Day By Day // Sybil & Tristan [flashback]
It had been a week, a week and some hours since Robbard’s passing. Sybil had not been at his bedside when it happened, of course, but she remembered precisely where she’d been when she got the news. A sharp rapping upon her door had woken her that day, and the messenger at her door seemed horrified by her reaction. Sybil was prone to theatrics, and had been for her entire life. But that day not a single expression crossed her face, and not a single word had passed her lips. Tipping the boy for his trouble, she’d shut the door behind her, and then proceeded to crumple to the floor.
Sybil knew her dear friend had been ailing for some time, and a sort of somberness had settled over the theater when his illness became more noticeable. But there had still been chatter within the walls, there had still been life and hope.
But all the words died when Robbard took his last breath, and the Gyld had since fallen into silence.
There was concern and worry amongst the actors, Sybil herself not excluded. What would become of them now that their beloved benefactor was gone? Who would continue on his legacy? But Sybil did not seek answers to these queries, not until her grief became more manageable.
So when the noonday sun dared to break one week later, Sybil forced herself to move forward. As much as she would miss her friend, she knew he would never wish to see her so bereaved. And that aside, there was still work to be done. Though the theater’s actors might be in a state of mourning, with a new owner, the plays would still come back. And to keep alive the legacy of the man she owed her life to, Sybil would do her best to help.
Word had reached her during that week that Robbard’s ward, Tristan Pendragon, was meant to become the owner of the theater. He was a fine choice in some regards. A talented writer he was no doubt, and well beloved he would become. But Sybil knew the lad to be a romantic, and managing the business of a theater required much more than good intentions. And so she trekked through the snow, her face reddened from the wind, until she reached the Gyld’s entrance.
It was as silent as she remembered, and her heart gave a lurch within her chest. She hoped that they could return the place to its former glory. It would be a disservice to Robbard’s legacy otherwise. Finding her way in, she hesitantly made her way to the back room -- the room that belonged to the young playwright her friend so loved. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she knocked and called out, “Tristan? Tristan darling, it’s Sybil. Are you about?”
