By the time Perdita woke, Dodie was already gone, sent off on a beautiful carriage covered in flowers and twigs with a huge escort to marry a Prince. All because she had been born three minutes older. True, Dodie’s birth had been quick and painless while it had been Perdita’s birth that had killed their mother, but that did not make her any more legitimate to rule over a kingdom than her sister.
That was always the problems with Twins, she supposed. In this world, are you superior just because you're born first? Not that it mattered in the end for poor Perdita. Dodie was a much better match for anyone with her kind and gentle nature, while Perdita was often described as Wildfire in the Keep.
She and Dodie were not identical but completely different, for while Dodie’s hair was dark and luscious, all Perdita got was a curled ginger mess like her Father, the ruler of Pavo Woods, Ren Ottidite. Dodie, on top of that, had already reached womanhood while Perdita was left waiting around for her blessing from Needle, the fiery red God.
The sky was already glaring Red when Perdita woke up to discover it was hours since Dodie had left. She had heard earlier the commotion of preparing Dodie’s belongings and getting her dressed next door, but she hadn’t gotten up to see the ridiculous parade out into the streets. No, Miss Dorothy Ottidite had left without even a goodbye or thought to her younger, less-important sister.
Well at least now the Castle was quieter, without Dodie’s simpering handmaids about. It was calmer, too, in a way. Nothing moved as Perdita stared around her cluttered room, not even her curtain in the breeze. It was much smaller than Dodie’s room, not that her father had a favorite daughter. They had even shared a room for a time, but ever since Dodie’s engagement, Perdita had been shoved into a cramped room on the side of the Keep overlooking the city surrounding them.
They were not royalty, not even dukes, but their little town had grown to such a size it could no longer be ignored by the higher-ups. So Pavo Woods had become a major city, producing mainly wood and soldiers for the Needle, wherever he wanted them to go. It was simply luck the Ottidites had been in power when this happened, and though they were no noble, long-lasting family, they had made their mark. Perdita’s older brother had been married off long ago to some Princess of a realm in the land of ice and snow, and now Dodie was being sent off to the land of Purple Sands dressed in the traditional wedding flowers and the traditional dress. It was hard not to wonder when Perdita’s own adventure would come.
She had always dreamed of not marrying anyone, but in reality that would never happen. A dream where she ruled an army and Pavo Woods was unrealistic, laughable even. The youngest daughter of a lord was used to make alliances, if anyone would marry her, that was.
Finally, stretching in her single bed, Perdita shuffled herself to get ready to stand up, but something wasn’t right. Her bed was wet. Of course, only thirteen-year-old Perdita would wet the bed at her age, but when she pulled back the covers, it wasn’t pee but blood.
Blood was blooming and trickling across the sheets as if someone had been murdered there, but no one had been murdered. Her blessing had finally come.
Shouting praises to Needle, Perdita rushed to her door holding her lace nightgown which was also stained as she ran to get someone to show them she was finally a woman: Finally, a force to be taken seriously.
When her maid Fawn came running, she nearly screamed at the sight of Perdita before realising, “What in Needle’s name- Wait. Has your blessing come?”
“Does this make me a woman?” Perdita asked, excitement pulsing through her.
“A woman and so much more.” Fawn grinned, going to hug Perdita, who happily embraced her. However, no sooner had the embrace started than Fawn pulled away, suddenly coughing as if she had been taken ill for weeks, her face as white as the sheet had once been and also covered in flecks of blood.
“Fawn, what’s happening?” Perdita blurted as Fawn’s coughing worsened, Perdita reaching out to comfort her maid.
Fawn shrieked as Perdita touched her, though, curling back in fear and pain, pushing the child away as she fell down herself, eyes red and bloodshot. She didn’t move again as the blood trickled into a pool from her mouth.
People were already running up the stairs at the sounds as Perdita stared at her hands, now covered in both Fawn’s and her own blood. What were once plain, grey stone walls were smeared with red, and already blood was trickling down the staircase near them, falling with an inaudible patter in the noise. The first to arrive was a guard, who, on seeing the blood staining both the women and the floor started to panic.
“My Lady, are you alright?” he implored, scooping her up from the puddle of blood quickly forming. But his armor did not cover enough of him as he quickly bellowed, dropping Perdita back into the blood as he too started coughing up dark red splatters.
All Perdita could do was shout at the dying man, crying softly into her nightgown, “Stop it! Don’t die, don’t cough, don’t touch me!”
