I finished (ish) that Oleander and mouse-Luster piece and every step along the way - especially the finished product - reminds me why I don’t like anything but portraits 😭 How do yall artists make scenes? And how do you make it look so easy? Like my gods!! I can’t even!!
Since TCH is nearing its end, I want to start clearing out backstories of canon before continue writing the main story, and I’ve decided to begin with our Lady Grandmother! As you know, PB is the worst at giving depth to characters outside the LIs and like, two or three side characters, and Dominique being our family and not hearing her side of the story, I said “fuck it” and gave her an interesting story of how she lived all of this. She’s a character that you love to hate, to love again and so on. That being said, enjoy!
English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/ grammar mistakes
If you wish to know more of the TCH world, click here!!
This series for various motives is rated +15
BEWARE, SPOILERS FROM CHAPTER 15 OF THE CURSED HEIRESS!! READER’S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!
Summary: Dogwager Countess Dominique tells her side of the story
Rating: PG-13
TW: Minor character death(s), childbirth gone wrong, mild violence, adult themes
Word Count: 5.1k words
Reading Time: 10 min aprox
May, 1761. Aster Palace, Cordonia
Dominique Aster looked into the mirror, fully knowing that she’d probably never return home. Turned nineteen three months ago, her father, Damon Aster, had prepared her departure to England to marry well. The Castelserraillan Revolution of 1742 had changed Cordonia forevermore, leading to have their first Constitution in history. Europe had been shocked by them ever since the first queen regnant on her own right, Kenna Rys, had reigned the country for 58 years in the early Middle Ages, where women were considered soulless creatures.
“Remember, daughter,” her mother had told her, “You must not only please your husband and give him heirs, but act in for Cordonia’s sake. Your father will need allies in Parliament. Speak when only called for, do your best to birth a male heir, behave accordingly and soon you could very well lead England’s society. And between you and I,” she whispered in her ear conspirative “if you play your cards well, you shall rule your husband, therefore his decisions. Now, try on this riding dress! You must impress Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz! She may be the king’s wife, and to have her favour is imperative, my dear.”
She did as told and tried on the burgundy dress and tried on several hairstyles inspired in Louis XV’s court (especially Madame Du Barry) and started doing a minimalistic but elegant hairstyle that would compliment her gorgeous golden hair and her bright blue eyes as the Caribbean Sea, like her father said once. They applied make-up to make her look paler than she was, for her castle in the House of Aster home in Galzania, neighbouring Castelserraillan, was quite hot and nearing the sea by a four days’ ride.
After having dolled up, she went down the stairs of Castle Aster, the house that once belonged to Queen Olive the Magnificent, consort of Fabian Rys during the Cordonian Renaissance and the golden age of Cordonia. Now, she wasn’t a descendant of Olive, but her grandson’s second son, who decided to carry on the Aster name after 50 years unused, for Annalisa Aster had married into the Beaumonts and there was no male heir for either of them. Indeed, Henry Aster had a successful marriage into the mid-1600s and had four sons and a daughter. The line continued too today. Their wealth and popularity… not so much. Due to the revolution, her father had made too many foolish risks and they were nearly bankrupt. With a sickly older sister and her drunk brother, it was up to Dominique to bring money to the house and make it get back in track, for it was every Aster’s dream to see themselves on the throne or on its succession line again, though King Fabian III’s fourteen children were certainly a big obstacle.
Her father smiled proudly upon his daughter and kissed her forehead “My dear Dominique. You look splendid. With your beauty, you could marry the king himself.”
She smiled “Thank you, Father. You flatter me unjustly.”
“Oh, don’t be modest, dear! He’s speaking facts!” Her mother cried. “Oh, will you look at the time! We must leave or else the Princess will leave without us, and we do not want that! Off, you go! Girls, come on!” She rushed her two ladies-in-waiting and got into the carriage, where they’d be taken to the same ship as Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz.
She looked around the ship and nodded, fitting for a princess within the powerful and feared Holy Roman Empire. Her ladies guided her to the princess’ table, and when she looked at her, she noticed some brown aspects on her skin and foreign features, but she was still beautiful nevertheless. She bowed to her and took a seat beside her. Charlotte tried asking her questions, but Dominique couldn’t understand her language. She then had an idea and asked for paper, ink and a pen. She started to draw the English flag and two rings for marriage, and the princess nodded. She drew on her paper a crown and a man, and two rings as well.
