#( verse: cursed castle crasher )

[madamhatter]

quick whistles before yve cups sophie's cheek with a hand, kissing the other with a purr

A silent address comes with Sophie's lips curving; the unsung melody of bodies moves in rhythm as she turns her head, slender pale fingers of a lover cradling her cheek.

Framed by Yvaine's hand, there lays a face of exhaustion exposed. The delicacies of vulnerability push away the curtains. Stagemaster behind such flightiness is the heart, careful in permissing who may see backstage.

"Good evening, dear," whispers the hatter with dim lights in her eyes. Despite the best efforts to muster a loud welcome, all she summons is a lukewarm sincerity.

Resting her hand above the other's, she gives it an affirming squeeze before returning the welcome kiss.

"Tell me, how has your day been?"

[spynorth]

V. i don’t want to learn what I’ll need to forget (ouat au)

Before the evil queen’s curse is first cast, John is a trusted knight in King Stefan’s service - known for his staunch loyalty and most often set to the task of guarding the king’s daughter. Time in Aurora’s company is (in john’s opinion) well spent, and he enjoys both the days they spend together and the friendship that results. When the princess is ordered to marry a neighboring kingdom’s prince, the knight is startled to find a spark of jealousy that reveals all the feelings he’s hidden beneath a facade of friendship. He vows to confess but upon hearing Aurora declare loudly that she doesn’t want to marry anyone, his hopes are dashed. When the news of the dark curse reaches the castle, John is quick to act. He approaches Rumplestiltskin and asks for a deal - his wish, to be tied to aurora in whatever land they’re banished to. It’s granted and Lucas North becomes the partner he wished to be. He lives in ignorance of his deal, with no memory of the enchanted forest, but one day a yellow bug shows up in storybrooke and everything begins to change. Haunted by flashes of memory, he desperately tries to keep his life built on falsehoods from falling apart. Very anti true love’s kiss. He will be the biggest date crasher in town, he gives no fucks. Also, it’d be great if Emma could get the hell out of town. Take the kid too, he doesn’t care.

verse tag

[madamhatter]

Hey, is this food up for grabs? 'Cause, yoink! It is now! "Could this be anymore bland?"

Already were the hatmaker's hands attempting to undo the thieving cat's work. No passionate ire originates from Sophie as she speaks candidly, "Well, the person who ordered it must have wanted it that way," as it was quite pointed and annoyed to some degree.

"Miss Izutsumi, the customer whose name was on that order is across the way; he sees you," warns Sophie. "Why else would that man be staring at you with all the thoughts of plucking every hair on your tail and ears, one by one?"

"Stop eating it." In public, the eldest daughter resigns herself, carefully holding a presence. To avoid attention and avoid disruption, her methods were to hide and disappear from the common eye, never to be noticed. However, she was still quite adamant about avoiding and developing larger problems -- the beastskin being one who'd make it and not care. "Stop it."

[madamhatter]

A low grumble came from the dragon god as they approached Sophie from behind, slowly sliding their hands around her waist to pull her close against the talkers chest, their face nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “Sophie, please tell me you have a free moment..” It was almost like they were begging from how they sounded and with the way her hands roamed about her torso.. Maybe it was clear what they wanted.

Pretensions of desires come without surprise for the woman in her languid state, with a quiet affair in the kitchen. Elbows perched on the countertop, hands resting above another, she rests her chin on the scarred foundation on her backhands, gazing down at a blank canvas. Unwritten thoughts and budding concoctions play like a medley in mind, a pencil resting at the side of the opened book. Narrowed eyes repeat after the blank lines -  the spaces craving lead and ink. 

Tranquil disposition mirrors untouched waters. Unmoving and silent are the waves of her mind. The tides roll but do not connect to the shores of realization. Her body remains marble, her lips pursed from a looping contemplation, a wandering journey where answers may not appear. Awareness of such circumstances would sink hearts, but the Hatter stands at the ready. Far too normalized to these ways, far too exhausted by the listlessness that trails in her everyday life, little can be done to counteract this point. 

Residual warmth presses against Sophie's back. Shivers run through healing bones as her shoulders jolt upright, stiffening her physique. Her right hand, resting above the other, grips her palm with uncertainty - - thumb pressing and squeezing the bottom of her left hand's palm. Cautious glance - please don't - over her shoulder. Her earthly brown irises find the vast expanse of the cerulean cosmos in the one gazing back at her. Instead of an enigma wide gaze, it was a half-lidded whisper that beckons her. The deity's arms confine her against the other, no space existing between the two. 