With that, what felt like the whole court was running up the stairs and down the corridor towards her, like flies into a flytrap. Perdita did all she could do: scream.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, letting out a blood-curdling cry as she wrapped her hands and her exposed body into her nightgown.
No one touched her as the world returned to silence again, but not the kind that anyone ever would wish for.
“Wildfire, what have you done?”
AN: Not going to lie, Perdita is probably my favourite character in this series.
The Butcher made her dramatic entrance as she always did: with four insignificants, in chains and bleeding, lifting her train due to its length as she fluttered into the room in her blood-red dress. The heavy wooden doors splintered slightly after her entrance into the Great Hall of Black stone. No one even breathed whenever she entered a room.
Hazel Sallow prided herself on looking as fierce as rumours made her out to be: if you can’t beat them, scare them, she’d always thought. Today was of course no different, with her long, claw-like nails painted as red as her dress and makeup to match, her hair carefully braided off her face so people could admire her beauty as she hurt them and the ones they loved. Although she also tried to show off her class with jewellery and other finery, Hazel found having many bleeding slaves around her also did the trick of reminding her friends or foes who she was.
Today could be especially interesting after what a group of bandits from the East Past brought here as a present. Her present, or guest, was certainly special, for kneeling before her was her cousin’s dearest husband, bloody and in chains. Although Hazel had met him but a few times, and even though he had been beaten so brutally, it was definitely him; she had never met such a cowardly man as him before and doubted she would again.
“The King of Izabalia on his knees in front of the Bloody Butcher. Who would have guessed it?” Hazel laughed aloud, as much to herself as the people around her. “Bring me Vulpecula and Sagitta. I want to show them how to break a snowy shit.” And with that, already one insignificant had bowed and scurried off like the well-trained rats they were.
“Please don’t hurt me…” the man whispered to the floor, not even daring to look up.
“Why don’t you look at me when you grovel, snowy pig?
Beg for your pathetic little life, why don’t you?” Hazel spat at him before gathering her long dress to strut over to where he knelt. She finally pulled his face up with her long nails, slick greasy hair leaving her hand moist, digging her claws in to make squirm, but not enough to escape her gaze. There across his face was a new long scar from his temple to his lip crossing his left eyeball, which was only a hollow hole now, still bloody and red.
“Hazel.” Oswald Sallow, Duke of the Mark, called sternly as he entered, spotting her.
“I was just starting-” she began to utter. Sadly, the only person with any control over her was her own husband, and he had more sense than her any day. They often compared her to his hunting dogs, but she was no bitch. Anyone who even whispered that could lose a tongue at least.
“You will have your time, but now is not that time. Who brought in the snowy pig, and from where?” Oswald bellowed, looking at the crowds of mercenaries, lords, ladies, common folk, and bandits in the cold, black stone room.
“I did, sir. He was heading down the Nackati Path south,” Oone husky fellow wrapped in white furs spoke up, his two sabers still dangling loosely in his hands.
“Give him a fit reward, will you, Falvar,” Hazel said to the Mark’s head of Council. Born in the wild southern clans of Peakton as a dark mage, Falvar had escaped his past life to pursue a world that relied more on cunning than brawn until he made his way to the top. He was slimey and tricky, but maybe that’s what made him appealing to Hazel, that and the hope that one day she would actually see his full face because Falvar still wore his traditional deep dark blue hooded capes, only revealing the dark skin across his bottom jaw.
“With pleasure, your grace,” Falvar muttered and bowed from the High Council’s table in front of the Duke’s chair but behind where the prisoner knelt. Before anything else could be done, though, from the high chambers Lord Vulpecula and Lady Sagitta entered eagerly, both thin, tall and blessed with the Sallow auburn hair.
“What are they doing here?” Oswald demanded in a hushed whisper to Hazel as the insignificant she had sent to get them followed them into the room and helped them to be seated on the High Council’s table.
“I wanted to show them how to treat their enemies,” Hazel grinned, looking down at the prisoner still kneeling by her feet. He was so weak it only took a kick for him to collapse back down to the floor.
“You will have your chance later to deal with him how you wish,” Oswald stated, staring at his wife with menace.
“Spoilsport,” she teased as she retreated from the prisoner, beckoning for a cloth from one of her slaves.
“If he gives us the information we need, he won’t need to be punished,” Oswald said, taking his wife by the arm, his chubby old finger digging into her arm.