Throughout the journey, they started to teach one another their languages and joking around about the English through drawings and sharing tales. They were yet to understand their respective language, but they didn’t need it to know they now had a friend within the imposing island.
When they announced the ladies that they had reached England, Dominique squeezed Charlotte’s hand and nodded in encouragement, both coming down the ship with their heads high and waving to the crowds. Like her father said, flattery and prejudice sounded the same no matter the language, and many admired the princess’s companion’s beauty. The party that the king sent greeted them and offered to take their bags. Charlotte was with the dukes, meanwhile Dominique was with the rest of the nobles. One of them was quite handsome: dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a strong demeanour, and certainly very tall, above average in Cordonia. He noticed her staring and she quickly looked away, blushing and trying to hold a giggle. The women were sat together again and Dominique confided in her talking drawings about the handsome man she had spotted, and Charlotte joked that she would gladly sit them together. Both women giggled and continued musing how the king would look like.
Finally, after a long wait, the joint coronation came, and Dominique would carry Queen Charlotte’s train per her request, much to other noblewomen’s chagrin. With her head held high despite feeling her body light and her heart racing faster than the horses in Ascot, she did her best to prove to be worthy of such a task. As she watched the coronation, her eyes met the handsome man again, and she smiled at him this time. He gave her a nod and what it seemed like a ghost of a smile and continued watching. Step by step, she told herself.
During dinner, it seems like Charlotte was not teasing, for she was indeed sat beside the handsome man. He finally turned to her and asked “I have seen you several times, yet I do not know your name.”
She gulped nervously the soup and gave him a charming smile “Dominique Aster, sir.” She extended her hand so he’d kiss it, and he obliged.
“Rupert Foredale, at your service, ma’am. May I ask where are you from? You’re clearly not English.”
“I come from Cordonia, sir…?” She bit her lip.
“Viscount Rupert Foredale, future Earl of Edgewater.”
She nodded and decided to gamble, fan in hand ready for action “A man like yourself surely doesn’t lack a wife, with such a title and wealth.”
He chuckled bitterly “Sadly I have no wife waiting for me at home… yet.”
Dominique did her best not to smile and pouted “Shame. I bet many ladies would want to be your wife.”
He arched an eyebrow and asked “Would you be among them, Lady Aster?”
She signalled with her fan that she’d like to get to know him better and replied “Since you asked so nicely…”
He smirked and continued sipping the soup.
1767
Six years later, Dominique was pregnant with her third child, whom she prayed everyday to God that was a boy this time. During these past years, she had married Rupert Foredale in a beautiful ceremony in 1762 and given birth to two daughters: Hope and Philippa. She did love her daughters –Hope resembled her father with her brown hair and green eyes, while Philippa was blonde like her and with the Dowager Countess’ warm brown eyes—but she had promised her husband on their wedding night that she’d give him a son. And perhaps, the sincerity of her words was what had convinced Rupert not to take mistresses during her pregnancy. She did not like the fact that he had been with a mistress while she gave birth to dear Hope, and had thrown him two jars because of it, but they said that the moment she gave him a son were to come, he wouldn’t see any mistress again.
What scared her the most was the fact that one girl from Moorfield had give him a son, and she begged him not to acknowledge him for her reputation’s sake. He did not, much to her relief, but she had to give him a son as soon as possible.
“Attention! Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte of Great Britain!” The herald announced.
She whipped her head back and bowed to her friend, and all hell broke loose with her children going around and giggling. Charlotte took her hands in her own and smiled “Dominique, my dear, how is pregnancy treating you?”
“I am well. Feeling heavier than I should.”
Charlotte laughed “I feel you, dear. One can never have a break, for the husband calls for more spares.”
Dominique made a face “If only I could bear him a son. Look at you, you’ve given him plenty of heirs, meanwhile I cannot seem to conceive a boy!” She pouted.
Charlotte hugged her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder “All in its own time, dear. You will give him a son, I’m sure.”
Dominique tried to smile, but her worries were too big. She feared that if she saw that pesky laundress again, she might kill her with her bare hands for it. She was the opposite of her: lewd, dirty, very vulgar, swore worse than a sailor, very big and poorer than a church mouse. Yet, her husband went to see her of all the respectable staff.