Alluring breath and hot face caress Sophie's neck, each intake and release slower and timed - almost as if she's struggling - as their exchange begins. "Miss Dentondóttir, I do," assures the hatmaker as she lowers her hands, her thumb stroking the top of the deity's hand. 

Roaming hands beseech for further intimacy. Realization dawns on Sophie, with posey pinks blossoming across her freckled cheeks. "This is dire, is it?" A rhetorical question slips out as she quickly closes her notebook and attempts to tuck away the pencil in the book's ring binding. "A moment, a moment," a hurried whisper through last-minute arranging and cleaning. 

"Yvaine," a faint warning once Yvaine's hands ascend past her abdomen, "do not fiddle with my blouse nor any of its buttons while we are in the kitchen." 

[madamhatter]

grabs sophie's face and smooches cheeKS

The goddess’s intentions were not properly met as Sophie sidesteps away, turning her cheek, and avoiding any contact to her face. Sudden grabs, toying, and pulls were expected by a handful of people that the hatmaker had grown desensitized towards and arranged things in such a way to avoid any possible situation where that may happen. Her motions, quiet and immediate, was enough to reveal the larger picture of how almost systematic it was, and her expression paints how utterly tired she was of it. 

“Mx Yvaine, I am working,” Sophie glances at the taller woman before tightening the bows in her face. “Go elsewhere, please,” she curtly says before her heavy boots take her to another part of the atelier. Seems that the late summer has her particularly busy, if not, she is throwing herself harder into her work than usual. Even quieter than ever before 

[madamhatter]

"Huh. Where is the option that says 'Is an annoying little piece of work, never acts her age and is simply too nosy for her own good'?" There is a dismissive wave of hand coming from the wizard, before he tilts his head to the left. "As if you could be categorized between 'too good to exist' or 'deathly protective', old hag. The enigma of your personality - and head harder than my own home - belongs to you and you alone. But if you want my opinion--" And it is very clear he is going to offer his opinion regardless "-- it is that you can be too nice for your own good. And that leads to you acting without consulting your common sense. But! I do not hate it, even if you meddle too much for your own good.

But I guess that is why you are stuck with me, and I am stuck with you. And they say I am the heartless one! Pah! They should take a good look at you and whatever goes on in your brain."

WHAT ARE SOPHIE'S VIBES? / not accepting.

Exasperation was never far from the hatmaker's eyes anytime the ineffably dramatic wizard took the stand and voiced his words. Regardless of whoever was nearby or whoever did not request his presence, Howl Pendragon was not above slithering himself in as he did out, not batting an eyelash. 

Crossing her arms over her chest and thick brows hinged on her muted fury, Sophie Hatter watches and holds her tongue. It is not a rare moment in which the hatter withdraws herself from the conversation. But it is also not uncommon for her to be overwhelmed by every emotion in the book, thanks to Howl. Tap-tap-tap does the bottom of her boot go against the wooden planks.

"No one in this household has never been short of your opinion, Howl," her nose crinkles. "Had no one heard it before or after you entered the castle, they certainly would have now if any conversation continued without you here." A haughty huff leaves her, nerves pinched, but her eyes reveal an unfamiliarity with how he weaves a gentleness in his words. She cleared her throat, realizing her momentary loss in thought before her crossed arms tightened over her. Almost as if she is bracing herself and her mind from becoming overwrought with thoughts she instead does not address. 

"Someone has to do things around here when someone decides to turn face and leave it all up to Michael, Calcifier, and I. I would rather not leave things undone for the sake of them piling up and getting messier than what this house was beforehand." 

Everything feels like I have to contribute and finish it myself. Sophie's eyes avert to her marred hands, clenching and opening, before hiding them underneath her arms. Facilitating that mistrust I have of everything around me has been an awkward transition. At this point of freedom, something remains in me. A terrible something that reminds me of what I shouldn't be. 

Stirring in her spot, all that the Hatter does is cushion her awkwardness with her blunt tongue. "I stay here out of choice. Lord, help this castle if I left it any sooner when I was an old woman. This place would have been worse than the Waste if all the mess had been kept around." She squints her eyes. "Stuck with me? It was out of your own volition in deciding you wished to keep me here." 

