless, the group didn't have much time to waste, the doctor hurried up the front steps, guided by Marya. Andrei followed quickly behind, leaving Y/N to take up the tail end of the chase.

"You..." Lise gasped as he entered the room, reaching for him.

"My darling..." He took her face in his hands, pressing a feverish kiss to her forehead. Before any further words could be exchanged, the doctor moved to Andrei's side, placing a hand on his arm.

"If you would wait outside, your Excellency. I must insist, it's for the best." Andrei, despite his wish to remain, left the room, wincing as Lise let out another pained yell.

Y/N, still grappling with Andrei's return, sat outside, stiff as a board. With each of Lise's cries, her fingertips dug more and more tightly into the ball of her thumb; soft flesh yielding beneath the increasing pressure. Andrei, seemingly unable to stand by any longer, made another futile attempt to enter.

He barely managed to open the door a crack before it was slammed in his face.

"No, no, you mustn't come in!"

A few more moments passed.

Another intense scream. A few seconds of silence. Then, the cry of a baby. Andrei flew into the room, Y/N hot on his trail.

The doctor stood, holding a small, damp bundle in his arms. At the sight of Andrei, he quickly transferred the swaddling to the new father's arms.

"Your son, your excellency..."

Y/N moved to Lise's side, noting the blood staining the sheets. It was everywhere. Coating her skin, pooled beneath her, leaving a sticky, scarlet film on the midwife's hands.

It was too much. Far too much.

"Lise...? Lise please..."

No response. Y/N moved closer, grabbing her hand. It was limp in her grasp, lifeless. She knew, and yet, she refused to believe it.

"I'm sorry, your excellency... she's gone..."

[falling-feuilles]

I’ve decided to change up the cover and the title, I wasn’t super happy with them to begin with so let’s hope these stick

The background image comes from an engraving of the comet of 1811 (can’t find the artist)

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 5

TW/CW: Discussions of abuse, major character death (kind of; if you know, you know)

Y/N woke late the next morning to a light tapping. She opened her eyes slowly, taking a deep breath before becoming fully aware of the knocking on her door. Sitting up quickly, she grabbed a robe and tied it around herself, careful to cover herself fully, and opened the door. Marya stood outside, dressed and ready for the day, looking conflicted.

“I’m sorry, N/N, I didn’t know you were still sleeping…”

Y/N rubbed the sleep from her eyes, shaking her head.

“No, no it’s fine, what is it?”

Marya, looked to the ground, seemingly debating whether or not to tell her.

“The Prince, he… I saw him and Madame Bourrienne…”

Y/N immediately understood, opening the door wide enough for Marya to slip inside. Marya sat herself down on one of the upholstered chairs in the corner, wringing her hands together. It was quiet for a few moments, Y/N allowing Marya the chance to speak before saying her piece. When Marya remained silent, Y/N sat beside her, placing a tentative hand on her friend’s.

“Men like Anatole Kuragin, they don’t deserve women like you. He is, to put it mildly, an absolute scumbag…”

Marya let out a quiet chuckle, lips turning up slightly at the edges.

“I’d hoped he’d changed since last I spoke with him. I should’ve known better, men like him don’t change…”

“I’m going to refuse his proposal,” Marya spoke, abruptly, looking straight into Y/N’s eyes.

“I think that would be wise.”

They sat in comfortable silence a few moments longer, appreciating each other’s company. Y/N’s mind began to wonder, considering whether or not she should disclose Andrei’s letter to Marya. She stood, gliding over to the leaves of paper on her desk. Feeling Marya’s eyes on her back as she sifted through them, searching for the familiar, irritatingly neat script belonging to her brother in law. Withdrawing the note from its parchment prison, she held it out for Marya to inspect, sitting back down.

“Andrei wrote… I’m not sure when the letter’s from, but he said he’s in good health.”

Marya’s eyes lit up, quickly scanning the brief note; she visibly relaxed, giving a small smile.

“I’m so relieved, I was worried sick about him. I’m’ guessing you aren’t going to tell Lise?”

Y/N furrowed her brows, thinking of how best to explain herself. She opened her mouth, before being stopped by Marya.

“I understand. If you think it’s best for her, then I trust your judgement.” Marya smiled, reassuring Y/N. With a final squeeze of her friend’s hand, Marya stood, excusing herself to the difficult conversation she would now have to have with her father and the two houseguests.

~

The days passed quickly in the country, allowing Y/N plenty of time to push away the problems crowding her mind. This day in particular, Y/N had elected to spend with her sister, thinking of the possible things they could get up to as she dressed herself. She finally felt safe enough to wear short sleeves again, the bruises on her wrist having faded to nothing more than an unnoticeable, indiscernibly-shaped discoloration. The dress was light, more practical than many of the dresses she wore while in the city. 

Lise was easy to find; she usually spent the first part of the morning walking around the property, as was recommended by her physician. However, Lise had grown considerably larger since she’d first arrived; now, she spent her days sitting on the porch or placed in the study, making conversation with any who would join her. The former was where her sister found her that morning; sitting on a suspended swing, cushions on either side of her.

“N/N!” Lise beckoned her over, patting the space next to her, “Come sit with me, the weather’s so lovely!”

Y/N smiled, glad to see her sister in such good spirits. With little to no news from Andrei, Lise was prone to spiralling into consideration of all the possibilities of what could’ve happened to him. Y/N hadn’t told Lise of the letter, wanting to respect Andrei’s wishes. However, after receiving no letters from him since, even she began to worry.

“How are you feeling today, darling?” Y/N placed herself on the swing next to her sister, allowing Lise to adjust herself to face her.

“The little one’s been very active, kicking every chance he gets.” Lise grabbed Y/N’s hand lightly, placing it on her round stomach. After a moment, Y/N felt a small pressure on the palm of her hand. “He loves his aunt N/N.”

“As he should, I will spoil this child rotten, you know that don’t you?” Y/N laughed, wrapping her arm around Lise, placing her head on her shoulder.

“I’d expect nothing less, as long as you don’t pass on your bad habits to him.”

