astrangemagic-a

[astrangemagic-a]

This is random as eff but I've archived and I've moved over to @astrangemagic. still setting it up, trying to take what I need over there. if you still wanna follow, that's where Imma be.

okay bye.

[astrangemagic-a]

The hair on her head I slightly tangled despite his best interest to keep it brushed, but they can deal with that later. He simply takes notice when his fingers move through the strands. A sigh filled with a hint of happiness and calm escapes him as he sees her awake, and to see her looking so much better. There will be a few things to examine in time. Right now he simply wants to be happy in the fact that she's awake, alive, and the color has returned to her cheeks. Her eyes no longer looking dim but instead hold the brightness he is most familiar with.

Asking how long she's been gone though he frowns and takes hold of her hand. " Long enough. " He sighs. "But no matter, you're back now. " He quickly kisses her hand, tears in his eyes." You came back to me."

𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐒 of her cough subside, Cassandra attempts to rise, her every movement betraying the profound weakness that has seeped into her very bones. Her limbs tremble visibly, a glaring indication of the days—perhaps weeks—she has spent ensconced in the unwelcome embrace of his bed. With a slowness, she extends her hand towards the proffered cup, her fingers grazing its surface with a tentative touch. She partakes of a solitary sip, the liquid coursing slowly down her throat, a welcome balm to the aridity that had taken residence therein. Her movements are measured, a reflection of the vitality that still eludes her, her head awhirl with the disorientation that accompanies her reawakening to the world. Stephen's voice serves as a gentle admonition against haste. The road to recovery, though fraught with uncertainty, now seems imbued with a light, however dim, that pierces the shadow of her convalescence.

Lying back upon the pillow, Cassandra allows her fingers to rest lightly within his, and her brown eyes, shadowed with the vestiges of her trial, open wider in an effort to capture the entirety of his countenance, seeking in his features the passage of time that remains elusive to her. His inquiry into her state of being elicits from her a response, ❝ Sleepy, ❞ uttered with a soft smile that speaks to a tranquility found within his presence. Yet, it is fleeting, giving way to a momentary furrow of her brow as she confronts the chasm of time lost to her illness. ❝ How...long 'ave I been gone ? ❞ she inquires.

[astrangemagic-a]

There was a shock to his system in hearing her voice after so long. He thought for certain she would be lost somewhere between life and death despite his best efforts. Giving weight to the words her grandfather spoke of his skill ; he thought she was lost to him for good. And yet here she is now speaking to him, her skin flush of a fever passed.

She coughs and quickly moves to grab her water. Pouring fast he gingerly hands her the cup and helps her hold it, bringing it to her lips. "Don't push too much." He tells her. "You've been in bed for awhile now, you need to regain your strength."

Yet disbelief still on his features that she is moving, talking, and back with him in this room. There is still a road a head this is true. But now it appears less dark and less bumpy even if paved with good intentions.

After all, you know what they say of the road to hell. But this is the road to recovery and Stephen could simply rejoice in the moment. Throw his head back and sing if he could carry a tune.

" How are you feeling? " he soon asks, sitting beside her, taking her hand in his.

𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐃, 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 from the tendrils of her slumber, offering a mute testimony to her awakening as the utterance of her name, a gentle invocation from his lips, stirs something as in response her visage subtly transforms as a faint semblance of a smile graces her features. Her fingers, now ensnared within the comforting fortress of his grasp, respond with a languid pressure. Her countenance, ever so slightly, pivotes towards him, even as her eyelids drew to a close once more, veiling her gaze in a brief respite, as if to gather the strength that her body so desperately conserves.

❝ I'm...here, Stephen, ❞ she articulates once more, her voice still a raspy echo of its former self, imbued with the unmistakable warmth and affection for him as she breathes life into his name. The endeavor to moisten her parched throat, however, culminates in a fit of coughing, a futile battle against the remnants of her ailment that still clings to her with tenacious persistence. Her body, still ensnared in the clutches of weakness, convulses gently under the strain.

[astrangemagic-a]

The events that took place to get her here , under his watchful eye and under his care were a bit underhanded - but if her grandfather let her remain in her current state she'd be lost forever.