"Besides the glaringly obvious, may you please get up already? Dinner is ready in a few minutes, and Michael has wanted to ask you about a spell," Sophie ushers behind Howl. As her arms untangle from another, she pushes her palms flat against his back. Not a shove nor strong force in them, but it was encouraging and implied plead to join them. "Come on. It's been a long day." 

[madamhatter]

casually hoists Sophie up over their shoulder and marches toward the bedroom

Crossed arms came with the natural expectant disposition of Sophie Hatter, her entire body slumped over while proceeding to be carried like a potato sack. An Indifferent gaze overlooks the familiar corridor of the deity's abode before scrutinizing her scarred hands. Over time, these would fade, but in each instance that healing occurred, she always managed to injure herself from carelessness or last-minute decisions. A never-ending marred thing, a no one without a future, a storyless girl, that was what she knew her existence to culminate to.

Lugged around like wasted weight, Sophie's mind swims with the common derisions, is there really nothing else for me? The arrangements with Yvaine surely stretched beyond anything the hatmaker considered plausible; however, much like the seasons, flowers, river currents, and crying newborns, time and change come. Inevitably, Yvaine would no longer be entertained by her, be comforted by her, or be needed by her, thus concluding her usefulness.

As expected and anticipated, that is what it ends as. There is no changing that.

It is then that Sophie glances upwards, noticing the door frame of the master bedroom. She is dropped onto her bum sooner, but it is on a plush mattress, not on the hard ground. The human rubs her tailbone, murmuring a complaint about a creak in her body. Though before anything else happened, she simply scooted off the bed and went onto her feet with such quiet nimbleness.

"Miss Yvaine, I must finish something," announces Sophie with a stiff lip. There are consequences to be had, meddling and toying like this with the goddess. "Practice your well-aged patience and refrain from stealing me from my work, please. I would greatly appreciate it." She dusts off her long gray skirt, beginning her hurried march towards the door before a certain someone blocks her path.

While it may all come to an end, even Sophie would stretch out as much as she can - for even she, in all her averseness to humanness, had a seed of selfishness inside her lonely heart.

[madamhatter]

There's a cat outside of your window--at least...looks like a cat. Ears and tails are there, and there's some fur on parts of the body, but that anatomy is unmistakably human-like. Yet the behavior is feline-like. They're grooming themselves and someone's yelling at them a floor below. Something about stealing and this stranger doesn't care in the least. (like, nya :3c)

Predator peering from the windowsill - the hawk-like focus of the eldest daughter could not simply ignore the impending devastation of a whiskered pest's intentions. Though the copper-haired woman was a reasonable distance from the kitchen and in the family room, sweeping for the fourth time today, there was no denying the sharp ears of a troublemaker.

Her grip tightens on the broom, eyes narrowing, a slight shiver overcoming and coursing down her spine. Freckled cheek rests against the end of the broom; Sophie huffs to herself, "Why do they always find a way to the house?"

Never had she left scraps out for them, nor did she ever encourage and allow her sisters to do the same. Martha and Lettie undoubtedly voiced their dissenting opinion, but the eldest sister managed herself victorious. Playing the second mother had its advantages - though it did mean the younger sisters continued with their physical altercations and clothes tearing, meaning Sophie had to work double to keep everything in order.

The small window to the kitchen had been cracked open to allow the excess exhaust not to suffocate the entire house. With the leave of smog also comes the leave of aroma - which was the natural consequence of Sophie's decision. However, she never anticipated a live audience.

Settling the broom to the side, Sophie pats down her apron with her calloused hands and descends to investigate the scene. If I do not get close enough, there will be ample space to work with shooing them off. As long as they are far away enough, I will not act up. Sophie braces herself with a brave inhale, her chest rising as she steels her nerves.

..Is that a hand!? But there's a tail..!

Upon getting closer to the intruder on the patio, Sophie shrinks back, and her fists balled. Fur, there's fur. She draws her hands to her chest. Skin, there's skin.

A shout from a neighbor - it is Mr. Parker as clear as day and as notable as his crown of no hair in the summer sun - has her head jerking upright. She begins wringing her hands, feeling out each digit, and quietly prodding the flesh with short, blunt nails.

There were whispers of a witch going by, and to be careful. Nothing of what I read has mentioned feline-like witches. Only that they were familiars and can arguably hold some of their companion's power. There is no way this can even be about contracts; something like that wouldn't result in someone forming one. Even with demons...