“But we could punish him anyway. He married the White Bitch willingly. He deserves all he’s getting anyway,” Hazel challenged him, shoving his arm away as she wiped her hands.
“Please! I’ll give you anything you want! Lands, Castles, Kingdoms!” The prisoner cried, groveling from his position and looking to Oswald for help. Fat chance that would happen. He was as bad, if not worse than, Hazel in his own special way.
“Would you? Give me anything I want? Would you hand over your first-born to a slave owner for nothing but your own freedom? Would you die at the butcher's block? Would you fuck me into oblivion?” The Butcher raised an eyebrow and waited for a response. Then she laughed. “No, I thought not, pig. No one would do anything for anyone. Especially not you. Because all you care about is yourself. Don’t worry. That’s not necessarily bad. I only care about myself too, but I am better than you at it.”
“Enough,” Falvar interrupted, even shouting his silky southern tones could not be stopped. “If he wants to confess what we want, he can now. If not, you can do this in private.”
“With pleasure,” Hazel cackled.
“Speak now,” Falvar commanded the captive. After a moment’s silence, the prisoner raised his head to look Falvar in the eye, but only his mouth moved as if he couldn’t find the words he needed. It was enough to provoke Hazel, however.
“Has your tongue stopped working? If it has, I’ll rip it out,” Hazel suggested then turned to Falvar. “Told you he was a pussy as well as a pig. Don’t worry. I can fix him… or break him apart.”
“He’s all yours,” Oswald said dismissively as he turned to leave.
“Wait! Please! I’ll tell you anything!” the captive king shouted after Oswald as he left as silently as he entered.
“Don’t worry. If he knows anything of use I’ll find it,” Hazel called after Oswald eagerly before turning her attention to the prisoner. “Confess now, and I’ll give you a bargain. Otherwise I’ll bring you down to my room. I already have the plans laid out.”
“I’ll tell you anything, please...please… I want a bargain,” he spluttered, the fat tears of fear rolling down his cheeks like those of a baby. Hazel sighed. Pity the pathetic ones gave in so easily.
The Royal welcome feast was prepared, not that most of the Damark family wanted to attend. Thankfully it wasn’t only Dan who resisted being forced into dress wear, but both Pomia and Fay kicked up a fuss too. Only Quirina was truly excited to go, dressing as quickly as she could in her long, flowing blue gown.
“I’ve been dying to wear this since I got it last year. Now finally I can be the Queen of the ball,” Quirina squealed in excitement as Serafina, their mother, finally finished threading her corset.
“It’s only a dinner, dear. Don’t exaggerate the occasion,” Serafina sighed, releasing her daughter, who nevertheless went off spinning round the room.
“But there will be dancing!” Quirina interjected, stopping to admire herself in their mirror. The dress itself was carefully hand-sewn, covered with frills representing the rivers that gave the Riverland its name, and suited Quirina very well with her small but slender figure. On the bust was even the family crest, showing all foreigners who she was.
“More likely fighting, but whatever keeps you happy,” Serafina smiled, standing up to grab Fay to force her into her dress robes. “Pomia what will you be wearing? A dress or a shirt... Or even a dress shirt?”
“I don’t want to go, Mum. All those clothes are itchy, and that fat man smelt funny,” Pomia complained, sitting down on the chair in their dressing room, the only room not regularly used in the Damark’s house. It was only used really by their Mother to store her many gowns but also held any other fancy outfits the family kept.
“Like Ale and poop,” Fay added as she fought with her Mother trying to make her sit still while she started braiding her hair back.
“Yes! Mummy I don't want to go if he is there,” Pomia insisted.
“He is our Needle, Pomia,” Serafina snapped, pulling a little too hard on Fay’s hair and making her squeal.
“Exactly! He is a pain in our side,” Fay hissed at Pomia, making them both descend into giggles to the anger of their Mother.
“Fay! Pomia! You are going, and that is that. And one more rude comment, and I will have you both working at the stables shovelling poop until you smell too,” Serafina shouted, making all the Damark siblings fall quiet.
“So you think he smells like poop?” Pomia giggled, breaking the silence and sending all the siblings into fits of laughter.
“Come on, Fay, don’t you want to look pretty?” Serafina sighed, finishing up Fay’s hair.
“No, I want to look like a fighter. I don’t look like a fighter in a dress,” Fay fumed, looking at the dresses like they were about to devour her.