Yet, despite his own attempts he now wonders if he hasn't subjected her to a similar fate. The softest of sighs expel from his lips as he wonders if prayer would even help here. Would God listen to this man's prayers or would he dismiss them so easily has he has others who have attempted to reach him for favors. Even one as simple as saving the life of a woman who makes the world so much brighter. His world included.

Stephen drops his hands to his face and holds there , eyes shut as though attempting to find answers he to questions he may have missed. That is until her voice pierces through his troubled thoughts and his hands drop quick.

❝ Cassandra..? ❞ he speaks and he's quick on his feet - at her bed side taking her hand in his; he holds it and looks to her features hoping that he hadn't simply misheard the wind and that she is in fact present ; awake again.

✎‿𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @astrangemagic

“ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ … ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴀʏ.”

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒, his words reached her, not unlike a tender zephyr that ever so gently brushed against the very essence of her being. A discernible pause lingered in the air, a silent interlude that stretched between the utterance of his sentiments and the subtle inclination of her head upon the plushness of her pillow, a motion that bespoke the awakening of her senses. Beneath the delicate caress of her fingertips lay the smoothness of silk, a texture of luxury and comfort, whilst her nostrils were greeted with the faint yet unmistakable fragrance of different herbs. With the slow, deliberate flutter of her eyelids, the world began to unveil itself to her once more, albeit initially through the narrowest of apertures. Her eyes first met the sight of a wall, one adorned with wallpaper distinct from that which graced the walls of her own chamber, yet not entirely alien to her.

As her gaze, still veiled by the remnants of slumber, ventured further, it alighted upon the figure seated in quiet vigil beside her. There, in the dim light, she discerned the familiar contours of his visage, the man whose voice had been a constant presence, a beacon in the fog of her convalescence, even as the specifics of her ordeal remained shrouded in the mists of uncertainty. How long had she been ensnared in the clutches of her malady? The question loomed large in her mind. With an effort, she endeavored to moisten her parched throat, a precursor to giving voice to the thoughts to his sentiment that fluttered like fragile butterflies within her. When at last her lips parted, it was with a voice touched by hoarseness, bereft of its usual melodious timbre, as she whispered. ❝ But I…am ‘ere. ❞

[astrangemagic-a]

The woman knows him and his heart, as well as his mind. She knows everything about him and he loves. He chuckles as he looks to the box, to see the thought and detail put into it. "You know me so well." He says with a smile, his scarred hands touching the details that present themselves. And he is very curious as to what is inside the box. And he does like a good mystery, a good puzzle so he will enjoy taking his time to figure this out.

And where the gift leads is something he will more than happily share with her , as she has always brought him peace of mind.

The bracelet, while he isn't a man of jewelry aside from his watches he no longer wears and his wedding ring, the bracelet will be in place of his formally worn watches. Oh, he still collects them, but this is by far better for him to wear. And his wrist watches were already replaced with a pocket watch gifted by his wife previously and he takes wonderful care of it.

"I love you, all of you." He says with a smile. " You better my life. Merry Christmas."

Crafted from rich, dark wood, it features intricate carvings of celestial and mystical symbols, reminiscent of the cosmos and the astral planes. The box is not just a container but a riddle in itself, requiring a combination of logical thinking and a touch of mystical intuition to unlock. Each side of the box presents a different puzzle. One side may have a sliding piece puzzle depicting the Eye of Agamotto, another could feature a series of rotating discs with astrological signs, and yet another might include a miniature labyrinth with moving parts. To open the box, Stephen must align the cosmic symbols in a specific order, revealing the deeper connection between the physical design and the metaphysical concepts it represents. Once solved, the box gently unfolds to reveal the letter within, waiting to share the secrets of the thoughtful gift Cassandra has prepared for him:

My Dearest Stephen,

As the season of wonder descends upon us, I find myself reflecting on the incredible journey we've shared. Our world is one of endless mystery and magic, a realm where the impossible becomes possible. This Christmas, I wanted to gift you something as extraordinary as the life we share.

Enclosed within this box, designed to pique your curiosity and challenge your brilliant mind, you will find an invitation to a journey of inner discovery and peace - an Astral Projection Meditation Retreat.