“Bad habits?” Y/N faked shock, placing a hand dramatically to heart. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh please, I know how many fights you got into when you first moved in with us. Remember that stableboy? Boris?”

Y/N contemplated the name for a moment, the memory resurfacing.

“He had it coming! The boy wouldn’t leave me alone!”

“You didn’t have to strike him! You should’ve just told father, he would’ve taken care of it.”

Y/N paled at the mention of their father, hand ghosting over the barest traces of the mark he’d left on her; she began to wish that she had worn long sleeves. Lise noticed her sister’s rapid change in emotions, seeing her hand on the faded bruises on her arm. This wasn’t the first time she’d reacted as such to the mention of their father. Lise had ignored it one too many times.

“N/N, what is it? And before you say ‘nothing’ just know that I’m more observant than you give me credit for.”

Avoiding her sister’s piercing gaze, Y/N opted to look at a loose thread in her dress, picking at it with her fingers.

“N/N, just tell me!”

Lise’s outburst shocked Y/N, forcing her to meet her sister’s gaze.

“Father, he’s… I didn’t want to tell you…”

 Lise was confused. The last she’d seen of her father was at her wedding. As far as she knew, he was in as good of health as usual; maybe a little less physically active, but mentally sound.

“What’s wrong with father?”

Y/N let out a nervous breath, placing her hand around her wrist, matching her fingers with the location of her father’s. Although her hand was smaller than her father’s, the concentration of the bruise’s markings fit her own almost perfectly.

“He’s been… getting worse. His heart’s okay, for now, but his mind… Lise, I swear some days he doesn’t recognize me. Sometimes he thinks I’m my mother, but most days he just stares through me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? He’s my father too, I could have-”

“I was worried for you!” Y/N was clearly losing the composed facade she had built up over the past months. Her breathing became less and less steady, her hand began to shake as it held her wrist. She moved closer to Lise, grasping her sister’s hands, desperately searching for some sort of anchor. “I knew if I told you you’d try to help and I couldn’t let him hurt you… Lise, he’s been… so different, I couldn’t let him-” Lise was growing more and more upset, trying to extricate her hands from the iron grip of her sister.

“He’s my father, he wouldn’t hurt me!” Lise wrenched her hands out from beneath Y/N’s, leaving her grasping for something, anything to hold on to.

“That’s what I thought!” Y/N’s voice broke. Despite her frailty, she sat straight, head up. She had to be strong, if not for herself, for Lise. Lise became quiet, realizing the truth of her sister’s words.

“I was so, so wrong…”

“Oh, N/N…” Lise wrapped her arms around her, cradling her sister close to her heart. 

Y/N didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried since her mother died. But on this one occasion, she made an exception. Hot, salty tears fell freely from her eyes, distorting her vision. They ran down her face, dripped from her chin, and tracked down her neck, uninterrupted. She didn’t wipe them away, nor did Lise. They sat, Lise sheltering Y/N, murmuring soothing words as though she was a sad child. But, Y/N wasn’t sad, nor was she angry, afraid, or any other emotion one would normally associate tears with. She was relieved. That relief, however, was short lived.

~

With the immense weight of her struggles lifted from her shoulders, Y/N felt lighter, much lighter. Having passed the majority of the day with Lise, painting, reading, and the like, she was spent, moving upstairs to get some well-deserved rest. 

The halls were quiet, filled with only the sounds of her light footsteps and the occasional creaking floorboard. As she moved past Marya’s room, she heard noises within. They sounded like crying. Y/N knocked lightly, hearing a quiet clatter from beyond the closed door. Marya cracked open the door, peering into the hallway. Upon seeing Y/N’s concerned face, she sighed with relief, opening the door to allow her inside. Marya’s room was simple, free from embellishments and luxuries, everything in its place. Everything save for the necklace Marya usually wore, left discarded on the floor. Looking to Marya, finally noticing the tear streaks on her flushed cheeks.

“Marya, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Marya took a moment before speaking, trying to form the words.

“Andrei… he…”

Oh… no… no, no, no, this can’t be happening…

Trying desperately to maintain her composure, Y/N placed a hand on Marya’s shoulder, looking into her red rimmed eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Marya… have you told Lise?”

“No… and I’ve told Father not to tell her either.”

“Good, that’s… good.” Y/N moved to the door, pulling it open with a trembling hand. “Good night, Marya…”

Before Marya could protest, Y/N shut the door, walking briskly to her room.

Hold it together, Y/N… nearly there…

Just as the facade began to fall, Y/N managed to get in the door, again grateful that it was far from any other room in the house. A wretched moan escaped her lips. Unable to move any further, she slid against the door, landing roughly on the floor. She tried to steady her breathing, regain the composure with which she protected herself. Her and Andrei had their disagreements, sure, but he was like a brother. Aside from Pierre, he was her closest friend.

Pierre.

Someone would have to tell Pierre. She would have to tell Pierre.

But that could wait.

[falling-feuilles]

Hi! Just wanna tell you that I absolutely adore your writing! Keep up with the splendid work!

you're too sweet, I can't tell you how much this made my day ♥️

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 4

CW/TW: N/A

It was late the next week when she received the letter. That morning had been a busy one; the household had been preparing for guests they would be receiving early the following week. She, despite her significant reservations regarding the guests in question, decided it would be best if she pretended the proposal she had received from the younger of the two hadn’t occurred. Bolkonsky had been storming around the house, seemingly unaffected at the approaching visit. Although he insisted the choice was hers to make, Y/N could tell the old Prince was upset that Marya could possibly be leaving, newly married to Anatole Kuragin, for life in the city.

When the letter arrived, she managed to slip away for a few moments to read it. The first thing she noticed was the return address listed on the envelope. She had almost feared that her last letter hadn’t made it into his hands; he usually wrote back within a few days' time. Carefully, she opened the seal, managing not to split it while doing so. The letter was short, shorter than she had expected it to be. She read through it quickly, stopping halfway into the message. Her hand shot out, quickly grabbing the envelope sitting on her desk. She looked carefully at the seal, noticing its purely white coloring. This wasn’t a letter from Pierre, this was an invitation. An invitation to his wedding. His wedding to Helene Kuragina.