“Stop making this hard, Fay. Just pick a colour, please. What about this lovely green dress,” Serafina tried to reason, pulling out one of Fay’s many dresses she had often sworn never to wear. Most had been slashed with a sword mysteriously by an unknown trespasser.
“Dresses are for soft girls,” she huffed, trying to escape her Mother’s grip and reaching for her sword on the dresser.
“If I let you wear a sword on your belt will you wear it?” Serafina offered, tired of her daughter’s fussing.
“Fine. But it has to be my sword. Not some wooden practice sword,” Fay grinned, lifting her arms up for the dress to be put on.
“Pomia?” Serafina asked as she helped her youngest child get dressed.
“The dress robes, Mummy,” Pomia finally said, giving in with the rest of the siblings.
“See, I have such lovely, mature children, Daniel. Shame you couldn’t take a leaf out of their book,” Serafina hinted as she helped Pomia into their dress while Fay attached her sword to her belt.
“But, Mum-” Dan started standing up, ready to try and escape if necessary.
“No buts. I want the Heir of the Riverlands and Eridanus to at least look presentable. Would you prefer the Blue suit or the Green one or the Silver one? You have to bear the house colours, you know,” Serafina stated, not-so-subtly blocking the door.
“Silver,” Dan finally sighed, giving in as his Mother grinned and picked a suit out of the wardrobe. Then she offered to help him get dressed.
“Mum, I can get dressed myself, okay. I’m not a baby like Pomia or Fay,” Dan grunted, grabbing the clothes off his Mother and begrudgingly starting to take off his own.
“Don’t worry, Mum, me and Pomia don’t care about old smarty farty,” Fay giggled, leaving the room with her sword carefully secured and gleaming from her belt.
“Yeah, smarty farty,” Pomia repeated, strutting out the room behind their sister before tripping over the doorway.
“Oh honestly, Pomia. I’ll send Christopher to escort you while I deal with this mucky pup. Look, it’s one night, Dan, just please, for me,” Serafina begged, her eyes heavy and tired even though the evening had not even begun.
“Yes, Mother,” Dan agreed as Serafina, happy she had won this battle, closed the door behind her.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you dressed this fancy since your christening,” Chris snorted as he greeted Dan at the door of his house.
Chris was not only Dan’s best friend but also his Sworn Protector, sworn from birth to guard and fight for Dan -- not that he had ever taken his job very seriously. But that was Chris for you; he had always been very laidback. In fact, he was mostly very useless, apart from being an adviser, as Dan was both taller and a better swordsman than him.
“Chris, you weren’t born yet when I was christened,” Dan mused as they started to walk towards the Eridanus Hall, which you could hear the music and laughter from even at this distance.
“Yeah, well… you know what I mean,” Chris smirked, walking slightly in front of Dan with his hand in its usual relaxed position on his sword hilt.
As they came closer and closer to the biggest above-ground building in all of the Riverlands, Dan couldn’t help fiddling with the buttons on his jacket as he asked Chris, “You’ll be by my side all evening?”
“Absolutely. I’d be beaten otherwise. Duke’s orders, apparently. I think he’s scared someone might want to kill his only heir,” Chris smiled. Chris never really took anything seriously, apart from maybe food, but especially not his job.
“I’m not his only heir, just the only male one,” Dan muttered as they finally reached the Eridanus Hall.
The usually bare Eridanus Hall now stood decorated from its floors to its rafters in the royal colours of light blue and red, with streamers and banners bearing the coat of arms of both the Gallaways and the Damarks. Gone were the usual pews, which instead had been replaced with long, decoratively-carved tables full of food and goblets. Even the one table at the front had been pushed to the side in favour of two larger tables for the two families.
At the left table sat the Gallaways with the Needle and his Thread at the centre already tucking into a meal that must have taken days to prepare. Their children sat on either side of them, the oldest of whom already was sat next to what must be his bride to be.
From lessons of the other families and alliances, this was clearly Colimba Sallow, Duke Oswald Sallow of the Mark’s eldest child and daughter, famed for both her beauty and temper. She was clearly engaged due to the traditional chain of red tulips, cornflowers and thorns wrapped round her neck, meant to show she was promised and to stop her engaging with anyone. These flowers were specially made to last years if necessary and would be cut from her neck come her wedding day in line with tradition of the Naturalism Religion followed in Pavo Woods and the Mark.