“Give it no more thought, Domy,” Charlotte’s voice woke her out of her trance “she is the other woman and you are the wife and countess. Everybody loves you and respects you, even your husband. She’s just her badly kept dirty secret. In the end, he’ll come back to you, for you will give him an heir, not her. Hear me well, my dear friend, the moment you give him an heir he’ll forget that wench ever existed and will have his love, respect and gratitude for continuing his line and she’ll learn her place. She’s the one who’ll see that, being a laundress, won’t she?” Charlotte winked.
Dominique giggled maliciously “What I’d give to see her face.”
Charlotte smiled “Never forget to remind her her place. She’s the irrelevant mistress, the consolation prize, who will hardly be remembered, you shall appear on history books as the legitimate, true wife.”
Dominique raised her head high “You’re right, Lottie. I won’t be Catherine of Aragon. I won’t allow a little girl to take what I earned. His heir and love will be mine. And if he doesn’t love me, he’ll have to respect and thank me.”
In the end, she did not give birth to a boy, but another girl. His exact reaction was “Oh, bloody hell, it’s a girl and has extremely blonde hair.” Dominique, however, adored her quiet and easy-going nature… for a baby. She loved her daughter, and knew that she had found her soulmate. She was the one who looked the most like her, and was her most beloved and spoiled daughter. She declared that a son would be Rupert’s, but a daughter was all hers. At least she wouldn’t corrupt her like he’d do to that poor boy, whoever he was. Her daughters were all hers.
But the problem was the fact that he kept seeing that laundress. And she hated how haughty and arrogant she had become because of him. She wanted to badly to be rid of her, but her husband would oppose. She wanted to believe that he wouldn’t raise his hand at her, but the growing irritation of the birth of daughters and not sons wasn’t helping her case.
1768
When she gave birth to their fourth daughter, he was done and wanted to file for divorce and remarry a young debutante who was clearly trying to lure him… and that he was allowing. Upon reading their letters, she stormed through the halls up to the office, where she threw him the stack and flipped the desk. His eyes went from shocked to angry. He got up “Dominique!” He crossed the room and faced her, nose to nose “How dare you! Before you, you have the Earl of Edgewater!”
“And before you, you have me! Dominique. The sole reason you even have descendance!”
He scoffed “You call an army of useless girls descendance?”
“And pray, how else am I to give you a son if you refuse to touch me!”
He mumbled “For Christ’s sake, Dominique,” he signalled the staff to get out and closed the door behind him, fuming at her “Know your place! Or have you forgotten who am I?”
“You, too, have forgotten who am I.” He was about to speak when she stomped her feet and grabbed his cravat “No! This is my time to speak, and you will listen!” At his silence, she raised her head “Good. First of all, I am a descendant of Queen Olive the Magnificent of Cordonia. I am the only living daughter of the Duke of Aster, and above all, I am your wife! Fornicate whoever you want, but never forget that I have support at court. The Queen’s to be exact! And don’t forget how many favours the king has given you because of me. I want you in our bedchambers tonight. One last chance. If I birth another girl, I will leave for Cordonia, but keep dreaming about divorce. You will remarry when I’m dead.” She finished, their faces so close that, if she swivelled her face right, they could kiss.
She instead held her head high and left, not before curtsying to him and leaving the estate for a few hours.
On the evening of 1770, Edgewater finally sighed in relief when Countess Dominique gave birth to a healthy boy who already resembled his father very much. It had been thirty hours of pure exhaustion and pain, but it was all worthy. The earl was overjoyed, and soon showered his wife with expensive jewellery, beautiful dresses to match the queen’s elegance, and of course, the Edgewater tiara that once belonged to the late dowager.
And my, what a magnificent first fifteen years they spent, united as ever, and how the servants were gladdened that the succession war was over. She even was left on the charge of the several households Edgewater had, starting with kicking out that laundress in shame as she watched from upstairs, Edgewater jewels in her head and with the smirk of victory.
The moment baby Vincent was born, the war was over and they became they power-couple they had always been destined to be. They hosted the most splendid soirees together, attended Ascot together, hosted the best balls, and always outshone everyone at the opera and were the focus of the dinner parties.