Then came the shock. She had never expected Helene would marry Pierre. She was too vain, too narcissistic, too repulsed by Pierre to have been truly interested in him. Nor had she expected Pierre would ever ask. Y/N decided that the Prince Vassily must’ve been responsible for the engagement. Thinking it over, she wasn’t surprised. After the old Count’s death and Vassily’s failure to secure the fortune, it made sense that he would do everything in his power to receive some semblance of the wealth Pierre inherited.

She refolded the letter, carefully sliding the paper back into the envelope. After regaining her mental faculties, she stood, turning to face the dwindling flame of her fireplace. Glowing embers fell periodically onto the stone beneath the blackened logs. The letter felt heavier in her hand than it had a few moments ago. As soon as the letter was placed on the flaming timbers, it ignited; white wax bubbled, dripping down what remained of the invitation.

Y/N knew she would have to respond to the letter, but she would save that for the evening. She would decline; Lise needed the company. At least, that’s what she would tell him. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she would be able to watch Pierre marry someone like her. Y/N had seen it happen before, and she didn’t want to see it again, much less to someone like Pierre. Nevertheless, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it, even if she tried.

~

The Kuragins’ visit approached quickly. To Y/N, it felt like just the next day they pulled into the Bolkonsky’s drive. Anatole and Vassily stepping out of the ornate carriage. Y/N watched from the window, highly uninterested in spending any more time with the pair than necessary. A sharp knock on the door brought her to her feet, striding quickly to open it. Outside, Marya stood, out of place in her colorful clothes and faintly rouged cheeks.

“Marya, what-?"

"N/N, I feel so foolish dressed like this, I-”

Y/N cut her off, drawing her into the room. “Marya, you look fine," she sat her on the nearest chair, moving to grab the water pitcher sitting on the nearest table. After pouring Marya a glass of water and placing it in her hands, she sat in the chair beside her.

“He won’t like me, I know it…”

“Marya,” she thought about what to say, not wanting to ruin Marya’s chances for a marriage that would be beneficial for her but also not wanting to get her hopes up when she knew the kind of man Anatole was, “if he’s a man worthy of your affections, then he will be noble, kind, and love you regardless of what you wear. If he isn’t, then he isn’t worth your time or your hand. Marya nodded, seemingly comforted by this statement. Y/N set her hand on Marya’s, squeezing it lightly before she stood, beckoning her to the door. “You should head downstairs, they’re probably waiting for you. I’ll be down in a minute, just let me get dressed.”

Marya nodded, shutting the door quietly behind her as she left. Y/N quickly removed her house clothes, easily undoing the clasps holding the dress together. She sifted through the fabric, looking for something appropriate for a visit like this. A dress quickly caught her eye, and just as quickly closed around her waist. It was modest, anything to avoid the attention of Anatole. Long sleeves with a high collar, much like something Marya would wear. She heard laughter and conversation begin to drift up the stairs and decided that she should join the group.

As she entered, the conversation quieted slightly, short introductions were made, and the talking continued. Unfortunately, the only remaining seating was next to Anatole. Y/N sat, placing herself as far away from him as possible without making her aversion known. Vassily began making small talk with her as the others continued to speak.

“Ah, Princess Y/Y, have you heard the good news? Pierre and Helene are married.”

“I have, I have. A very… auspicious match for dear Helene, give her my congratulations.”

“Oh, you didn’t attend, did you? I thought you and the Count were good friends.”

“We are,” she thought quickly, searching for her excuse, “I just didn’t want to abandon my sister, she’s in a very delicate state and needs the companionship.”

Vassily nodded, seeming to understand.

“Yes, it would be a… terrible shame if something were to happen. I’m sure it was for the best, Count Bezukhov doesn’t need any distractions.”

Distractions? Nothing could distract Pierre from Helene, that much she knew. Besides, Pierre was grown and could make his own mistakes. An awkward silence fell over the two, and they turned back to the main conversation, catching the quiet words between Marya and Anatole. She could tell Marya was intrigued, how could she not be? A girl who’d never received compliments like this from a man before, much less a rich, handsome one who seemed interested in her.

She excused herself, having deemed the amount of social interaction with the two men enough, and moved back to her room. Luckily, her room was quite far from the parlor of the house, allowing for plenty of distance from the guests. Her violin sat neatly in its case next to the linen-press in her room. After ensuring it was tuned and her bow was tightened, she began to play it softly. She wasn’t sure what she was playing, but it was good. Walking slowly around the room, she continued to play, noticing a new paper on her desk. Abruptly, she stopped, setting her violin gently on the chair and moving towards the letter. It was from Andrei. Y/N’s eyes widened, snatching up the letter.

It was short, very short. But, it was better than nothing. He told Y/N not to tell Lise that he’d written this, not wanting her to worry or expect consistent letters. Andrei said he was okay, he wasn’t injured or anything of the sort, thankfully. Y/N continued to read through the message, noticing how labored his handwriting was. He must’ve been exhausted when he wrote it. Surprisingly, he had apologized to her, something she had not been expecting. She set it down with a small smile, ensuring it was well hidden under the other stacks of parchment on her desk.

At least he’s safe, for now.

[falling-feuilles]

hello! I will be posting the next chapter later tonight, thank you for your patience with me I really appreciate it. merci my lovelies ❤️

hello all

sorry for the delay in getting the next chapter out. it's been a busy few weeks and with this election my anxiety has gone through the roof. thank you for understanding ♥️

[falling-feuilles]

hello all

sorry for the delay in getting the next chapter out. it's been a busy few weeks and with this election my anxiety has gone through the roof. thank you for understanding ♥️

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 3

CW/TW: N/A

Early the next morning, Y/N woke; alone in the sitting room. The teaset sat undisturbed, save for the small, folded note addressed to her. Its familiar, slanting script informed her of the message’s author: Pierre. He was nowhere to be seen; all that remained of his presence was the empty teacup, placed neatly back on its saucer. 

