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“Love is the danger of the loneliest; love of everything if only it is alive. Laughable, verily, are my folly and my modesty in love.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
It had not been her intention to prolong their parting; from the very beginning, Marguerite knew that they were running on borrowed time. Percy had told her that his stay in Paris would not be long, that it would only be a matter of time before he would have to leave for the Indies in order to tie up loose ends. Besides, what was there to mourn? They had only known each other for a meagre few weeks, and the hope for a reunion was slim at best. Still, Marguerite wanted to see him one last time, to properly bid him adieu lest she come to regret it later. Perhaps she had been naïve in her insistence, though she was quick to dismiss such a notion. The prospect of a storybook romance had long since left her realm of possibility, a puerile dream that she must let fade if she were to cross the threshold of adulthood. It had been, in a sense, the only thing that continued to hold her back. Perhaps she had been a fool for continuing to cling onto that small sliver of hope; the men at the theatre were not kind behind closed doors, after all, especially when they had a few drinks. It had been so long since she had learned that the fierce, mythical beasts slain by knights were not real, as well, perhaps it was time to let the chivalric romances die alongside them.“Are you sure it’s alright?” Marguerite had asked, her lips pursing into a sheepish line, “That I can stay with you for the night?”Percy nodded, his lips curving into that same warm, lazy smile. “‘Course,” he replied, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently. “I would want nothing more. What would be a better send off than that, eh?”She bit her lip, her mind echoing the words left unsaid: We aren’t doing anything wrong, are we? They had been careful thus far not to trudge past the delicate line of propriety. Percy, as much of a romantic as he was, had made sure of it—or, rather, the tenets of his honor had. The line in the sand had weared down overtime, having become clearer, yet more delicate, as their familiarity grew. It was a surprise then when Percy, who had taken to sitting on a nearby sofa, had pulled her into his arms, running his hands through her curls as she rested her head on his shoulder.Marguerite curled up against him, as though she were a mouse huddled up for warmth. She wanted to cherish the sacredness of the moment, to allow herself the freedom to let all of her other worries melt away. Even in the dead of night, Percy shone brighter than the sun. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow onto his golden hair. It looked just like starlight, and Marguerite wanted nothing more than to take it in her hands, to keep it in a locket or some other safe, treasured place and hide it away from the rest of the world.A beat of silence passed before she broke the silence.“You’re leaving me,” she said solemnly, as though he had betrayed her with his impending departure. Perhaps it was a betrayal in some sense: that the moment she had found someone as wonderful and as good as him, it would all be taken from her. Marguerite knew that her indignation was selfish, though the thought of eternal damnation was far from her mind at that moment. Sister Thérèse will have your head if she were to find out, she was quick to remind herself, grounding herself firmly back in reality.“How long will you be in India?”“I’m not sure,” his reply was plain and simple, her dejection mirrored in his voice as he ran his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. Each chime of a nearby clocked another half-hour passing by, the miasma of dread that clouded over them growing all the more potent. “My father was the one who handled these types of affairs. Now that he’s gone…”Percy winced as his voice trailed, averting his gaze as his body tensed. Marguerite nodded softly against his shoulder, as if to say: I understand. You don’t have to say anymore. India must be nice, she thought, if he is to be spending so much time there. It would only be a matter of time before Percy would forget about her, Marguerite could picture it already; in a year’s time he would be wed to some wealthy heiress—a pretty one, at that—with a grand, ostentatious celebration of their union to boot. In a few months they would sail back to England, where they would start their family and live happily ever after, Paris being just a faint memory to reminisce on fondly.Any grief that dared to arise in her was forcibly pushed down. Who gave her the right? Men’s hearts were fickle, and a romance between an English baronet and French actress would have never worked out, anyway. There was too much risk, which she did not wish to bear. For his sake, she thought, before putting the thought out of her mind.“But you must know that I will miss you terribly,” he said to break the silence, eliciting a small upward tilt of her head. “I daresay I shan’t be able to put you from my mind.”Her breath hitched as they locked eyes, her fingers curling against his shoulder. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. She must be. He had been so cautious—perhaps too cautious—in the matters of their relationship, where honor would always triumph over desire. Surely, he wouldn’t dare to break that sacred code now. Not when their last moments of paradise were slipping out from beneath their fingertips.Marguerite pursed her lips. “You seem so sure of that,” she said plainly, a hint of skepticism in her voice. “Why—”“Because I love you.”At that, she grimaced. ‘Because I love you,’ as if it were as simple as that. Were there any cards that he wouldn’t pull? She had heard plenty declarations of love from the men who frequented the theatre, the kind of men who would kneel at her feet and sing hymns to the heavens if it were necessary. They were always the wealthy sort, the ones who could throw money at anything they pleased and still have plenty to feed themselves with. The ones who could have a wife and a mistress and still not be satisfied. She always knew what they wanted in the end, however; their leering smiles and roaming eyes practically gave themselves away without ever needing to speak.But Percy wore his heart on his sleeve. He could never mask his feelings, despite how hard he tried to. The public had been quick to dismiss him as a pretty, brainless fool, but Marguerite knew better. Percy was a good man, too good for her, and she couldn’t help but feel ashamed by her inadequacy. Even if their time together had been cut short, she felt as though a lifetime’s worth of knowledge had accumulated within her, transforming her into something unrecognizable. What did he possibly see in her? What was there beneath the depths of that meticulously crafted façade that had entranced him so? The ‘cleverest woman in Europe’ had long given up on love, but Marguerite St. Just still clung to that small sliver of hope. She wanted so desperately to believe in their love, even if it killed her.Still, she would not dare to push her luck further; it was far too late for any ‘what if’s’ or any sort of fairytale ending for them now.“You don’t mean that,” she said plainly, straightening herself before pulling away in an attempt to create some distance between them, no matter how small it was.“Don’t I?” his reply was instantaneous, as if the answer had come to him without a second thought. Even now, she could not truly understand the nature of Sir Percival Blakeney, bart; how he seemed to float through life so easily, as if it were all child’s play. “As if I could just forget the ‘cleverest woman in Europe’… Why, you take me for an absent-minded fool! I thought you were above all of that gossip, eh?”Marguerite gritted her teeth. “Brashness is unbecoming of you.” After a moment, she cringed, realizing just how similar she sounded to the Mother Superior. Daydreaming is unbecoming of you, Marguerite. When will you ever grow up? “You wound me, little lady,” Percy laughed, soft yet high-pitched that bordered on foppishness. “Terribly so.”“Well, maybe if I had been a nun, then we could have avoided all of this trouble.”Marguerite laughed in kind, and it was horrible and wry and filled with a lifetime’s worth of sadness that she wished she could bottle up. It was only natural that she tried to lighten the mood—for herself more so than for him—the gravity of their separation beginning to pull down on her with the brunt of its weight. Percy could never be hers, no matter how desperately she wanted him. Perhaps if they were luckier—had they been different people entirely—that the stars would have aligned in their favor.In the end, of course, the joke didn’t land.“Marguerite…” Percy turned to her, his eyes wide and mien incredulous. “Do you truly doubt my word?”She cocked her head, the corner of her mouth tugging to form a wry, skeptical smirk. “What else is there to believe? You said it yourself, ‘because I love you.’ Because of love! How quaint of you, Sir Percy! Next you will tell me that the sun revolves around the moon and that time is moving backwards.”“That’s not what I mean at all, Marguerite. If you would just—”“Spare me the poetics and get off your high horse. Haven’t you ever given someone a straight answer before?” Are you always this persistent? she wanted to ask, before biting down on her tongue until it stung.“Marguerite, I swear to you, I will return!”For a moment, she was stunned into silence—both by the desperation in his voice and his wanton boldness. Her head pounded, and Marguerite thought that she was seeing the stars realign themselves in the sky after being knocked out of their place by some inexplicable force.“You should not make a promise that you cannot keep,” she said, not bothering to hide the bite in her tone. She knew she was being cruel in her bluntness, only serving to twist the knife that had already been plunged deeply through them both, but she could not let this farce continue any longer. What did it matter that, at the sound of his pleas, her heart fluttered and her stomach curdled with something inexplicable—something like guilt? They would never have their storybook ending, there was no need to pretend otherwise.