Wishes, she has learned, are like stars. There in the moment, gone in the morning, returning in earnest when the world falls to darkness. Persistent. Bright… but Sophie has long since told herself she is content to never wish again, buried the ability to with her father along with her tears. Or attempted to.
Since meeting Benedict Bridgerton… Sophie found herself inviting the feeling in again. To wish. To dream. To yearn for a life she does not deserve, nor will ever obtain due to the class she was born into. Fate, however, cannot be changed. Yet she continued to test it, as though searching for a silver lining in all of its circumstances. And Benedict made her feel like it’s all achievable.
She should not be here — feet hesitant when they should be fleeing the Bridgerton premises. Sophie lingers like a ghost, hoping her spirit will haunt these halls while her shell departs to America. She simply wanted to see him one last time. To memorize every feature of his face, a portrait painted on the back of her eyelids. A cordial, respectful goodbye, nothing more. But the heart speaks for her, and breaks with Benedict’s response. “That is not possible… and you know that.”
Lips bloomed with pink from where teeth have anxiously nibbled press together in a thin line, suppressing the overwhelming swell of emotion that rises from chest to that spot at her nose. Professional, she must remain. “I have… thoroughly enjoyed our time together, and will treasure every moment. There is… you have — my upmost gratitude that I cannot express in the simplistic confines of mere sentences, Mr. Bridgerton.” @2ndbornson