Luckily for Dan, he was a free man and didn’t have to worry about being engaged to such a brooding bride, he thought to himself as he headed towards the large table on his left, where his own family sat waiting for him to arrive before starting their meal. Not that Fay and Pomia weren’t already trying to sneak food off their plates. By the time Dan had sat down next to his father, his two youngest siblings had already shoved half their plates’ worth of food into their mouths.
Chris, as his guard and sworn protector, sat just behind him on a small table for guards, tasting both Dan’s food and wine before he began. Not that it was often Dan had wine, but when he did, he had to admit he enjoyed the taste.
Below them sat lords and ladies from both the court and the surrounding cities who had ridden in for the occasion and the Needle’s guard and servants who had arrived with the Royal family.
For most of the meal, it was all very civil with music and chatter for background noise. However, by dessert, food was already being flung around the tables and onto the floor. Gods knew how it started, but it wasn’t long before it reached the higher tables, where a chicken leg was thrown at the Needle. After a tense moment of silence, though, he joined in, throwing some of his own food back, and then pandemonium broke out.
Practically all the men started brawling and throwing food, forcing many of the women to leave swiftly through the main entrance, and with no sight of Chris, who had probably joined in the fun, Dan was forced to run out the back door to his usual point of refuge. He wasn’t the only one, though, who had thought of that, for who else would be standing trying to open the door but Philip Gallaway.
“I am afraid if you're trying to get out, it’s locked,” he smiled weakly as the ruckus grew louder with every second. Even with the situation escalating, he seemed surprisingly calm and collected with not a hair on his head out of place.
“Of course today would be the first day Yale locked the door as he left. Come on, we’ll just have to leave through the main doors,” Dan groaned, indicating the way as the two boys sneaked back into the main hall.
“We’re going to get hit,” Phil shouted over the noise as they scurried past the main tables, heads down.
“It’s just food. Don’t worry. I would say this is usual, but it’s not,” Dan explained as they skirted round the edge of the hall, “We aren’t all barbarians or anything.”
“I’m Phil by the way,” Phil chimed in as he dodged a potato.
“Well… I am Dan and,” Dan tried to speak before being forced to stop to miss a slab of beef, “I just wanted to say - DUCK!” Dan shouted at Phil, who dropped just before a fully-cooked duck hit the wall where he had been a second ago.
“Literally,” Phil smirked, standing up as they dashed for the door.
“Come on. Let's just get out of this. You don’t need your sworn protector or anything?” Dan asked as they slipped out the door.
“Don’t have one,” Phil answered, straightening up and dusting some stray peas off his suit. “That is to say I have one who lives in the East Crest, but he doesn’t travel with me.”
“Really?” Dan replied, looking at Phil with surprise. Even if he was well-built, it was uncommon for any Royal to not be escorted everywhere.
“Yeah, I am lord of a military city, and as I spend most of my time there, I’ve picked up a few things over the years. You won’t get in trouble for leaving me alone,” Phil assured him as they walked down the steps.
“I’ve got to go,” Dan suddenly said, remembering who he was with, not only a Prince but the person destiny wanted him to follow. It felt like he was going to burst if he didn’t tell this boy about his dreams... So Dan’s instant response was to push him away.
“Well, I’ll see you soon, Dan…” Phil glowed, offering his hand to be shaken.
“Damark. See you soon, Philip Gallaway,” Dan grimaced, shaking Phil’s hand before quickly scurrying away towards his house.
“Phil!” he shouted in a slightly annoyed voice as Dan hurried home while Needle dipped below the horizon and the sky turned a deep purple as the distant light of Thread grew closer.
“What do you mean he is still technically the King?” Louise shouted across the table at Iada Javok, her Head Councilor.
“I mean, my Queen, that we don’t know what has happened to him, so we have to enact Order 67 of the High Rule Act that both you and your King signed on your wedding day,”
Iada explained, shuffling in her large, wooden chair and flicking her grey hair out of her face.
“So what happens while he is missing? He can’t rule a kingdom while he has no contact with us,” Louise, who had only been in the meeting for five minutes, seethed.
“It means you will temporarily be in charge until we receive proof or evidence that states he has broken the High Rule Act or decided to leave you,” she assured Louise, carefully polishing her spectacles to read the finer print of the document in front of her.
The cosy council room was both big enough to fit the long table and small enough that it only required one smaller fireplace to heat the whole room. After all, it was always winter here in Izabalia, which was so far north that the seasons never really changed. Even still, Louise was hot under the collar of the dress she had selected this morning.