“Must you always be so quick to presume the outcome of things?” he replied sharply, uncharacteristically indignant. Her mouth hung agape, stammering in an attempt to collect herself. Checkmate.Gently, he took her hand in his, and Marguerite couldn’t help but notice how perfectly they fit together. If Percy noticed the scabs with half-dried blood along her nail beds, he made no comment, interlocking their fingers and squeezing tightly. For a moment, she thought she might weep, biting back the tears in her eyes as her throat grew thick. You should have fallen in love with someone else, she thinks before she can beat it down, stifling a pained sob as she quickly averted her gaze. It felt humiliating to be seen like this, as though she were made of glass and his beating, scrutinizing, loving eyes were looking right through her. Percy had done so much for her, and what had she done to repay him? She was grateful to have a confidante, grateful to have someone who understood her, but she could not call the feeling that burned within her ‘love;’ love could not be this horrible, shaping and twisting you into something mangled and grotesque, and he must be lying, for how can he love someone as shameful and selfish as her?Suddenly his fingers gently brushed against her cheek, and all of her worries vanished as she leaned into his touch. There was so much she wanted to say, and yet, all of the words failed her, as if she had lost her grasp on language itself.“Margot,” Percy mumbled, her sobriquet falling from his tongue sweetly like honey. “Do you trust me?”Marguerite nodded absentmindedly, her lips parting slightly as she drew in a quick breath.He pressed his lips against hers and the world fell away.Their kiss was sudden and brief, yet the taste was all the more maddening. When Percy pulled back, Marguerite took his face in her hands, pressing her lips against his as though she were afflicted by some lust-crazed fever. It was brash, but she was hardly caring; for once, she would allow herself to indulge in her selfish desires. Marguerite had become innately familiar with the men who frequented the theatre. She knew exactly what to say and how to act to please them, no matter how vulgar it was. She belonged to everyone and no one. If she could not be loved, she wanted to be desired; to be wanted by someone and needed. Here in their sanctum, away from the prying eyes of the public, she could finally belong to someone and someone alone.“Marguerite… Margot… Masha…” her name fell from his lips like a prayer, his breath coming out in short, heavy pants. “I want… I need…”Percy bit his tongue, restraining himself from uttering whatever uncouth word that would affront even the loosest of moralists. Marguerite’s hands rested on the collar of his waistcoat, her hands slowly fumbling with the knot of his cravat. He gently cupped her face and a small, almost pained breath escaped her, as though she had been burned by his touch.It was only a matter of time before she would fall back into routine, tracing the moves that she had memorized innately. He loomed over her effortlessly and she melted so easily into his touch, his hands gently cradling her face as he threatened to consume her whole.“I can’t have you,” he said, and for a moment, her face fell. Her fingers curl against his neck, gripping his cravat as he rests his forehead against hers. “Not here. You deserve a bed.”Marguerite nodded, as if the rest of her life depended on this moment. She dug her nails into his back as he hoisted her up, hoping they would bleed as he carried her upstairs.Percy’s room was nice, she thought as he laid her gently on the bed, her legs gently parting as he settled between them. Marguerite had never allowed herself to get a good look at Percy’s house, lest she cross that delicate line of decorum that bore the entire weight of their relationship. Here, however, their self-made constraints meant nothing. What point was there in restraining herself now?The first thing she noticed was the floral patterns engraved into the ivory walls, scaling up the walls like vines, a splash of virid warmth against the cold, unfeeling whiteness. It felt like being held by a cloud, the mattress of his bed bending and dipping as he stretched over her, pushing her head against the headboard as he kissed her sweetly. The pins in her hair had already come undone, her dark curls spilling out from beneath her like a river. She leaned into him as his body enveloped her, small, heavy pants escaping her between each kiss. They fit together so easily, she thought, like birds of a feather. Marguerite, wanton and greedy, shifted under him, his fingers gripping the hem of her skirt as he lifted it slowly. There was a glint in his pale blue eyes that she could not discern, something like fear—fear that he would break her if he wasn’t too careful. It was agonizing, the ache that coursed through her body, and Marguerite could only hope that Percy would soon rip off her gown and let her reach that little death. The sooner they’re done the better, and the sooner they can put this all behind them.His fingers brushed against the skin just above her stocking and her eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping her as she pulled the large ribbon loose from his hair. Surely, this must be a dream. It has to be, because nothing this good has ever happened to her before. She should pinch herself—or, more aptly, slap herself—and reel herself back into the present; Percy was leaving tomorrow, and she was being selfish. Greed, she had learned early on, was a cardinal and deadly vice. Well, perhaps the devil would be pleased to see her in hell, then, once she drew her final breath.But when he gently coaxed her to look at him—when she opened her eyes and saw him, more beautiful and radiant than she had ever seen him before—Marguerite knew that this must be real. Somehow, she knew, despite the novelty of it all. For the first time, however, Percy looked sheepish, his brows furrowed slightly as he gently caressed her bottom lip.