Imagine a place where the serene beauty of nature meets the profound tranquility of the spirit. A secluded haven in the mountains where time slows, allowing the soul to breathe and explore. Here, amidst the calming whisper of ancient trees and the gentle melody of a distant waterfall, you will embark on a quest not of the physical realm, but of the mind and spirit. This retreat is not just a respite from the worldly chaos but a passage to inner cosmos, a chance to explore the astral planes in their purest form.

I've ensured every detail is tailored to your taste. And, of course, the flexibility for you to engage at your own pace and comfort. And, do not worry, my love, I will join in on this outerbody experience with you.

This gift is not merely a retreat; but a journey I hope will bring you the same peace and enlightenment that your love has brought to my life. The twins made a bracelet and Christmas cookies for you.

Merry Christmas and with love,

Cassandra

— @astrangemagic

[astrangemagic-a]

Stephen Strange in the MCU → Avengers: Infinity War (2018) dir. by Anthony + Joe Russo ↳ "We're in the endgame now."

[astrangemagic-a]

from Tessa & Theo

[astrangemagic-a]

To the Best Dad in Every Universe,

Happy Birthday! Today is the perfect day to remind you just how awesome you are. Not only as the Sorcerer, but more importantly, as my dad. You've shown me that in any world, across any realm, the most profound magic lies in love. Your courage and insight are more than just admirable; they inspire me every day. Thank you for your unwavering support, especially in my decision to pursue a career as a vet. Your belief in my dreams means the world to me.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Love always,

Jessa

The best gift he could have ever gotten is being a father. Two beautiful girls, a big-hearted son .. He never saw himself a father until he met Cassandra and she became pregnant. Now his life is unlike everything he imagined and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Thank you, Sweetheart."

[astrangemagic-a]

with love,Cassandra

[astrangemagic-a]

To My Dearest Husband, Your strength and wisdom are only matched by the depth of your compassion. In the swirling chaos of universes, timelines, and endless possibilities, it's in your arms I find my truest sanctuary, a place where time stands still. On your birthday, I wish for you moments of peace amid the storms you brave. May your year ahead be filled with the same joy and wonder you bring into my life every day. You are my love, my hero, and my constant in every reality. Avec tout mon amou, Cassandra

Stephen smiles as he reads the note attached to the gifts in front of him. He knew his wife would not forget the day that he doesn't often celebrate ; but with her and his family he now has more of a reason.

The letter is tucked away safely , a little box where he keeps all of her notes to him and he opens his gifts with a certain decorum. Even if he wants to rip into them like a small child.

[astrangemagic-a]

"Every night, I dream the same dream, then the nightmare begins."

Benedict Cumberbatch as Doctor Strange in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

[astrangemagic-a]

"A little too on the nose?"

Benedict Cumberbatch as Doctor Strange in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

[astrangemagic-a]

𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒. He thought - truly- upon the vessels crash he was a dead man. But nay, instead he was dragged away and for awhile scarcely remembered his own name. But as time passed it all came back to him. What had happened and who he lost. Did he save her or was she gone to the world .. gone from his world entirely ?

It was a nightmare to think about day in and out, each one passing without so much as a hint of a word on the wind about her. And he thought her gone forever.

That was until they were in that tower and his eyes found hers again. He found hope. That was until that he learned that in their time apart she met someone, found someone, and loves someone new.

His heart ached for her - the idea of the loss of her. Now to find her to know she is in the arms of someone else. His stomach turns and twists. He can taste the bile in his throat at the thought of her in the arms of another.

But could he fault her for it? After all in their minds, the way the world played the cards they were long gone from each other.

Fidgeting with his wedding band on his finger, his breath heavy in his lungs.

❝ I never stopped hoping, wanting, and wishing but time continued on as though there was no reprieve from the heartbreak of losing you. Now we find ourselves together again, and yet we simply could not have ourselves that fairy tale ending. Though those stories were never for us, were they ? ❞ he asks, forcing a smile that diminishes quickly in the flicker of a flame from the camp fire.