She reached for the paper, noting the looseness of her bandages as she did so. The note was simple, and the ink wasn’t completely dried; it was written recently, and in somewhat of a hurry. On the paper, Pierre expressed his gratitude for her hospitality and companionship. She smiled, reading through the note a second time, noticing he had scratched out a word. Despite his best efforts to remove the letters, Y/N could still see their outline when held up to her window. They read “Your love friendship is, as always, a great comfort…” the note continued on after that, but her eyes kept going back to the word. Love. She loved Pierre deeply, he was her closest friend, so why did she keep focusing on that word? Why did Pierre cross it out? She shook her head, blinking back into reality. Those were thoughts for another, less busy, day.

Y/N, after carefully refolding the paper and, after slipping it into her pocket, examined her wrist. The fabric was fraying slightly, with a few ink stains on the piece between her thumb and forefinger. She gently unwound the binding, carefully maneuvering the remaining cotton between her fingers. The mark was dark indigo in the center, ringed with green. She rewrapped the sprain with a clean roll of cotton, not as neatly or as tightly as Alexandra would have, but enough for the bandage to function as it should.

Her carriage was to leave at eight in the morning, arriving at the Bolkonsky residence well before noon. The dull ticking of the grandfather clock to her left reminded her of this prior commitment. Its hands read as just before seven, giving her plenty of time to prepare for the day.

The morning passed in a blur, despite the dullness of the carriage ride. She spent the majority of it worrying for Pierre and the influence Prince Vassily might have on his future. This type of thinking, she decided, wasn’t of much use; and, although she tried to think about what these next few months had in store for her, Pierre was never far from her mind.

It had been a number of years since she’d last visited the Bolkonskys, the last time being for the purposes of seeing Marya, Andrei’s sister. Marya was one of the kindest, most gentle people she had met, and it pained Y/N to see her so meek and trodden on by her father. As the carriage pulled up to the steps, Y/N saw Tikhon, the butler, outside the house awaiting her arrival. He opened the carriage door, offering her a gloved hand.

“My lady,” he began as she placed a foot on the ground, “Your sister and the Princess are in the sitting room awaiting your arrival.”

“Tikhon, you’re looking well.”

“Thank you, my lady. You are as radiant as ever.” She smiled, moving inside the large manor. The familiar lilt of conversation aerated throughout the entrance hall, originating from the open doors to her left. As soon as she entered, she was greeted with a hug from her sister.

“N/N! Finally, you’re here!” Lise was clearly adjusting well to life with Marya and Mademoiselle Bourrienne.

“Yes, yes, I hope you haven’t missed me too terribly in our single day apart.” Y/N chuckled, kissing her sister’s forehead.

“Y/N…” Marya stood from the couch, moving to embrace Y/N.

“It’s been far too long, Marya. I hope you’ve been keeping well?”

“As well as I can,” she sounded sad, and Y/N couldn’t blame her. Marya quickly smiled, attempting to change the slightly somber mood back to the joyful one it had been mere moments before, “But, much better now that you and Lise are here.”

Y/N squeezed her shoulder gently before turning to sit next to her sister, who hadn’t seemed to notice Marya’s momentary distress. They talked for a while, catching up on all the recent developments in Lise and Marya’s lives. Y/N, however, found it hard to focus on anything the two said. Her hand, subconsciously, slipped into her pocket, occasionally running Pierre’s note through her fingers.

“Y/N, are you alright? You seem… distracted.” Marya noted, halting her conversation with Lise.

“Yes, I’m fine…” Marya and Lise clearly didn’t believe her, both knowing the woman too well.

“What is it?” Lise placed her hand on Y/N’s. The pain, while not nearly as intense as the day before, was still present and showed on her face. Lise looked confused for a moment, before noticing the unusual bulkiness of her sister’s wrist. The bandage peeked out from under her sleeve slightly, catching the eye of the two other women. Marya moved to sit on Y/N’s other side, carefully rolling up her friend’s sleeve. Y/N pulled away, but a sharp look from Lise stopped her.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” Lise was clearly concerned. Despite Lise’s usually gentle nature, she was easily upset when it came to anything hurting Y/N. She was equally as protective of Y/N as Y/N was of her.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” she dismissed the thought, biting her lip before continuing, “It’s… it’s Pierre…”

“What about Pierre?” Marya had met Pierre before; he had always treated her kindly.

“Did Pierre do this?” Lise gestured to the bandage, growing more furious by the second. As protective as Y/N was of Lise, Lise was equally as protective.

“What? No, no. His… father, the Count, passed away last night…”

“I’d heard he was getting worse, I just… never thought it would actually happen, poor Pierre,” Lise sighed, while she wasn’t nearly as close to Pierre as her sister or husband, she still considered him a friend.

Marya was very far removed from most of society and hadn’t heard that Pierre’s father was ill; still, she felt bad she didn’t know. She had lost her mother when she was young, so she could imagine how he was feeling.

“What about his will? I imagine the old Count left him something, he cared for Pierre greatly.”

“You could say that,” the confused looks on Lise and Marya’s faces urged her to continue, “The Count named Pierre as his successor.”

The two’s eyes went wide, mouths parting in shock. Lise struggled to speak for a moment, taking in the vastness of this information.

“You mean to tell me that... Pierre is Count Bezukhov?”

“Yes, but it’s not that that worries me. Prince Vassily tried to destroy the will, luckily Anna Drubetskaya and I put an end to that. But Pierre is spending the day with the Prince, and I shudder to think what he may convince Pierre to do.”

Lise, who’d had encounters with the Prince in the past, knew what she meant. Not only was he very manipulative, he also had a number of friends in high positions in the government.

“I understand your concern, N/N, but I think he’ll be fine. Pierre isn’t stupid, he’ll see through Vassily’s deceptions.” Y/N didn’t agree with her sister's assessment; yes, Pierre was smart, but he was too trusting, too naive to the way high society worked. He desperately wanted to believe that the world, and all the people in it, were good.

“I suppose you’re right…”

“Besides,” Lise continued, “What’s the worst he could do?”

~

The next few days were uneventful. However, she quickly remembered why her last visit had been so long ago. Prince Bolkonsky. He was so insurmountably irritating. Shortly after she arrived, he had called her into his office, much like a headmaster would call in a misbehaving student. He made a number of degrading remarks about Y/N and Marya, but nothing more than talk which, although infuriating, Y/N could easily dismiss.