“Tell me what you want, Margot. Please.”She stilled at that, and for a moment, Marguerite held her breath, the room quieter than a church mouse, as if the entire world had come to a halt. Her stomach churned and a wave of nausea washed over her, a sickening mix of bile and dread clogging her throat. Had it not been for his soft eyes beseeching her and the feeling of his warm breath on her skin, she would have almost certainly slipped out of consciousness, drifting between delirium and lucidity until she was put out of her misery. Something isn’t right, she thought, her mind whirling with doubt. Sex was not supposed to feel this way. It was supposed to be quick and hearty, done in a heat of passion and devoid of any affection. She had learned from experience alone that love had no part in sex, not from the men who made it a habit to loiter around actresses’ dressing rooms. Sex was not supposed to be this good. Her lover was not supposed to be this patient, this tender, this loving. Marguerite caught a whiff of his scent—something sweet and sugary, like honey—and she nearly came undone. With a trembling hand, she dug her fingers into his hair, hoping that it would be enough to steady her. For the first time in her life, she felt lost and found all at once. How long will you be mine, Percival Blakeney? How long will we get to stay like this? How long will it be until you get sick of me? “Touch me,” was all she could muster, her other hand fumbling to grip the lapel of his waistcoat. He was so gentle with her, giving her so much grace that she felt undeserving of. “Please.”Percy nodded, took her hand and pressed a kiss to her inner wrist, and said nothing more.Her skirts and bodice came off easier than expected, following by her stays, the laces all jumbled due to his desperation. The buttons on his waistcoat came undone one by one, quickly being tossed aside along with his cravat. Swiftly, Percy pulled her chemise off one shoulder, groaning as he began to pepper kisses along her skin. Marguerite let out a small whimper, curling into herself as he groaned against her skin.In a mirror that leaned against a nearby wall, she had caught a glimpse of her reflection; their bodies tangled in each other, her legs curled up and nearly touching her chest, the warm green of her big eyes, her dark curls, and the delicate yet sharp curve of her cupid’s bow. Marguerite never thought of herself as beautiful—pretty, perhaps, but never beautiful. Yet, here in his arms, with their bodies pressed against each other, she could finally see herself as Percy saw her. In his arms, she could finally feel beautiful.When Percy pulled back, she tensed slightly, her breath hitching in her throat as he rested his forehead against hers.“I want to make love to you, Margot,” he said softly, his voice as light and airy as a feather. “Tonight is for you.”Marguerite felt her blood run cold.Her mind whirled, and she was struck with the realization that everything they had built could crumble in a meagre few seconds. Marguerite knew she was a whore. She had warmed too many beds for it to not be true. How easy of a lover she was, they said, when she would give herself to them at the first beckoning call. Did he know that he would not be her first lover? What would he think if he knew? Such hypotheticals caused her imagination to run wild. The very thought of his potential rejection sent a chill down her spine, unable to hide even the faintest hints of horror in her face.Percy did none of that, however. Instead, he gently kissed her forehead, pulling her chemise off and tossing it aside. She wasn’t completely bare, in truth; there was still the matter of her stockings that needed to be dealt with, but she was bare enough for him to stare almost stupidly in awe.“Oh, Marguerite…You’re so beautiful, just like an angel.”You’re lying, Marguerite wanted to say, before biting down hard on her lip. Don’t ruin the one good thing in your life. Reinvigorated, she pressed on, pulling off his shirt in kind, leaning back on her elbows as his hand flexed against her thigh. Marguerite had always thought that Percy was beautiful, but this close, she felt breathless; he looked as though he was carved from marble, a noble Adonis made for the modern age. He had neglected to unbutton his breeches, which she had quickly taken note of. Patience was a virtue that Marguerite had mastered, yet the prolongation of their union and that little death grew more agonizing by the minute. Not now, she thought. Greed was not good for the heart, after all.Her lip was bleeding when he kissed her again, and she grimaced slightly at the bitter taste of spit and blood. When her head fell back against a pillow, it felt as though the wind had been knocked out from under her, and it was only when Percy pulled away and began trailing his mouth down her body that she realized there was blood smeared on his lips. A memento of this night, better than a love bite that would remain bruised on his skin for days. Marguerite