That, with the fact that Hope was becoming a woman, and soon began her true education. At the age of twelve, she was starting her classes of becoming a lady and a wife. The sooner they began, the better. Her green eyes shone as she listened carefully to her mother, and her sisters listened—well, all but Catherine, who was entertained with her dolls.
Soon, when the decade of the 1780s was at its peak, the Foredale women had grown into beautiful women and many demanded their hands in marriage. In 1780, Hope was a woman of 17 who was betrothed to the Marquis Vidaud, and soon at her 18th birthday, she was shipped to meet her betrothed. The family was overjoyed to hear that just a month later, she was expecting her first child. And eleven more would follow.
The family was appalled when they heard that Philippa didn’t have any intention to become a wife or a nun for the matter. They fought and Rupert disowned her, sending her with his nephew to Kent, where her grandmother over-spoiled her and ended up being a tutor for a girls’ school. From that day forth, Rupert never once mentioned Philippa.
His pride was recovered once on Eloise’s 19th birthday she was betrothed to a Russian royal duke called Nikolai, whom they got an excellent deal and her dowry was the most generous, and her dress, the most beautiful and elaborate in over a hundred years. It was no secret at this point that Eloise was the apple of Dominique’s eye. Sadly, a year later, a letter came in: Eloise had died giving birth to her only child, Olga. Many could hear Dominique’s wails of pain over the loss of her most beloved child, piercing everyone’s hearts. The earl was truly hurt, for he always defined Eloise as ‘the most precious and innocent flower’ and was always protective of his daughter, who was often frail and shy. Only the yearly letters of Hope announcing a new grandchild came close to joy.
Finally, when Catherine was of age, she wanted to marry for love rather than political gain, and this small ‘rebellion’ soon led to an argument that would cost Dominique too much: the loss of her daughter.
“God, how can you take his side?! And don’t say that it’s because he’s your husband, I’m your damn child! Can’t I have one thing for myself?!”
“We are women in a man-led world.”
She scoffed “That’s your excuse? My god, I thought you more intelligent and erudite. I see it now. You are his goddamned puppet, like everyone else!”
She sighed “I don’t see why you shouldn’t marry the young Duke Richards! He’s rich, from the royal family, handsome, wealthy—,”
“He is a creep!” She cried “He’s always laughing at the fact that I’m a short woman, that he can do with me as he likes and… and I hate him! I’m afraid of him, even!”
“Whatever could he do to you?” She asked, not understanding her for once.
“More like what he wouldn’t do to me!” She shouted, so hard that the estate just stopped. She took a deep breath and looked at her mother “One day, that man will hurt someone you love just because, and you’ll realize too little too late that I was right and made the right decision not to tie him to us.”
After more tense arguments, in the midst of the night of 1785, she left for Scotland and never returned. She had to find out via Bishop Monroe that she had married a Scottish lord called Tadgh Fitzgibbons and was expecting her first child. Of course, she never told her husband. That was one secret she’d take to her grave.
Ten years later
Dominique waited patiently at the door, the rage inside her growing with every step her son took, reaching her own drawing room. When he entered the room, so overjoyed he didn’t even greet her properly, she lost it. Without even thinking it, she slapped him across the face, shocking him. His blue eyes, the same as Rupert, as well as his curly hair looked at her in shock. Dominique had never liked violence. She had always argued with her husband that it wasn’t the answer and that there were wiser ways to discipline a child. But this time, Vincent had gone too far.
“Mother…?”
“How could you? How dare you,” she spit “After everything that I did. Every single thing I sacrificed. Everything I had to give up, you go and blow my work for a mere singer that isn’t even that good!”
He frowned “Mary is no mere singer, she is my wife, and she’s actually—,”
“Silence! I will not hear it! Don’t you know what I did for you to have a better future? Do you think I made those matches for your sisters out of pleasure? Do you think that I enjoyed watching my daughters leave? No! I didn’t! All I did, was for you, so you could be protected and safe!” She took a deep breath and shook her head “For eight years, I fought tooth and nail against everyone in my own home so you’d be born a boy. I neglected eight years to your poor sisters so you could exist. I gave up my youth and dreams and ambitions to keep you alive and shape you into the man of the moment, the greatest earl to ever exist, and this is how you pay me!” She pointed her finger at him “I spent my dowry that I so carefully collected in my tender years so I could pay your scholarship to Eton. I paid some of the best teachers in the continent to come and teach you everything they could. I fought your father for months so he’d let you go to King’s College. I gave you my all, and you dare laugh at my face.”