While he would never take out his frustrations on her, she could tell that he would very much like to do so. During the first week of her stay, Y/N joined Marya and Bolkonsky for Marya’s geometry lessons. Y/N found that Marya did significantly better when positively encouraged, and told Bolkonsky her thoughts on the matter; he did not take it well. She wasn’t allowed to help with geometry anymore.

Luckily, Marya and Y/N’s bedrooms were directly across from each other, which allowed Y/N to teach Marya in secret during the evenings.

Lise remained healthy, much to the relief of the household. Despite her initial reservations about staying in the country, Y/N could tell it suited her better; for the time being at least.

Y/N also had her reservations, and, although they weren’t as far from her mind as Lise’s were, they had been somewhat soothed. Luckily, she had had the foresight to bring Emil along. The Bolkonsky estate was large, and had much room for riding. No one ever joined her, and she preferred it that way. Life was simple and happy. Until it wasn’t.

Pierre wrote her often, first telling her of his vague plans for the considerable fortune he’d acquired, then telling her of Prince Vassily’s plans for the money. She knew the Prince wouldn’t throw money away for no reason, so that served as some comfort. Then, he began telling her of his outings with Helene; ice skating, cards, anything and everything he could do with her, he would. Y/N didn’t tell him of her feelings about Helene, she knew he was blinded by her beauty and interest in him, or, as was most likely the case, his money. Helene wasn’t one for the “misunderstood intellectual” type of man. She spent many hours dwelling on thoughts like these. Although she knew that thoughts like these were a waste of time and energy, it was hard not to think of them. But, she kept them to herself, bottling them up like she did with so many other things.

~

Y/N wrote him often, keeping him updated on the health of her sister and the activities of the household. He had been very busy these past few weeks. Between the exploration of his new wealth and social status, he’d had very little time to do much else. However, he always made time to write to her.

Pierre sat in his office; an elaborate room filled with the many extravagances of Russian wealth. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, holding the haphazard papers and writings of the young man. Directly in front of Pierre, a thick, sealed letter sat, unopened, in his hands. He’d finally made it through the considerable stack of letters on his desk, most of them being invitations for gatherings of some such, the kind of gatherings a newly rich, eligible bachelor would attend. Although he enjoyed the opportunities his new status had given him, gatherings such as those took up much of his energy. Today, for example; It had been long, but enjoyable. He had spent the late afternoon and early evening playing écarté with Helene.

Helene. She was beautiful. Pale skin, dark hair, perfectly feminine features. But, best of all, she seemed to care for him. He became lost in these thoughts, until the soft, gold seal caught his eye. The stamp was shaped as a very ornate, calligraphic Z, denoting its sender as Y/N. He broke the seal, splitting the Z into two, uneven pieces.

Dearest Pierre,

I hope you are keeping well! Lise is in good health. She would never admit it, but the country air suits her. I’ve discovered that our dear Marya is quite the artist! I’ve included a few of her drawings, they are wonderful! The old Prince Bolkonsky still despises me. He says I am no longer allowed to assist in Marya’s lessons. He says it is because it distracts her, but it’s truly because I criticized his teaching style. Now, Marya and I  have secret geometry lessons in the evenings and the Prince is none the wiser. I’ve written to Andrei a small number of times, he hasn’t responded but that’s to be expected. I am certain, however, he is receiving the letters as none of them have been returned to my hands. Mary and I fear for his safety, as I’m sure you do as well, but we must appear unaffected for the sake of Lise’s sanity. Have you written Andrei at all? I feel as though he would be more inclined to write you than me, considering the last time we spoke I berated him. Alas, I can’t take back what I’ve said and, frankly, I don’t want to. I hope the lovely Helene is keeping you social while I’m away, I hear she’s made quite the companion for you. Keep well, Pierre.

Your Friend,

Y/N Zhudova

He smiled softly, running his fingers through the envelope to find the sketches. They were, as far as Pierre could tell, done with pencil and charcoal, and done very well. Two were of animals, Emil and an old, mangy barn cat. The other two were of people; one being of Lise and Y/N sitting on a sofa in the household, laughing and smiling. The brightness in the pair’s eyes was displayed perfectly, making the picture seem truly alive. The second image was less bright, but just as realistic. Y/N sat with her back to a tree, dress splaying out over the grass; hair loose, it cascaded over her shoulders like running water. She clearly had not been aware of the drawing as it was being made; there was no effort in her pose. It was too natural. Too her. The bandage on her arm had been abandoned, revealing the still-healing bruises on her wrist. Her hands, delicate, held the book in her hands loosely. Lips slightly parted, he could almost see them moving as she read the words on the pages below. She looked so at home, more peaceful than he had seen her in quite a while. Although Pierre had seen her in relaxed states before, it wasn't a common sight for him. He scanned over the image again, taking note of the intricate details captured in the image. The individual pages resting between her fingers, her mother's necklace she always wore, even the shading of her eyes. It was just so… her.

Pierre hadn't realized how much he missed her until he saw her face. Even though there was no color in the image, he could almost see it. E/C eyes studying the words below her, H/C hair tucked away save for the single stand over her right eye, it was all too real.

Pierre did have some form of company in Helene and the other members of the aristocracy, but there was no company like Y/N’s. His eyes lingered on the sketch a few moments longer before he placed the letter, and its contents, into a drawer, on top of a neat stack of other letters he had received from her. The door shut with a small click, drawing him out of his thoughts.

~

It was dark. Ornate halls lit solely by the moon, silvery beams glowing softly on the floors. Y/N moved through the hallway, bare feet gliding through puddles of moonlight. Soft light moved across her bare skin as she walked, robe cascading behind her. She slowly disrobed, leaving silken garments on the floor. Pierre followed behind her, unable to look away. His eyes caught hers, causing her to giggle and gently push open his bedroom door.

"Touch me…" she whispered, moving to the center of the room, where three beams of moonlight converged. Finally, the robe fell from her shoulders, exposing her bare flesh to his eyes. He moved forward, hand reaching out to touch her, shaking as he moved closer. The whispers became louder, reaching their climax as he ran a finger down her spine, feeling her shiver beneath the touch.

