#my gut says blackmore but that's because he's the first to come in mind

[incorrect-jojolands-quotes]

In JOJOLands, some theater songwriter named Min Lanuel Liranda creates a hit musical called Valentine, which is about the life of 23rd president of the United States Funny Valentine and his contributions towards America. It's a great hit, with a pretty big fandom online, and the musical shows many the characters that were involved in Steel Ball Run (albeit putting Funny Valentine and his allies in a better light and not really showing the real truth of what happened in Steel Ball Run).

Now I gotta know: which Steel Ball Run character is being drawn in a Hatsune Miku binder? And who in JOJOLands made something so cursed?

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 8

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Sorry this one took a bit longer to get out, guys. I was feeling kind of burned out this week and didn’t want to rush the next chapter, but I hope you enjoy it!

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This story is also on AO3

TALL TREES

MORNING

Isaac stood frozen in the rain, paralyzed by shock.

A flood of memories hit him all at once upon seeing the stranger’s face, and for just a moment, he truly believed he was dreaming.

Was it possible the man told the truth? Was he really Arthur Morgan? Isaac didn’t know what to think at this point.

Initially, he believed the man only lied in order to get his guard down, but the longer he observed his features and studied his eyes, the more he could see an all too familiar face staring back at him -- a face that he presumed to be dead many years ago.

Isaac never saw a corpse to confirm his father’s death, but due to the lack of contact over the past decade and all the chaos in the world, he simply assumed that Arthur had gotten killed somewhere at some point. 

It surpassed the probability of miracles to even consider that his father may have still been alive, and yet... here he was. After fifteen years. Alive, and in the flesh.

His very own family.

“...Daddy...?” Isaac whispered, the little boy in him breaking through for just a second. “Is that... is that really you?”

Arthur nodded in return, his eyes misty with tears of joy. “It’s me, Isaac. And it’s really you. After all this time of thinkin’ you was dead... you’re still alive. I... can’t believe it.”

The young man fell silent and shook his head at the response, still somewhat incredulous.

“But how... why are you here, Dad? What’re you doin’ with the Van der Linde gang? I... thought you died a long time ago.”

Arthur stepped closer to Isaac, careful not to alarm the boy.

“I’ve been with them for over thirty years now, Isaac. I was a part of this gang even before you were born.”

The young man seemed surprised. “And you never left?”

“No. Even though I should have.”

A regretful sigh escaped the older man, and his tone sank with heartache. “I’m sorry, Isaac. If I had known you was alive... I woulda come lookin’ for you. I woulda tried to get you back. But I thought those bastards had killed you for sure.”

Isaac’s expression twisted into one of hate. “Well, you can thank this piece of shit for that. It’s all because of Shay that our family got torn apart. He killed Eliza. He dug that second grave so everybody would think I was dead. He ruined our lives all because he just wanted some goddamn money.”

Arthur brought his gaze to Mackintosh, admittedly having difficulty accepting the true nature of his friend.

“Is that true...?” He asked. “You knew my son was alive all along, and you never told me?”

Shay held onto Isaac’s arms, struggling to stay upright with the wound in his gut. 

“...Yes.” He confessed. “From the very first time I met you, I knew that you were Isaac’s father, but I couldn’t risk sayin’ anything. I knew that if I told you, I’d be done for. You woulda learned about what I did sooner or later, and it was just a chance I couldn’t take. I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s voice hardened with steel. “Yeah? And how d’you think things are lookin’ for you now?”

The man let in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the pain. 

“I know, Arthur. I know. What I did was unforgivable, and I regret it every single day. But if you wanna let Isaac kill me now... I...” Shay’s voice trailed off in way that said he knew he was finished, and his brow furrowed in fear, “...I understand.”

Isaac strengthened his hold on the knife, preparing to slit Shay’s throat. Before he did anything though, he glanced up at Arthur, almost as if he were asking for the man’s approval.

“...Dad?” He murmured. “Let me do it. Please. Let me have this.”

Glaring at Mackintosh in silence, Arthur took a moment to ponder his next move as he thought back to that horrible day, unable to even comprehend how much of his life changed because of it.

Back then, he was roughly the same age as Isaac. Just a kid doing his best to support his partner and their new son, while also running around with a gang of outlaws at the same time.