Holding herself together with her shabby confidence, she forces her palms down. Forcing them against her apron, she wipes off the new precipitation coating her palms. One step at a time, the hatmaker would not hesitate on her goal based on compulsion. One thought at a time, the hatmaker was arguing with herself based on instinct.

Oh God, they're human-sized.

Past the kitchen doorway and in front of the sink, her hands reached out. Palms underneath the wooden windowsill, she grips it tightly and squeezes her eyes shut. Shoo them away, shoo them away. And they flutter open, pushing the window enough to accommodate her head and torso.

Leaning forward, both hands resting on the bottom end of the window, a feeble voice rings out:

"Good morning. I have no clue as to what is going on, but I would prefer it if you do not start anything here."

[madamhatter]

“I just started a bath. Care to join me?”

Stages of Relationships Starters / accepting / @fxmiliarity

Stepping into the confines and security of an empty family home tends to unwind - undo - the trivialities of stability. Burdened bones whisper their tiredness to Sophie's restless mind. One finger slipping into the back of a boot, she crudely peels them away as she lifts one leg. Hissing under her breath, she carefully lowers her feet back to the wooden floor as she lines up the boots next to the door. 

Another pair of heavy boots joins Sophie's. The draconian person bows their head as they enter the abode, palm resting against the top of the doorway. With a long frown, they rotate their shoulders and allow their cheek muscles to relax, drawn-out breath escaping their throat. After all, the guest had expended their niceties after spending another day at the store. 

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Yvaine," hums the hatmaker, standing in her mismatched socks. Weathered hands brush and linger over the taller's palm, thumb drawing circles against them. The copper-haired woman gives an encouraging tug into the family room. "Remove the weights and bathe yourself; you spent a lot of time outside in the morning today. and it is time to extinguish today's weights." 

Connection brief, Sophie's agitated nerves on scheduling severs the sparse intimacy. Now, her thumbs hooked into the corner of her skirt's pockets, eyes wandering elsewhere, as was her body. "I will be preparing supper," she dictates her intentions as her body precedes her mind, already taking to the regular habit. 

Making her way across the family room, she enters the kitchen on the left-hand side. A small hallway divides the site from the staircase on the right-hand side. Against the first wall, as she enters the room, is a clothing hook with a folded apron on it. She reaches for it and wraps it around her waist as she begins humming to herself. 

Whisking through the kitchen with mirth and song, a cutting board is introduced to the table and a knife next to it. Then to the pantry, the first contenders that reach the cutting board are the starches - potatoes and pumpkin - and then non-scratches - celery and carrots. 

Closing the pantry, Sophie ducked down and opened a large drawer some steps away from the pantry. She wrinkled her nose, pulled out a large pot, and went to the sink. The pot then settled on the stove as she set the right temperature and waited for the water to boil.

Taking her vegetable friends in hand, they danced to the sink. All of the vegetables ran under the water, cleaning them, as the potatoes received additional attention with a good brushing.

Taking a peeling knife, the hatmaker undresses the potato with a thick brown ribbon being created. In slow and precise succession, the pasty flesh of the vegetable came to be seen, and she set it aside.  

Thankfully, the pumpkin had been already gouged from its case. As for the rest of the vegetables, the celery sticks were first lined up, and Sophie took her cutting knife. Shifting through the celery, she cuts thick crescents out of them in a uniform motion. Thus came squaring off the potatoes and pumpkin and then full-moon cuts of the carrot. 

Gathering everything together on the cutting board, the hatter takes a deep breath and sends the readied vegetables to the pot. Biding farewell, she tilts the cutting board near the boiling water, carefully sliding off the vegetables with her knife to avoid spillage. 

The staircase nearby groans, making the woman shift her gaze from the boiling vegetables. Her hand retires the blade on the counter.

Had the house begun speaking to her again? Was it sharing stories of her late father, who dared disclose so little? Had another bird flown into the house again because she forgot to close a window?

Retreating from the kitchen, the woman raises her head and glances up from the hallway connecting the kitchen, the family room, and the stairwell.

Thick brows quirk at the sight, hands remaining steady at her front, as she takes a breath. Unperturbed by the looming figure halfway down the staircase, she nods her head and then inquires, "Miss Yvaine?" 