“Mother, I—,”
“Wasn’t Marquess Georgia enough for you? Beautiful, accomplished, sweet, from a respectable background, and rich enough to fill our accounts for generations to come!”
“She was lovely… but she wasn’t Mary.”
“Insolent boy! Quit talking about her now!” She took a deep breath “Here’s what you’ll do. You’ll join one prince of your choice to fight against Napoleon, and when you’re back, you’ll marry Henrietta Marlcaster, or I will drag you there by the ear myself. And I am not asking.”
He sighed, fully knowing this was a lost battle “…Yes, Mother.”
He turned his back and started to leave when she muttered loud enough to hear “To think that I lost my precious Eloise for this.”
He slammed the door behind him, and didn’t see him until he returned a year later. He had proved heroic and disciplined, and the prince had given him a naval medal. He also married Henrietta, and in a very early 1798, Harrison ‘Harry’ Foredale was born.
But soon, her dear Rupert’s health became to decline concerningly fast. He had bouts of dementia like the king, and nothing seemed to cure him. Soon, he had become so unhinged, he had to be restrained to the basement. On the evening of 1799, he died in pain, yelling about the lost heiress and to never allow her to come. He had died a madman.
Dominique was now Dowager Countess, and Henrietta, much to her chagrin, was now the countess. With her veil on, she carried yet another loss. First, her dear Papa, then her beloved sister who had given in to her illness, and after that, her mother. By 1801, her brother’s gambles had made House Aster go extinct, for he had contracted syphilis with one of his various mistresses and now could no longer have children. Her past, her family, her favourite daughter, her youngest daughter and now her husband were all gone now. She had Hope abroad and her least favourite child with her. This couldn’t get any worse… until the regretful hunt of 1815.
That summer, everyone could hear Countess Henrietta’s wails of pain, for she had lost her boy. Harry was dead, all for a boar who had struck him while hunting. Vincent had been with her, but she was inconsolable. Dominique knew well that she was the only one capacitated to reassure her. She had lost her dear Eloise all those years ago. If someone understood her pain, that was her.
She sat beside her, and placed a reassuring hand on her back “I know what you’re feeling now, you know. I had to bury my beloved Eloise twenty-eight years ago. I felt like I was about to die. I wanted to die.”
“What kept you standing, then?” She asked.
“My other children. My husband. But above all? My grandchildren, and the fact that telling them all about their mother someday and pass her legacy through them would be making sure that they wouldn’t be forgotten. You see, if nobody else names your child when they’re dead, who will then? Live, Henrietta. For Harry. For Edmund. For you. Besides, I don’t think Harry would’ve liked to see his ever-strong mother defeated by his death. Be strong. For him.”
She nodded before crying on her shoulder, like a mother would console her daughter. Now, Dominique never saw her as such, but she would make an exception. For today. For her grandson, who was very much what her Rupert would’ve been if he had been kinder and wiser.
May, 1816
Dominique walked all the way from Edgewater to the parish. She wanted to be left alone, and what’s more, to talk to Bishop Monroe without being eavesdropped on. She sat down on his confession booth and greeted him “What ails you, Dominique?”
“What does not ail me, bishop? I have lost everything. My family. My homeland. My husband. Three of my children. My two living grandchildren. My friends. Tell me, bishop, why is God so cruel to me? Have I not been his most devoted servant? Have I not been a devoted mother, a loving wife, a dedicated grandmother, a good friend? Is that why God has taken my loved ones from me?”
The bishop’s features darkened “Some things are out of our reach, my daughter. We cannot save everybody. And you know what they say about the young being loved by the gods in Ancient Greece.”
Dominique seethed “Well, those gods crossed a line taking everybody from me for themselves.”
He placed a hand on hers “There, daughter. I understand your anger, but Edgewater needs you to be strong and—,”
“I have been strong, Reginald! All my life, I did as they asked. I abandoned my beloved country to save my home and family. Then, I lost it. I lost my daughters. Then, my husband. Then, my eldest grandsons to Napoleon. Then, I lost my youngest grandson and heir. On top of that, I lost in a span of weeks my only son and granddaughter.” She closed her eyes, tears rolling down “Look where being dutiful has taken me. Look where it took my daughter Eloise. Poor Lydia Sinclaire. Or my poor Joanna. Duty is the death of women. That is crystal clear to me now. And our fathers and husbands are responsible for it, yet are the ones who are never blamed.”