knew then that she would let him do anything. She would not deny him anything; if he worshiped her, she would welcome it. If he hurt her, she would welcome it. (Why would he be any different than any other man?) It hardly mattered, for in this sanctum—away from the prying eyes of the public—this night was theirs alone.From between her thighs, Percy looked up at her, his eyes wide and imploring as if to ask: Is this alright? Wordlessly, Marguerite nodded, and there was a brief moment where neither of them dared to even breathe; it was just the two of them, entangled in each other’s embrace, and the moon, smiling down on them fondly.With a reassuring nod, he pressed his face against her, his tongue darting out to taste the first bit of her sweetness.It felt both exhilarating and crushing at once, the feeling of his tongue against her heat. Marguerite had played the role of the dutiful lover several times over; shameless in her desire, yet guileless all the while. It was easy with flings and hearty dalliances, when their faces were just a blur and she could put them from her mind. When it came to sex, she had always been chameleon-like in nature, moulding herself into whatever erotic fantasy would best suit her beholder. This newfound feeling of freedom—of helplessness—mortified her. To voice her desire, to allow herself to be greedy and ravenous when she had desperately beaten them down her entire life… What could she say that wouldn’t repulse him? That wouldn’t break the illusion she had so carefully crafted for their heat of passion? She had hardly been considerate of him tonight as it was, and now she was ready to jeopardize everything. All because she had been too bold and careless. Guilt knotted in her stomach, her palms clammy as her face grew hot and her cheeks flushed pink.Humiliation washed over her like a tidal wave as a horrifying realization dawned on her, her whole body shaking with it while Percy continued to lap at her like a starved animal. After this night, love would never be this good again. It would never feel this sweet, like coming home after a long journey. He was the person Marguerite would ever come close to loving, her storybook prince in the flesh, who had come to alleviate the years of loneliness she had long filled with dreams and the romances of centuries prior. Everything that she had loved and lost, Percy was all of it and so much more. Tears pricked in her eyes, and she could not help but mourn that in a lifetime filled with grief, her one happiness would be taken from her.Yet, Marguerite did not cry.When Percy lifted his head, he stared at her with half-lidded eyes, her wetness coating his chin as his lips tugged into a small, lazy smile. His serenity was enough to arouse a smile from her, blinking back her tears that glistened like pearls in the moonlight. He surged up to kiss her, and her doubts melted away. Marguerite’s hand instinctively ventured lower, allowing her curiosity to take over, just as Eve had when she was tempted by the serpent.As she palmed the bulge in his breeches, Marguerite shuddered, breaking their kiss to groan softly against his lips. This was the closest she would ever be to Eden, she thought, her heart in her throat as he tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Her stomach fluttered with a sudden warmth, tinged with a familiarity that she couldn’t quite place. Marguerite couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the girls at the theatre felt, when they sputtered giddily and swooned as they convened in their dressing room after having received a letter from some secret admirer in the audience. Perhaps this was how it felt to love someone; or rather, how love was supposed to feel. Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh. Have I always known you my whole life? Perhaps I was always meant to be yours. Perhaps this is how things were always meant to be. He rocked his erection against her palm, and she quickly nodded in understanding. The buttons of his breeches came undone in quick succession, her fingers clumsily fumbling with the flap before he hastily pulled them down and tossed them aside. Percy was bigger than she had expected, but Marguerite had never been a picky lover. If they had more time, perhaps she would more thoroughly appraise his body and size, but they were both desperate and his departure was now mere hours away. There was no time for such slow, careful intimacy.Her gaze flickered upward as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, digging his fingers into her hair as she reached out to stroke him to hardness.