Silver hair draping down and over exposed shoulders makes Yvaine's undoing apparent. Hugging all the curvatures of Yvaine's body, the sheen robe wasn't any less revealing than if she revealed herself bare. Peeking from underneath the robes had been a thick and large white jagged scar. The impressions of black ink all over her arm like it had been doused in paint. 

"I just started a bath. Care to join me?" Yvaine invites the hatmaker with her brows quirk momentarily. Though her expression could still read as grim and intimidating to most, those eyes were only beckoning for trouble and the occasional water splash. 

“Have you been waiting all this time for me to accompany you?” Sophie picks along the side of her index finger. “Please, dear, make yourself at home and do not worry about me.” 

“I appreciate the gesture, truly, but that...” Her eyes drift. “...That must wait. There are other things that I must tend to first before I can reward myself with a bath and rest.”

“My apologies for the disappointment, Miss Yvaine, but I wish not to waste any of your time as I would rush through the bath and tend to you the way you should be.” 

“Enjoy your bath, alright?” A soft frown comes to her face, her eyes meeting Yvaine’s again. 

Once more, the hatter slinks back to the kitchen. “Supper will be ready soon!” 

[madamhatter]

Wisteria stares down at the little black cat in her wolf form, near unblinking. Eventually her eyes narrowed as she lifts an absurdly large paw, placing it on top Sophie's head as carefully as she could. Cute....

Earthed away by decades of heavy rains and winds, decorated now by small bustles of emerald moss, was none other than the remaining ramshackle wall that marked the boundary of Market Chipping's outskirts. The barrier stands no taller than at chest height with a middle-aged farmer. Erected by the first settlers, caravans, and cattle that established the town, it has witnessed countless locals, traveling wagons, and straggling strays since its existence.

Yet it wasn't the sole observer to the land. A partner once stood parallel to it, separated by the dirt path still used today. Long since has its equal been relocated. Its stones relocated closer to town or in town, repurposed for other infrastructures or homes. No questions asked, no consideration given. All that came to these parts was change, and that was simply that.

Alone today, however, it was not.

As a thick cloak of mist passed through the valley, typical in the early hours of the morrow, most would find such location deserted and uneasily perceivable through the dewy haze. The heavy fog turns idyllic moors and hills to an almost unnavigable labyrinth. Only laborers to the fields and traders of the roads who frequented these parts would bother with the trek.

The only hint of company was a shimmering black disappearing in and out of sight. In a calm rhythm, it moves, but visibly inscrutable it is.

Leaving light imprints in the dirt on the well-traveled road was a curious sight. Pacing to and fro, the rare sunray breaching through mist giving slight shine to silken fur was a feline with a sizeable maroon bow tied on the back of its neck. Irises of mahogany always set forward, glancing around the location with a sheer look of concentration in an otherwise illegible expression.

The cat's tail flickers back and forth, high in the air with a slight curl at the end. Blatant is the existence of intention in mind, but the exact purpose unknown. Even as the early birds begin singing their song, or the start of ruffling in the brush of trees and bushes nearby, the cat gave little attention to the bramble bushes and the daisies growing on the other side of the path. Her nostrils flare a bit with a soft inhale, and her mouth opens a bit. She closes her mouth in seconds, shakes her head, and continues walking.

Retracing her steps, the cat's charcoal paws filled each imprint perfectly. Yet the pacing slows to halt as they approach the edge of the wall facing the wilderness. Front paws line up with where the wall ended, the cat looking down the hillside now where the birch and oak trees thrive. Stationing themselves to a stop, she sits with her tail continues its flicker.

Her eyes of petrified wood gloss over the mossy remains of Market Chipping's ancestry. Unspoken solidarity between feline and wall exists. A component to the town and an ever-present but passive watcher, they both will remain as long as their utility sees them fit or until forgotten.

One long breath, ears folding back, and the cat's head snaps her head forward.

New movement breaks the blanket of mist on the hillside. The closer it got, the more the slow-approaching figure's harmless silhouette had to be reconsidered. Another form of the night appears before the cat's eyes - a looming shadow growing larger and larger with each step taken closer.

Higher and higher does the form ascend up up the hillside and yet the cat remains stationary. Once close enough, the query of who is coming to town is answered. And it is quite a terrifying one.

Razor-sharp fangs of white peeking underneath a long muzzle, fur thicker than a bear and their own height rivaling a bear’s too, a monstrous wolf approaches the idyllic Market Chipping. Two meters between the marvelous beast and the town’s barrier, there is only some moments one can have to themselves before imminent mauling. 

