You love your brother - he is flesh and blood, he is next in line to the dukedom, and he is changing for the better. You tell yourself that over the past few years, heās grown up well, and has even taken moments to express care and concern for you. You tell him that heās allowed to make mistakes, just as any good elder sister would, and that enjoying his youth is also one of his duties.
Youāre startled when he brings up the fact that he contributed to the most scarring day in your life.
Itās one that you remember clearly - the day that your fiance, who you had loved since you were but a little girl, publicly cast you aside in front of a crowd heād personally gathered. Your crimes? Harassing the girl that was now at his side, his new love, who he clearly adored far more than you. And at their side? None other than your brother, sneering when you call yourself weak, helping to smear your name and your reputation.
Two who you love so dearly, more than than this world can even begin to recognize, casting you aside.
You feel your heart breaking again, the injury so raw that it never healed over.
You want to move past the conversation, you donāt want to talk about it, you think itād be easier to continue this amiable sibling relationship where you donāt acknowledge the incident. You think that itās easier, if you assume blame and consequence for your own jealous fit after your fiance, was stolen from you. You think that if you call it youth, it will be dismissed.
You donāt know what to do when you receive an apology for something that haunts you even now.
You donāt believe in love. You donāt believe in loyalty. Not to you, pathetic Lady Iris. You donāt trust anyone, for if even your own flesh and blood can decide that infatuation matters more than your dignity or well-being, how can anyone make promises that mean anything at all?
. . .
You watch him leave the room after his apology is accepted, even if it is not forgiven, and you cannot help the knot of guilt that sits in your stomach.
If you were better, could you have given a kinder answer? If you were like her - like the very person that everyone left you for - could you give and receive love?
And why bother thinking of those things, when you will never be anyone but this scarred, jealous you? ]
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[she pauses like she wants to respond but - really, this was an opportunity for a memshare I couldn't pass up
āThere are some things you can only experience as a student.ā
You love your brother - he is flesh and blood, he is next in line to the dukedom, and he is changing for the better. You tell yourself that over the past few years, heās grown up well, and has even taken moments to express care and concern for you. You tell him that heās allowed to make mistakes, just as any good elder sister would, and that enjoying his youth is also one of his duties.
Youāre startled when he brings up the fact that he contributed to the most scarring day in your life.
Itās one that you remember clearly - the day that your fiance, who you had loved since you were but a little girl, publicly cast you aside in front of a crowd heād personally gathered. Your crimes? Harassing the girl that was now at his side, his new love, who he clearly adored far more than you. And at their side? None other than your brother, sneering when you call yourself weak, helping to smear your name and your reputation.
Two who you love so dearly, more than than this world can even begin to recognize, casting you aside.
You feel your heart breaking again, the injury so raw that it never healed over.
You want to move past the conversation, you donāt want to talk about it, you think itād be easier to continue this amiable sibling relationship where you donāt acknowledge the incident. You think that itās easier, if you assume blame and consequence for your own jealous fit after your fiance, was stolen from you. You think that if you call it youth, it will be dismissed.
You donāt know what to do when you receive an apology for something that haunts you even now.
You donāt believe in love. You donāt believe in loyalty. Not to you, pathetic Lady Iris. You donāt trust anyone, for if even your own flesh and blood can decide that infatuation matters more than your dignity or well-being, how can anyone make promises that mean anything at all?
. . .
You watch him leave the room after his apology is accepted, even if it is not forgiven, and you cannot help the knot of guilt that sits in your stomach.
If you were better, could you have given a kinder answer? If you were like her - like the very person that everyone left you for - could you give and receive love?
And why bother thinking of those things, when you will never be anyone but this scarred, jealous you? ]