"Touch me…"

He woke, gasping for breath.

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

 CW/TW: Parental Death

Y/N rose early the next morning, sitting up in bed. Soft, golden sun had just begun to seep in through the window, filtering through the curtains. She stretched her arms above her head, wincing as the movement adjusted the bandage on her wrist. Remembering her promise to Alexandra, Y/N stepped out of bed, quickly moving over to her wardrobe. She quickly prepared herself for the morning, struggling to perform simple tasks such as lacing her own stays and closing her own dress. 

Eventually, she opted to call in one of her maids to assist her, an aged woman by the name of Anna. Anna had been working in the household for as long as Y/N had been living there, probably for longer. She plaited Y/N's hair with practice ease, lifting and pinning it into place.

"How's your sister?"

Anna looked up, locking eyes with Y/N in the mirror they sat in front of. She let out a sigh, continuing to finish her task as she answered.

"She says she feels better, but the doctors don't think she'll last a fortnight…"

"When's the last time you visited her?"

"About two months past, my lady."

"You should be there with her, she must be terribly lonely. Take the next few weeks, spend some time with your sister; I'm sure it would increase her spirits greatly."

"You are too kind, my lady."

"Nonsense. Now, be sure to keep me updated on her condition."

"I will, my lady."

 After ensuring that Y/N's dress was situated properly, Anna exited with a curtsy, leaving her to finish any last bits of necessary preparation. 

Y/N adjusted the embroidered shawl around her shoulders to sit on her forearms, assisting the sleeve of her blue dress in covering the bandage, allowing her to avoid any suspicion from the general public. The sun, at this point, denoted the time as roughly seven in the morning. 

The halls were empty as she traversed through them, making her way to the back door and out to the stables. Inside, a stable boy was refilling the water troughs, being careful not to spill. Y/N knocked lightly on the door, trying to avoid frightening the boy, who couldn't have been more than eight or nine in age. He turned, searching for the source of the disturbance; when he saw Y/N, his eyes widened and he quickly set down his bucket, sloshing a small amount onto the dirt floor.

"M-my lady! How c-can I help you?" he stood as straight as possible, attempting to brush the dirt and hay off his trousers.

"I was wondering if you knew where Sergei was, I have a request to make of him," she moved closer to the boy, noticing him tense up as she did.

"Papa's not here right now, he's getting more feed for the horses." 

"Sergei is your father?"

"Yes, my lady," he fidgeted nervously, seemingly preparing for a beratement.

"You must be Ivan! Your father’s told me so much about you; I'm glad we finally had the chance to meet."

 Y/N extended her hand to the boy, beckoning him to take it. When he placed his small hand in her own, she shook it, causing the young boy to smile broadly.

"He's really mentioned me? What did he say?"

"He's always told me what a hard worker you are, and how much you love working with the horses." she continued in a conspiratorial tone, "He tells me you're quite the horse-whisperer." 

Ivan clearly looked up to his father very much, and was more than overjoyed that his father was so impressed with him. 

"Would you like to meet the horses? They're all really nice, except for the big, gray one," he pointed to the large shire on the end. Y/N chucked quietly; that large horse was hers, had been since she was about thirteen.

"What's wrong with him?"

"His name's Emil, he's mean," Ivan whispered, not wanting the horse to hear him, "And he's scary…"

"Maybe you just haven't given him a chance yet; let's go say hello, shall we?"

"If you say so, miss, but I don't think he'll like you very much."

She led the boy over to the stall, feeling his hand grab hers as Emil snorted, moving his head towards the two. Y/N held out her hand, allowing Emil to sniff it before nudging his muzzle against her fingers, blowing hot breath on them with his nose. After seeing this new change in attitude, Ivan seemed eager to interact with the horse. He stood on an overturned bucket with his hand out; he giggled a little when Emil nuzzled his hand, nibbling it with his lips.

"Ivan?” Y/N turned, seeing Sergei enter, cloth sack in hand.

"Good morning Sergei, how are you?"

He seemed surprised to see Y/N in the stables, quickly dropping the feed and bowing.

"What brings you to the stables, my lady?"

"I came to ask a favor of you, but I seem to have gotten distracted. I wasn't aware your son had started helping you care for the horses."

"I'm terribly sorry, my lady, whatever he's done-"

"He's done nothing wrong, Sergei, he's just been introducing me to Emil over here."

Sergei caught on quickly, smiling proudly at his son.

"Thank you for your help Ivan, would you mind feeding Emil a carrot for me?" she continued in a hushed tone, "I think he likes you more than me."

The boy nodded eagerly, moving back to the horse after grabbing the orange treat. Y/N beckoned Sergei to the doors of the stable

"Do you have the time this morning to drive one of the maids to Doctor Federov's then to her aunt's house? She'll direct you where to go."

"Of course, my lady; when are you planning on heading to the Rostovs' today?"

"I was planning on leaving at ten, do you think you'll be back by then?"

"No, my lady, but I will arrange for a cab to take you."

"Excellent. I expect you'll be done by the time the party ends?"

"Yes, my lady, I'll be there."

"Thank you Sergei," she made to leave, thought for a moment, before turning back, "Will you need someone to keep an eye on Ivan for the day while you're away?"

"Yes, my lady, but I expect the women in the kitchen wouldn't mind watching him for me."

"Wonderful. He's a fine boy, Sergei, your wife would be very proud of him."

Sergei smiled, looking over to the boy; he stood in front of Emil, stroking his muzzle and talking to him animatedly.

"Thank you, my lady, I'm honored you think so."

Y/N smiled, waving goodbye to the boy before continuing on her morning stroll.

~

The morning had been a busy one for Y/N. She had accomplished a number of tasks, including, but not limited to; ensuring that all her necessities were packed for the trip, arranging the finances to send to her mother's relatives, and, finally, responding to the influx of letters directed to her Father.