❝ If he is who you desire then I will step away and let you be happy. But if it what you and I had is still as strong as it was the day we vowed to be each other...You know where to find me.❞

✎‿𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @astrangemagic

" ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ? " - ꜱᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀꜱꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɢ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ >>

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐓. The question, expected yet dreaded, hangs between them like a spell yet to be unleashed. Each tick of the second feels like a pounding drumbeat, echoing the cacophony in her chest. Cassandra's gaze, for a moment, loses its focus, drifting past Stephen to the memories of what had transpired. Gale, with his charm and ethereal bond, had entered her life at a time when the void left by Stephen's presumed demise threatened to consume her. Every whispered word, every shared secret with Gale, had been a balm to the raw wound of her heart. It wasn’t just his similar aura to Stephen or his knowledge of the magic, the weave, that drew her close, but the hope he gave her—a glimpse of a future, perhaps even a life after the tadpole's insidious influence. But the Moonrise Towers had shattered that semblance of peace, revealing Stephen, her Stephen, alive and untouched by time. A miracle and a curse rolled into one, because now, the weight of her actions, her decisions, press down on her shoulders, making it almost unbearable to meet Stephen's searching gaze.

The air feels thick around her, her breathing shallow. The thrum of guilt, a constant undercurrent, vies with the genuine love and affection she had developed for Gale. Her heart, the poor conflicted thing, feels like it's trapped between two powerful magnetic forces, each pulling at it with equal might. Swallowing hard, she forces herself to raise her eyes, meeting the depths of Stephen’s. ❝ I do... love him, ❞ she admits, her voice a mere whisper, yet unwavering in its sincerity. ❝ In the void you left behind, he was the solace. But it wasn't... isn't, a replacement for you. My love for you never waned, never faltered, even as I believed you gone forever. ❞ Tears glisten in her eyes, silent witnesses to the tumult of emotions surging, ready to breach the dam of her restraint. ❝ Stephen, ... I, ❞ she murmurs, her voice carrying the deep torment that only love's complexities can inflict. ❝ My heart now finds itself divided. And I don't know how to...reconcile that. ❞ And there her voice breaks, and like a dam succumbing to the pressures it held back, tears flood her eyes. Her gaze falters, detaching from his, as poignant sobs overtake her.

[astrangemagic-a]

𝐻𝑒 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 but Stephen couldn't find it in himself to care about it. His care only lies with Cassandra and her well-being ; something he wished to see too but it seemed as though her grandfather had other plans. He could see the older man's anger in his features but Stephen stood his ground.

The word eventually echoes through the hallway and he's being told to leave. Stephen grabs his bag and stares down the man before him. His nostrils flared with a rage he couldn't display in the moment. There would be no air of politeness as he took his stance to leave as his eyes seemed to pierce through the man in front of him. He glances at Aislin off to the side and even she seems to be glaring holes into the back of his head. Her pursed lips and crossed arms had Stephen wondering if she was about to attack.

How he wishes she would but wouldn't at the same time. However in the moment their eyes lock with an understanding. She would keep him updated one way or another.

Stephen then turns back to Francis. " Then I bid you the day you deserve, sir." he says and he will then reluctantly take his leave. When he reaches the front door there is pause as he looks back upstairs to where Cassandra is.

His heart falls hoping that with his information he can still find an answer for her. It's not about his pride, it's about her well being.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐌 façade that adorned the visage of the elder tightens into something considerably more taut, a coil wound so precipitously close to snapping. His eyes narrow incrementally with each audacious word that drips from the young doctor's mouth. The mere temerity ! No one—absolutely no one—has ever defied him in such a brazen manner, especially not within the sacred walls of his own ancestral home. The elder Chevalier’s teeth grind against each other, his jaw hardening like a vise and he takes this moment to fully assess the man who stands before him, a man bold enough to question the choices made for his own flesh and blood. The sheer gall of the man to suggest, even indirectly, that the French Baron—the patriarch, the steward of generations—is motivated by crude fears or backward ignorance. In a house that the Baron as painstakingly rendered an island of stability, ever since escaping the devouring fires of the French revolution—a revolution that almost consumed his lineage—this brash young doctor stands before him as though believes he's the protagonist in a tale of enlightenment against dark ages, wholly missing the irony that he himself could very well be a harbinger of chaos. A destroyer of order and legacy that Francis has labored so ardently to construct. He listens, oh he listens intently, not for understanding but for the singular purpose of sizing up the measure of threat this Dr. Stephen Strange presents. And when the younger man's words culminate in an outright challenge to his authority, the barrier breaks. ❝ Enough ! ❞ The word erupts, each articulated sound imbued with a fervor possessing the capability to reduce all within hearing to mere ashes. ❝ I suggest you take your leave, Doctor, and you will do so for the sake of Mademoiselle Chevalier. If you dare return before she is restored to health, I assure you that you shall find the cessation of your courtship with her to be the least of your worries. ❞