“Dominique—,”
“Thank you, bishop.”
She left the church and finally broken down in tears, all her loved ones’ faces passing through her mind, all of them now dead. Her sister Astoria, her brother Malcolm, Eloise, Catherine, Rupert, Philippe, Sebastian, Benedict, Harry, Vincent, Joanna… all dead. Gone. Her only consolation was her grandson by Hope, John, and Eloise’s daughter, Olga, who had come to accompany her in her grief. How she wished Catherine was here. She’d gladly tell her that she was right, about everything. Her husband, the duke, herself even. Because of his ambition and entitlement, she had lost a daughter and a granddaughter. She wanted to go where he was and tear out his heart for it. She wanted him dead; she wanted him to pay for it.
She wiped her tears and went back to the estate, where she laid on her bed what it felt like hours. Then, a soft knock woke her. She rubbed her eyes and opened the door to see her most beloved granddaughter Olga. She had grown into a woman of nine and twenty, with jet black hair and bright, sweet blue eyes, like her sweet Eloise. She bowed to the elder woman and Dominique embraced her “Olga, my dear granddaughter. How I’ve longed to see you. My, and what a woman you’ve become! My, every day you look more like your lady mother. Do you know who she was?”
“Yes, Lady Grandmother.”
She smiled widely “Good. Come, I shall take you to her room.”
On their way there, they stumbled upon her other living eldest grandson, John Vidaud. They curtsied and greeted one another “Lady Grandmother. You haven’t aged a day.”
Dominique smiled “Oh, stop it, you flatterer! We were going to show your cousin her mother’s room. Would you like to see your own as well?”
He extended both arms and smiled “Please.”
My name is Dominique Adelia Foredale, formerly Aster. I was born on the ninth of February, 1744, same year as Queen Charlotte of Great Britain and Mecklenburg-Strelitz, whom I met on our ship on our way to look for a destiny in England.
I was the wife of Earl Rupert Foredale of Edgewater for thirty-seven years. I was the mother of Hope Vidaud, formerly Foredale, and the grandmother of her twelve children: Philippe, Benedict, Sebastian, John, Emma, Clara, Amelie, Olive, Héléne, Fleur, Elisabeth and Vienna; Philippa Foredale, my unmarried and rebellious daughter who got away safely from this family; Eloise Nikolaevna, formerly Foredale, as well as the grandmother of her only child, Olga; Catherine, and her eight children, whose names is the only thing I know about: Jamie, Clodagh, Alexander, Grace, Hadrian, Maddalena, Ronald and Aoife; and Vincent Rupert Foredale, as well as the grandmother of his three children: Edmund, Joanna and Harry, which the two youngest are now dead.
I came here in 1761 to save House Aster of Cordonia from extinction with an advantageous marriage, though it did little to save it, for in 1789 it was declared extinct due to my poor brother’s bad decisions, which drove him to take his own life out of shame. My family eventually died. Then, my poor Eloise followed due to childbirth. Then, my dear, free-spirited Catherine drifted apart as well. Rupert also followed in 1799, dying the death of a madman due to circumstances above my knowledge. When I thought no one else could leave, my grandson Harry died due to a hunt gone wrong. In April, in a span of nearly a week, my only son Vincent died of yellow fever and my granddaughter Joanna was murdered by Duke Tristan Richards of Karlington, making my dear Catherine’s predictions true.
I am Dominique, the woman who was blinded by duty and still tied to a world now gone in England. I lost everything to duty. I was a dutiful and obedient daughter, a loving wife, a dedicated mother, a devoted grandmother. I am Dominique, the woman who put duty above everything, the woman who, due to her blindness towards duty, was eventually taken away by her loved ones.
Maybe I always knew that one day, my old-fashioned ideology would get me killed. But I never guessed that such an obsession would kill my loved ones. I did what I was told, I fulfilled my duty. But now I wonder, did I fulfil it? Or did it destroy me?
I am Dominique, the woman who outlived her duty, and this is my tale.
Please please please I’m begging you PB...don’t make the next moment in the next chapter sexy! I can't handle any lust or sexual tension when Kieran is all bird out