Yet there is already the cat springing into action - trotting towards the creature with a soft “mrrw” and her eyes not once leaving the approaching figure. 

The behemoth wolf stops in her tracks, watching the nonchalant cat approach without a care in the world. The average feline, meanwhile, affirms her rightful seat before the canine and stares up at her, wide-eyed.

A staring competition begins: the wolf’s stern gaze versus the cat’s entranced stare. Nothing seems to break the spell between them as the cat inflates her chest a bit, a little chirp of enthusiasm leaving before being rendered to complete silence.

Then truly the worst thing happened! Her opponent decided to play dirty: she laid her giant paw over the cat’s face, blinding her! Thankfully, it was only resting on top of her head without any malicious intention. However, judging from the low whine from the cat, she wasn’t at all pleased by the course of action. 

Yet now here she is, lifting her own paw, repeatedly tapping at the paw to release her. She already blinked! There’s no sense in trying to rub in the loss! Unless she was trying to pet her...? Which is considerably, given what they are now, and there was certainly an aspect of her not for it. (The thing she fails to mention is that ‘the aspect’ is her smidge of pride). 

Now the cat’s other paw joins the fray. Both paws hook over the wolf’s paw, right where the joint is. She pulls it a bit closer, bringing it to her face. Her tongue sticks out and she leans in a bit, now grooming the wolf’s paw without a care with the world. Trying to fix all that wild hair and get it to slick in a certain style was a goal. But judging from how quickly she released it, it was not her current one.

The feline gets back to her feet, nodding her head to the wolf. She takes some steps back, turns herself away from the wolf, and begins pacing a bit forward. Not even a minute passes and the cat is back, with the same pep in her step, and heading straight towards the wolf. She mouths at the wolf’s dense fur, tugging a bit, before taking some steps forward again. 

‘Let’s get going back home’ is what has been on her mind all day. 

[madamhatter]

hi. 👂 for howl. it can be within earshot or not. up to you. also hi ily

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING - send a prompt/symbol and I will answer... | accepting

Send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours.

"You're requesting an audience with my," an awkward inhale and inflection, "with my son, Howl Pendragon?" It had only been some weeks since Howl and company settled into the new flower shop that Sophie was more than happy to manage. "If that's the case..." But a new life elsewhere in Ingary seems to be impossible when Howl's heartbreaks and disasters followed them everywhere they went.

"I'm not sure if you've met him before, but he is quite a serial avoider." Withholding the snort, she still had to include, "His attitudes on timeliness and confrontation are flippant." Honesty comes as a pertinent policy at the humble flower shop. Though most are delivered in bouquets of thorns and barbs if regarding the elusive wizard.

Sophie's leather-like hands soothe down the wrinkles from her apron, still standing behind the counter. A young woman, no older than twenty-six, was in front of her. The newcomer's green eyes were misty - mostly from crying - and oil-black hair unkempt and loose from what seemed like a loss of sleep from the past week.

Sympathy was initially in the hatmaker's mind. No one deserves to have their heart betrayed by another's noncommittal act. To string someone along who wished to be loved and believed so and then be abandoned? What cruelty, what unkindness, and what heartlessness.

However, with how much Sophie is hearing, the enigma of mysterious 'Howl' this woman weaves, she is beyond baffled. Mainly on whether or not this woman actually knows him, no less truly understands him.

Was she just infatuated with his image and grew her own delusion? She forced her own mind and remade the scene in a way it wasn't ever meant to be.

"My son," a slight fumble in her voice, "isn't going to be returning anytime soon. The last you saw of him is probably the last you'll see of him." She remains firm. "I won't drag your hopes further than they have been; he's a no-good man. He can still be kind to children and bring gifts, but that is canceled as soon as you ask him to do something. Every positive about him, he manages to spoil each time. It's quite a talent of his."

"Yet..." she takes a deep breath and begins moving from the counter. Weathered fingers brush against blushing carnations in one of the vases, she pauses to contemplate the sight. Her eyes return to the woman.

"It's the start of a new year, and a young woman like yourself shouldn't be so tethered to something that cannot work out. I'm not proud of him for what he does; I don't believe he is proud of himself either. But you should take that energy," and that fantasy of yours, "and make something of it that you know you love."