Now, she was finally able to make her way to the Rostovs'. Y/N had become close to the Rostovs through her relationship with Sonja. Sonja's mother had known Y/N's and had been one of the driving forces in helping her parents elope. Y/N's mother had sworn Sonja's to secrecy after discovering her pregnancy. Eventually, at Y/N's christening, Sonja's parents were named her godparents. Until their deaths, they had been a staple in Y/N's early life. Although they had never brought Sonja with them during visits for fear she would expose their activities, Y/N had grown up hearing stories of the girl and, when they finally met at Y/N's first name day celebration with her Father, they connected closely. Through Sonja, Y/N became familiar with Natasha and the other members of her family.

The short cab ride to their home was uneventful. However, when she arrived, she discovered she was not the only guest that day. As she entered the front doors, a butler directed her to the sitting room. A small number of people sat in various locations around the room. This small number consisting of the Rostovs, save for Natasha and Sonja, who were nowhere to be seen, as well as Anna Drubestkaya, her son Boris, Julie Kuragina, and, surprisingly, Pierre.

“Ah, Princess!”  exclaimed the Count, rising from his seat to kiss her hand, “It’s wonderful to see you! I hope you are well?”

“I am, thank you, and yourself?”

“We are doing well, thank you. You know everyone here do you?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Well, do sit down, we were just talking about Pierre and his bear friend, have you heard?”

Y/N looked to Pierre as she sat next to him, he was clearly embarrassed. He looked her in the eyes, desperately begging her to change the subject.

“I have, I have; a… strange business that was,” she paused, quickly looking for any other thing to speak of, “Where are the girls? I’d have thought Natasha would be more than happy to receive guests on her name day.” The Count nodded, gesturing to the far door of the parlor.

“Natasha went to comfort Sonja, she’s upset for some reason or another, you know how it is.” Just as he finished, Y/N saw Natasha peek her head through the door.

“There you are! Natasha, look who’s come to see you!” Natasha’s face lit up, and she moved over to hug Y/N tightly. Y/N returned the hug, pressing a kiss to each of Natasha’s cheeks before pulling away. Natasha moved to her arm, clinging tightly to it. Y/N winced, feeling hot, stabbing pains move up her arm; no one noticed, save for Pierre, who saw her discomfort. 

“I’ve come to wish you a happy name day from myself and Lise, are you excited for your party?”

“Yes, very! Don’t leave yet, I have to help Sonja and Nikolai,” The last part was whispered, as though she was trusting Y/N with an important, yet very obvious, secret.

Natasha moved quickly away from Y/N, seeming to have remembered her true purpose for entering the room. She dragged Nikolai out into the hallway with her, shutting the door behind the two of them. Y/N sat back down, unintentionally cradling her wrist with her left hand, gently adjusting her sleeve. While the other guests continued their conversations as if nothing had happened, Pierre leaned closer to Y/N, whispering in her ear.

“Are you alright?” she started slightly, calming when she noticed Pierre staring at her arm. She placed it back on her lap, turning to respond. 

“Yes I… I’m fine,” she paused, realizing the conversation she wanted to have shouldn’t take place in front of everyone. She stood, beckoning Pierre to follow her into the hallway. The others were too preoccupied in discussing Nikolai and Boris’ future service to notice their disappearance. They stopped in a small alcove, near the sitting room but far enough to avoid being overheard

“Listen, I wanted to apologize to you about last night, It wasn’t-”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he interrupted, “You were right…”

“No, I… are you alright?” she asked, noticing Pierre’s paleness and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, “You look awful Pierre, are you ill?”

“Y/N, my father...” he grabbed her hand, looking for some semblance of support; Y/N breathed in sharply, feeling her wrist spasm in Pierre’s hand. His brows knitted in confusion, “What-? Y/N, what’s going on, are you hurt? Do I need to call a doctor?” the concern in his voice was evident, but she didn’t want to trouble him.

“No, I-I hit it on a… a dresser last night, it’s nothing serious.” 

He clearly didn’t believe her, eyes finally noticing the bandage edging out beneath her sleeve.

“N/N…“ he reached out, resting his hand gently on her other forearm, “What happened?”

Before Y/N could answer, she heard their names being called. Pierre made to ask again, but she shook her head, gesturing that they should go back into the room. Apparently, they hadn’t moved quickly enough. Anna Drubetskaya came into the hallway, looking suspiciously between the two before continuing.

“Pierre, shouldn’t you be with your father? Hasn’t he been worsening?”

“Your father?” Y/N asked, seeing the distress on Pierre’s face, “Oh, Pierre…” He shook off her concern, plastering a weak smile on his face.

“Yes, I’ll be heading there later.”

Anna dragged the two back into the room, away from their brief reprieve, and back into the reality of their lives.

~

Natasha’s name day party was just as Y/N had expected. It was packed full of loud music, dancing, and far too many people for her tastes. She made a concerted effort to stay by Pierre’s side; she didn’t want to force him to see his father, nor did she want to make him feel guilty by not going. That is, until the message came. When Pierre discovered his father had another stroke and wasn’t expected to last the night, Y/N, with help from Anna Drubteskaya, managed to convince him to see his father in his final moments.

In Y/N’s carriage, Anna was talking quickly to Pierre, explaining how he was to go about dealing with the situation.

“It's a matter of life or death. You must be a man now. You have to look after your own interests. Don't expect your Cousin Vassily to. You need to let the old Count see you before he dies. He might give a little sign, you know,” she paused, allowing him a moment to think before continuing, “In any case, it will be so much better for your soul if you can kiss him before he goes, he always loved you.”

Y/N sat beside him, holding his hand out of Anna’s sight; after seeing the two alone earlier, she had continued to pester them all evening. Y/N rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand, attempting to lessen the tremors stemming from it. He looked at her sadly, before turning to the window.

“Yes, yes, I've been a poor sort of son to him…”

~

When the trio arrived at the Counts’ residence, a group of men, dressed all black, stood outside near a hearse. Pierre, seeing this, rushed out before the carriage fully stopped. Y/N chased after him, holding her skirt to allow for freer movement.

“So,” sneered Prince Vassily, seeing them enter, “At last you deign to turn up at your father’s deathbed.”

“Am I too late?” Pierre was winded, eyes scanning desperately about for any sign of his father, “We saw the undertakers outside and I thought…”

“Just touting for business; The Count still lives.”

