And she made her decision.
*
He sat in the room, his legs crossed on the table, a cigar between his fingers as he watched the ceiling. Another night, but it wasn't just any night; this was the end of the fourth month.
She hadn't made up her mind—or she had, but he couldn't tell because they hadn't crossed paths since that night. He'd made certain of it by keeping himself as busy as possible so that when he returned, the manor was quiet.
Before proceeding to wash the blood from his body, he sat in this position, numbing himself with the weed and the alcohol.
Today he decided to leave the alcohol.
He wanted an almost clear mind when he watched her go, so he understood he was the only one invested—invested enough to be willing to risk everything.
Or he was just looking out for himself; this was her dream he was talking about, a dream that had kept her going when she was at her lowest. How would he expect her to give it all up for him?
Maybe because he could give it all up for her.
The kn