[astrangemagic-a]

𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑝𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦 and as the man's attention sweeps to Aislin he glances at her and she stands there with her head held high ; no regrets on her features for asking him to come and look at her friend and he has a feeling if she could say anything right now she would. But there is silence, and Stephen is left to his own devices in the moment.

Though she may not speak her mind, Stephen isn't afraid to speak his own. ❝ You are afraid of change and therefor terrified of medical advancements made, that's why you prefer to stick with what you know - ways that no longer work ; nor have they been truly proven to work in the past. ❞ He says, adjusting the collar of his jacket as he stands before the Chevalier head of house knowing that his words will most likely earn ire instead of praise from the man. But he simply can't nod his head and say 'yes sir' to words he simply does not believe.

❝ Can your physician make such promises to you, Lord Chevalier? Can he tell you with certainty that his means and methods will restore your granddaughter back to health? ❞ He asks, head canted but his eyes focused with a fire.

❝ Has he asked her everything? Has he even come up with a possibility of what may be wrong? Where to start? Or is he simply going to stick a leech on her arm and hope for the best ? Fill her with morphine for her pain or simply disregard it as 'feminine pains' ? ❞ there was just some rage in Stephen's demeanor now knowing full well that no good will come with arguing with the man ; but to simply sit by and allow Cassandra to be subjected to a man clueless ; and that means both the doctor her grandfather has chosen and the grandfather.

❝ You condemn her to further illness, or worse.❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 watches the young doctor intently, the gravitas of his years settling over him like an age-old cloak. His eyes taper into fine slits, a barely perceptible shift that nonetheless speaks volumes, as he digests Stephen's brazen judgment of the family physician. The disapproval doesn't so much flicker across his features as it calcifies, transforming his visage into a veritable fortress of dignity and cool restraint. His gaze dips for an interminable moment, an almost scholarly observation, as if he is not just seeing but dissecting the character of the man who has captured his granddaughter's affections. His eyes sweep aside to Aislin, a subtle but unmistakable sign of reproach that she's even allowed this scenario to unfold. The gravity of his gaze shifts back to Stephen, contemplating but not yielding, as if measuring the very worth of the younger man's character. He is well-versed in the intricate subtleties of human sentiment, so he cannot miss the desperate undertones that color his speech—yet far from stirring any semblance of compassion. Rather, it adds an almost bitter edge to his sense of affront. However, he refrains from allowing even the ghost of a scoff to escape his lips. Instead, the older Chevalier leans in, ever so subtly closing the distance to underscore his authority. His voice unfurls like aged leather—crisp, unyielding, imbued with the patina of years. ❝ Do not mistake your medical degrees for mastery of this household, Doctor Strange. Your academic accolades might impress in your world, even Miss Chevalier, but here, you are a guest—a guest who forgets his station by questioning my choices and authority. ❞ His eyes lock onto Stephen's, carrying the irrevocable weight of a descending guillotine in their depths. ❝ I trust the judgment of a man who has been devoted to the health of the Chevalier family for decades over that of one swayed by the whims of his own heart. You may have captured my granddaughter's fancy, but you have not earned my trust. Even with all your training and your 'non-barbaric means,' you cannot offer me a certainty that she will return to her usual health. My trust lies in proven experience, not lofty ideals . ❞ The old baron takes a step back, drawing himself up to his full height. His posture, as if he's fortifying the very air around him with centuries of untouchable family prestige. ❝ So, Doctor, I consider this a breach of decorum, a blatant disrespect for the house I've built and the decisions I've made for those residing under its roof. ❞

[astrangemagic-a]

𝐴𝑠 𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝐶𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑎, hesitant to leave her. But here he is walking into the halls that now feel like a lions den and he is without any sort of protection. But Stephen stands tall as he faces her grandfather, even with his chilling demeanor.

