In our memories
@rosaliadebarcelos
Guilherme’s steps echoed in the halls; the space between the sound of a new stride decreasing with every second. In a hurried stroll he walked from room to room searching for the daughter whose location he had not yet grasped. Even so, despite the growing dark feeling at the pit of his stomach he did not pant, he did not run, he did not scramble. Guilherme walked with purpose, and damn those who got in his way. But who would dare when a man of his caliber swiftly pressed on looking at other people as if they were inconsequential moving furniture?
“Y-your Grace!” someone exclaimed too late, the double doors already closing in on their face while the Duke briskly passed into the gardens, his jaw now tense.
“Where are you little Ro?”