Pierre let out a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing slightly.

“But really,” the Prince continued, looking disdainfully upon the man’s ruffled visage, “What were you thinking of?”

“I’m so-”

“You have no business here, I think.” Vassily glared at Y/N and Anna, who had followed close on the heels of Pierre.

“I have a perfect right to be here. You know very well the Count is my near relation, and poor Boris his dear godson.” Anna paused, allowing herself a moment before continuing, “Who has more claim than us to be here at this sad time?”

“Yes, yes, very well. But she,” he gestured to Y/N, “Has no claim to be here.”

“But-”

“He’s right, Pierre. I’ll wait in the hall for you.” She exited as Anna and Pierre entered the old Count’s rooms. As soon as the door closed behind her, she heard whispers between Vassily and Catiche; they spoke of the will naming Pierre as the rightful heir, plotting to destroy it. Y/N listened, furious at the pair. As soon as she heard the click denoting the opening of the Count’s doors, she cracked the hall door ajar.

“Anna!” she whispered, trying to catch her attention. Anna noticed Y/N peering around the edge of the door and moved quickly to her.

“What is it?”

“Vassily and Catiche mean to remove Pierre from the will, they have a copy naming him as the recipient for the Count’s fortune. You must do something, they’ll surely leave him destitute!” Anna nodded, spotting the folder Catiche held.

“Wait here, I may need your help.” Y/N did as she was told, peering through the crack in the door. She saw Anna approach Catiche, grabbing at the paper in her hands. Pierre stood off to the side, miserable and dissociated, unaware of the squabble between the two women unti Anna called him to her. Vassily attempted to break it up, halting only when a woman ran out of the Count’s room, proclaiming his death with a sob. In the chaos, Y/N was able to reenter the room, heading straight for Pierre and Anna.

“I don’t understand…”

“You are Count Bezukhov now, my dear friend.”

Pierre stood, clearly in some state of shock. Y/N grabbed his arm gently, moving to guide him out of the room. He stared at her blankly, unable to understand his new place in the world. Anna patted him on the arm, leaving to return to her home.

“My friend,” Vassily approached, catching the attention of both Y/N and Pierre, “We sin so much and deceive so much, and all for what?” His philosophical question was left unanswered, and he moved away from the pair, back into the Count’s room.

“Pierre, let’s go.” he nodded slowly, allowing her to lead him to her carriage. Sergei noticed the guest, looking to Y/N for instruction. Y/N looked at Pierre, quickly deeming him unfit to be alone for the time being.

“He’ll stay with us tonight.”

“No… I-I don’t want to impose,” Pierre protested weakly.

“Pierre, you could never.” 

Sergei nodded, moving to open the door; Y/N guided Pierre up the steps, sitting him down next to her on the bench. The carriage began to move, lilting back and forth on the uneven road. Y/N looked at Pierre, noticing his expression shift from one of shock and disbelief, to one more akin to sorrow. Despite not knowing his father well, Pierre still cared for him deeply; the Count had provided Pierre with things he would never be able to attain had it not been for his father; an education, social status, but… not the affection one would expect from a father. Still, Pierre had loved him.

“Pierre… I’m sorry about your father…” he nodded, unable to speak. They sat in silence for a few minutes, shoulders pressed together. Pierre reached for her hand, being mindful, even in his dazed state, to avoid the injured one. He placed his head in the other hand, trying to contain himself.

They sat like that for the carriage ride, neither speaking; there was no need for words. Nothing Y/N could say would change what lay in the future for Pierre, and Pierre couldn’t bring himself to speak, knowing he wouldn’t be able to maintain the last semblances of composure he still had. When the carriage finally stopped, Y/N helped Pierre down again, making sure he exited the carriage safely. He was despondent, following her around like a young child. She led him inside, instructing the nearest maid to arrange for a tray of tea to be sent to her sitting room. 

Y/N’s cousin, a young man named Vladimir, had stayed at her house for a number of weeks the previous year. He had left abruptly, never returning for the clothing he left behind. Y/N sat Pierre down on the bed of one of the many guest rooms; she opened the drawers of the dresser placed against the far wall, rummaging through the neatly folded clothes. She found a night shirt that seemed as though it would fit Pierre, as well as a navy house robe to wear over it, instructing him to go to her sitting room after he’d changed. Y/N moved back to her chambers, changing quickly into a nightgown, covering it with a thick, maroon robe. She removed the pins in her hair, permitting the singular braid to rest on her shoulder.

When she walked through the door, she noticed Pierre sitting on the couch, tea in hand. She sat next to him, pouring herself a cup as well. The tea was very aromatic, causing the air to smell strongly of citrus and bergamot. Steam lifted slowly from the cups, twisting slightly in the drafty room; spreading the scent. Pierre’s spectacles were discarded on the table, lenses shimmering softly in the low lights.

“Do you want to talk?”

He didn’t answer at first, opting to sip slowly from his teacup, formulating his response.

“I… I don’t know how I’m to be Count Bezukhov… It just, doesn’t feel real.” He looked towards her, eyes searching for an answer, a suggestion, anything. Y/N tasted her tea, allowing herself a moment to think before answering.

“Well, it is real and, as much as I know you’ll disagree with me, you are most definitely worthy of the title. Don’t shake your head, Pierre. You are one of the most intelligent, compassionate, brilliant men I know; if anyone deserves that title, it’s you.”

“I… thank you. That means… more than you know.”

“I’m sure you’re exhausted, I’ll leave you to rest,” she stood, setting down her cup on the tray.

“Wait, please…” she stopped, turning back to face him,”Would you just… sit with me for a while? I don’t want to be alone…” She sat back down beside him, placing her hand on his.

“Of course. I’ll be by your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

A/N: If you find any spelling mistakes, please message me the part, chapter, and sentence. I’ll do my best to fix it, thank you!

[falling-feuilles]

the next chapter should be coming out later this night, just need to do some last little editing things

[falling-feuilles]

I've got it! Sorry for any inconveniences this may have caused. Merci my lovelies!

I'm working on getting the read more link in, just need to get my computer working