Aislin's concerns are natural and understandable in the mind of Stephen Strange and to have Cassandra's grandfather speak to him as though he doesn't understand big words is insulting, but Stephen takes a breath and speaks calmly. ❝ While I have no doubt you have your granddaughter's best interest at heart, Lord Chevalier, the physician of choice is an idiot who seems to have overlooked the small details ; all which matter. ❞ he says, matter-of-fact while looking to the older man with defiant eyes.

❝ If you do not mind me saying , I am more than capable of helping in this situation. I have not only the degrees to back me up but I also have the mentorship of very good, prestigious doctors as well. Sadly, your physician of choice was not part of that board.❞ now admittedly he is feeling a little snarky in the moment but it's all for the woman he worries about, the one he cares for and a grandfather who would prefer she be subjected to medieval ways of medicine. Times are changing but he knows those who are too stubborn to change with it.

❝ I would hardly call it a misstep, she is worried about her friend.❞ Far more worried than what he appears to be, but he doesn't let that drop from his lips.

❝I care deeply about your granddaughter , I will not let harm come to her.❞ He is firm in his stance, barely moving and wavering to the elder Chevalier. ❝ Please, allow me to ask this one thing of you - allow me to treat your granddaughter and I promise you -- she will be restored to her usual health without barbaric means." there is a hint of desperation in his town there.

He wonders how noticeable it is.

𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 tumble from Stephen's lips, a constellation of expressions dances across Cassandra's face, each one a celestial body in its own right—fleeting sadness, tempered relief, and then a twinkle of mischief that lights up her eyes at his playful tease about her unfinished novel, even sends a flutter to her heart. ❝ You shall 'ave it, ❞ she vows softly, a glimmer of her former self peeking through the curtain of her current affliction. Then, she withdraws her hand from his, feeling the chill of his absence as if someone had ripped away a protective cloak. Her gaze follows him, tracing each step he takes towards the exit, and when her grandfather’s dark eyes fall upon her—a look critical and disapproving—she cannot help but drop her gaze, feeling as though she's a child caught in an act of rebellion. As the door clicks shut behind them, her body sinks further into the pillowy fortress of her bed, sigh as heavy as the laden clouds in the sky escapes her lips. Her hands lift to cover her face, her fingers gently rubbing her temples, as if trying to dispel the nagging sensation, the malaise, that now invades her being. It's as if the walls themselves have absorbed her grandfather's sternness, reflecting it back at her. Her gaze lifts to the ceiling, its neutral hues offering no solace. Then her eyes drift toward the window, locking onto the grey sky. Oh, she does not need to be the proverbial fly on the wall to know what is transpiring in hushed tones down the hallway. Her hands drop to her lap, gripping at the bedsheets. She wishes, prays even, that Stephen could be the one to defy her grandfather's archaic perspective and help her find her way back—back to 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉, back to 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, back to 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, and most of all, back to 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. Stephen had spoken of her new novel, but what is a novel without the lived experience of 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ? Her eyes moisten at the thought. She needs to be well. She simply must.

In the opulent foyer of the Chevalier estate, the patriarch strides ahead, his hands neatly clasped behind his back as if they were a pair of chained detainees. His chin is tilted upward in that habitual manner of his, as though constantly surveying his dominion. To the unobservant eye, he might appear calm—majestic even. But beneath that veneer of tranquility is a tempest, a stern gaze that collides with Stephen's as though challenging him to a silent duel. In this moment, there is no mistaking that Stephen is more than a mere physician in the elder Chevalier's eyes; he is the man who has unceremoniously seized the affection of his granddaughter. With a cold insistence, masked as courteous formality, he informs Stephen that Cassandra is already under the care of a reputable physician—no second opinions required. And as for his visit ? Ah, a regrettable ❝ 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒑, ❞ he declares, one presumably engineered by the audacious Aislin. ❝ 𝑴𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐, ❞ the grandfather says, each syllable punctuated with a gravitas only years of aristocratic bearing can impart. ❝ 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒄𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉. ❞ As for the young Miss Eveleen's ❝ 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ,❞ he continues, ❝ 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓; 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒍𝒚. ❞

[astrangemagic-a]

𝑇𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠 in her current state is breaking his heart ; but he doesn't let it cloud judgement. In fact it makes him more focused. He isn't going to lose her to some silly illness. He isn't going to lose her like he lost his family ; no. He refuses to even let that thought settle into his mind as he holds on to her hand, thumb brushing against her skin to give her comfort and understanding.