“Marguerite, I… I want you. I need you… Please, Margot…”Mercifully, she nodded without a second thought. He slid in easier than expected, though her body tensed slightly as it adjusted to his size. Her fingers curled against his chest, a small, breathy whimper escaping her as her eyes fluttered shut. Percy groaned softly against her neck, and Marguerite shifted her hips closer as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.He fucked her—made love to her—with a tenderness that chilled her to the bone. Marguerite wanted to call him an idiot for being so slow, so cautious with her still, when they had long since crossed the event horizon and fallen deep into their abyss. Almost certainly, they were fools, who had dared to hope and love in spite of strict, respectable breeding. But she had never been one to shy away from sentimentality, and Percy melted into her so easily. What could she possibly deny him now, when they had already gone so far? Swiftly, she hooked her legs around his hips, gently coaxing his head up to kiss him once more.Teetering between pleasure and shame, she splayed her hands across his back, a soft moan escaping her as he kissed down her throat. She clenched tightly around him, sending a spasm through her body as he thrust into her again and again. Slow, yet rushed all the while, she clung to him like a lifeline, and for a moment, she swore she could have heard him murmur a soft I love you against her ear. With how desperate they both were, they wouldn’t last for much longer, and the dawn of the new day was quickly approaching. Still, Marguerite sighed with content, a wave of tranquility washing over her, as if she had forgotten all about his departure and their imminent separation.This was it, she thought. This is what would bring her to ruin. Hell and heaven lay beneath her fingertips, pressed up against him as they fell together. Percy had extended his hand to her, to give her an out from her sorrow and the world. And she took it eagerly, willingly—knowingly—following him into the dark.Percy pulled out and shuddered as he finished against her thigh, and with two of his fingers being roughly shoved inside of her, it would not be long before the little Reaper would come for her, too. His fingers rested on her clit, rubbing languidly as lucidity creeped back into her. When their eyes met, Percy smiled, and Marguerite couldn’t help but smile in kind as he gently petted her hair. It felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, as though their quiet, tender intimacy was all that there was and all that there ever would be.Nothing else in the world could be more perfect than this.When morning came, Marguerite was the first one to stir, rubbing her eyes as the sound of birdsong rang in her ears. She must have slept a while from the look of things, her hair splayed out across the pillow. Her body felt light, like a feather, and for a moment, Marguerite thought that she was still dreaming. It was only when she felt a weight beneath her chest that she recalled what had happened the night before.So, it was real; Percy was laying beside her, his arm draped around her as his golden hair shimmered in the pale, morning light. They were so close that when she rolled onto her side, their faces nearly touched, and Marguerite watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. Her fingers grazed the now-dry spunk on her inner thigh, and soon, her denial turned to horror. What had they done? Had they truly been so careless? After what they had sworn to one another, had they really thrown it out just like that? Oh, she would almost certainly go to hell now. Her mind whirled, a dizzying whiff of shame pulsing inside her. You stupid girl, she gritted her teeth and grimaced. You stupid, foolish girl. Marguerite pulled back from Percy’s side, freeing herself from the sheets and sitting up sharply. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking in a shaky breath in an attempt to steel herself. She had to leave. Without a doubt, she had to leave. Coming up with an excuse would be easy enough, anyway: Armand would be looking for her, and before he could protest, she would slip out the door, running as quickly as she could and never looking back. She should have done that, anyway. She should have laughed and smiled like a pretty doll, and kept her distance, and talked cordially about the weather. This was a mistake, she thought. All of this was some huge, inordinately disastrous mistake.Suddenly, she felt his hand brush against her back, sending a shiver down her spine.“Margot?” Percy said drowsily, as though nothing had happened between them at all.Hesitantly, Marguerite turned back to him, her eyes glassy as she met his gaze. A weak ‘hello’ was all she could muster, a beat of silence passing as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I didn’t know you were awake,” she said at last, unable to hide the pain in her voice.“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small, lazy smile. “But ‘m fine. Thought you would have slept for longer. You looked so beautiful.”“What time is your ship set to depart?” Soon, her mind was quick to answer. Marguerite made it a point to step around his last comment.“Soon,” he repeated, “But it is still early.” He paused for a moment, before patting the space beside him. “... Come back to bed, m’dear. Please?”She blinked incredulously. “I shouldn’t.”“Please?”“Percy, I—”“Margot…”Marguerite sighed at that, her face softening. She could not deny him, not when his eyes were beseeching her so pathetically.So, she slipped back into bed, resting her head in the crook of his neck as he buried his face in her hair. It would only be a matter of time before Paris would be bustling again, when they would have to dress themselves and bid each other one last teary goodbye. For now, however, Marguerite curled up against him, shutting her eyes as he held her close. She could forget about the theatre, and love, and everything else that bore her down. For now, she could be at peace.For now, things could be the way that they should be.