“But it could be days or even years before we hear from him. How am I meant to put long-term measures in place if war breaks out and he is still ‘technically’ King?” Louise argued, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“Order 67 does have some leniency, my Lady, when our country is placed in threat or if he has disappeared without trace for over a year,” Jack interrupted from his seat next to Iada, indicating a line in the document.
“This is ridiculous.” Louise sighed, rubbing her forehead as her second headache started to form, the first having come after hours of crying.
“It is the law you signed,” Iada stated, staring her Queen dead in the eye.
“Because I was forced into marriage,” Louise coldly replied, finally stopping her pacing.
“My Lady-”
“Don’t ‘my Lady’ me. In truth I never wanted to marry that Pavo Woods man. He was ten years older than me and a pig,” Louise fumed.
“I am sure we can find a better match next time round,” Thomas interjected, breaking the staring contest that had started between Louise and Iada.
“There will be no next time round,” Louise concluded, finally sitting down in her ornate wooden chair and turning her attention to Thomas.
It was with a heavy sigh that Thomas realised it was his turn to be argued with, and the sound annoyed Louise. All these people seemed to believe her to be a child, ignorant to the way of ruling, but what they needed to understand was that if she was going to rule, she would do it her way. “But, your majesty-”
“I was a peace offering to keep us from war,” Louise cut in.
“I understand-”
“I am no peace offering and don’t intend to be again,” Louise shouted, the whole world suddenly still. “If I marry again, then it will be for love, not peace.”
“It is your duty to the people of this kingdom,” Iada snapped, finally losing her own temper, her old grey eyes almost glowing with disdain.
Louise was still as she almost hissed her response, cold pure anger flowing through her veins and her headache worsening by the minute. “I will not have them ruled again by another southern pig. If you have something more productive to say, Iada, say it.”
“I am sure I can go over the finer points of Order 67 at another point,” Iada answered, all anger dispersed by Louise’s tone. The head of the council was finally done dealing with what she clearly viewed Louise as: an immature young girl.
“And you, Zarithian?” Louise asked her trade adviser, who helped her maintain her successful and flourishing business transactions with the south.
“I am a merchant. Trade is my specialty, not love. The trade is good with the south, so I am good. However, I would advise against any course that might...displease our trading partners,” Opal Zarithian purred, still casually leaning back in her chair and inspecting a fat, ruby ring round her slender, black hand. She was always uninterested in any topic unless she could see how it might affect trade. However, Thomas Snofrid, Louise’s cousin and best adviser, was not as relaxed.
Thomas was not too tall or small but had a strong build and was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Even with his dirty blonde hair, you could still mistake him as being Louise’s brother, so alike were their mannerisms and looks. Both of them possessed the Snofrid curls and ice cold eyes, Thomas’ more grey and Louise’s more blue. With such similar features, it was a wonder more people didn’t mistake them for twins even; they were so close in age and friendship, they easily could have been.
“Thomas, you wish to speak?” Louise observed as Thomas stopped fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves and looked Louise dead in the eye. Ice grey and ice blue eyes locked in place.
“I would like to say one thing, Lou, while we are on the subject of the south. As much as you don’t wish to marry, the southern countries will not stay peaceful forever when they hear of the King's disappearance. When this gets out, there will be many foul rumours about whether you caused it, and no doubt they will want a peace offering or war. The balance between our kingdoms is very unstable.
“We need plans for if this does happen, as this could affect both trade and peace. I do not want to have to send people to war without a reason. Whether it be gold or Darcy’s future hand-”
“Thomas, enough. I will not sell my daughter for peace either,” Louise almost snarled, dismissing him.
Thomas was not finished, though, as he continued, “I am simply being logical. It’s only a matter of time before we hear from Hazel-”
“We do not use the Butcher’s real name. Not now, not ever,” Jack interrupted before Louise could, his face plastered with shock.
After a moment, Louise finally thundered, “You keep your traitor sister out of this. You keep my daughter out of this. We are done for today,” and with that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door purposefully loud behind her.
‘Gathering Threads’ – A Celebration ‘Paisley was the mills and the mills were Paisley’ *
Thanks to the generosity of Mr Marcus Dean, the Anchor Mill Atrium appropriately hosted 200 enthusiastic Renfrewshire school children – a credit to their schools – to…