As she speaks of her grandfather, he lowers his head but he smiles. ❝ Some of the older people are set in their ways, sadly. They refuse to see that the world is ever changing. Perhaps out of fear of becoming obsolete.❞ Harsh words he thought, but somehow certainly true.

Ir regardless he is about to brush more of her hair back when the door comes open and her grandfather standing right there. The commotion outside, he assumes, was their guardian Aislin trying to keep him from coming in. But there is only so much she can do.

When he speaks to Stephen saying he'd like a word he cannot deny the man what he wants, so he nods his head but looks back to Cassandra. " Daily reports. ❞ He tells her. ❝ After all I need you well.❞ not simply for the sake of his heart and his love for her he assures with the look in his eyes. ❝ I want to read that new novel when you're finished.❞ a playful tease so he can see her smile before he is lead out into the lions den for a potential slaughter.

He'd like to think such a thought is metaphorical ; but he's heard enough about this man to know it may not be.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒, it's a caress that defies mere physics; it's more akin to alchemy, as his warmth permeates her skin, sinking deep into her bones, almost reaching the caverns of her unsettled heart. This is no mere hand-holding. It's an antidote, a soothing balm dispelling the icy touch of her mysterious ailment. For just that infinitesimal moment, she is not a woman adrift; she is anchored, safe, and irrevocably connected to another human being who seems to whisper, without a single word, that they will brave this formidable tempest together—a promise of better days that she yearns for—days of ink-stained fingers, days of wandering through blooming gardens, and yes, days spent lost in aimless conversation with the man who has completely seized her heart. As he speaks of consultations and daily updates, she listens, hanging onto each word like a sailor would to a lifeline in a storm. ❝ If only my grand-père would see ze world as you do, ❞ Her voice softens to nearly a sigh, a wistful lament for a world less constrained by titles and societal opinions. ❝ Instead, 'e 'ides behind ze walls of tradition. 'E is more willing to risk anyone’s wellbeing zan to allow zis family's reputation to fray, even ever so slightly. But thanks to Aislin, I am not entirely left to the cold comfort of such thoughts. ❞ There is no doubt, she would be far lonelier without her friend's constant companionship and her will to withstand her grandfather, yet even amidst such care, a peculiar type of solitude gnaws at her—a yearning for the mundane, the quotidian joys she took for granted.

Her eyes drop to their entwined hands, a weak smile crossing her lips as if to guard against the encroaching shadow that threatens to darken her countenance. When she lifts her gaze back to Stephen, it is with a nod, a silent affirmation of faith in his promise, regardless of what uncertainties may lie ahead. But then—a muffled commotion outside her chamber door. Her hand tenses within Stephen's, an instinctive reaction as the voices grow more distinguishable, until they resolve into the unmistakable timbre of her grandfather's stern discourse. A knock. No pause for a reply before the door swings open, and there he stands, her grandfather, a man whose countenance could curdle fresh milk. His disapproving gaze first lands on her, and then shifts to Stephen with a gravity that seems to vacuum the very air from the chamber, as though he's wielding some ancient familial power. ❝ 𝑫𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆, 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅. 𝑶𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆, ❞ her grandfather intones. It's a voice accustomed to obedience, a voice that has bent wills and broken spirits. Her heart, once buoyant within the sanctuary of Stephen's touch, now feels caught in an agonizing limbo—a fragile bird tethered between the twin realms of hope and dread. All the while, her eyes remain fastened on Stephen, laden with unspoken queries and a silent plea that he might somehow defy the gravity of her grandfather's stern directive. She knows, of course, the implausibility of this desire; the sternness of her grandfather's command is as unyielding as ancient, wind-beaten stone.