He had no idea what it meant to be a father, or how to raise a child. Hell, in the beginning, Arthur even wished that he hadn’t been so careless and gotten Eliza pregnant in the first place. The responsibility of being a parent scared him halfway to death, and because of his criminal background, he felt like he could never truly be honest with Isaac about who he was.

But the day Arthur saw those two graves standing outside their house... it felt like his whole word stopped turning.

His lover, his son, their future together as a family -- all of it was just gone.

The things he valued most in life had been taken away from him, and he didn’t even realize how much he loved them until they disappeared.

Now though, his entire world was realigning itself once again.

Isaac was... alive. He actually survived. Arthur had spent all these years mourning someone he never even lost in the first place, and now, he finally knew who to blame.

Shay Mackintosh. 

The only man in the gang he ever believed to be somewhat decent, now exposed as the man who murdered Eliza. It was because of his lies that Arthur spent so long living in the darkness, and it was because of his actions that their family never got to experience a normal life.

All this time of wondering who was responsible, and Arthur finally had the opportunity to get his revenge. He just had to give Isaac his approval.

But... no.

He couldn’t allow it. 

He wouldn’t.

Even though the idea of killing Shay proved itself to be more tempting than a siren’s call, Arthur knew better than anyone that vengeance was a fool’s errand. It did nothing except breed more rage and agony, and the last thing he wanted was for Isaac to fall victim to his own hatred.

That wasn’t the life Eliza would’ve wanted for him, and it wasn’t what Arthur planned for him either.

He had to stop this madness.

“Isaac! Wait.” Arthur called out, causing the boy to pause. “...Don’t do it.”

Isaac stared at his father in bewilderment, unable to process what he’d just heard. 

“...What? What d’you mean--”

“--Don’t kill him.” Arthur reiterated, trying to calm him down. “It ain’t worth it. Believe me.”

The boy scoffed, clearly not on the same page as Arthur. “It ain’t worth it? How  can you say that? After everything I’ve told you, after everything Shay’s done to us -- you want me to spare his life...?!”

“I know,” Arthur agreed, sharing his son’s grief. “But trust me, son. The sacrifice is never worth it. I’ve seen far too many people lose themselves to revenge over the years, and I don’t want you to go down the same road. You ain’t a murderer, Isaac. You know that, and so do I.”

Isaac glowered in response, evidently feeling betrayed. “...I can’t believe you. This man murdered the mother of your child! He kidnapped me! He ruined our lives because of his own greed. He deserves nothing but death! ”

“And how many lives have you ruined, Isaac?” Arthur pointed out. “You killed Cleet -- someone who had nothin’ to do with Eliza’s death -- just so you could reach Mackintosh. And you nearly sacrificed the whole gang to the Pinkertons for the same reason.”

Arthur slowly approached Isaac, desperate to stop his son now.

“Can’t you see what this is doin’ to you? It’s destroying you from the inside-out. If you continue to follow this path, you’ll be no better than the men who killed Eliza. You’ll be no better than Shay.”

Isaac shook his head in dissent, tightening his grip on the knife. “...I’m not tryin’ to be better. My potential for a normal life died fifteen years ago. All I want now is for Shay to be dead.”

Despite the boy’s reluctance to comply, Arthur continued to persist.

“Isaac, listen to me. I want Shay dead too, alright? I ain’t any happier about this than you are, trust me. But if you kill him, this fight’ll never end. Dutch is already worked up about Cleet. If someone else in the gang dies, he’s never gonna let it go. He’ll come after you, and he will do everything he can to kill you.”

The young man was dismissive of the warning. “Let him come. I’ve dealt with his kind before.”

“No, you haven’t,” Arthur insisted. “You have no idea how dangerous Dutch can be. That man nearly shot me not too long ago, and he sees me as a son. How d’you think he’ll deal with someone who’s his enemy? Someone like you?”

Isaac sighed in frustration. “Dutch can send the entire goddamn gang after me for all I care. I’ve been huntin’ Shay down for the past fifteen years. I can’t let him go now.” He pressed the blade into Shay’s skin, giving Arthur a remorseful look. “...I’m sorry, Dad. I have to do this.”

“Isaac...!” Arthur reached out a hand, trying to stop the boy from going any further.

But it was too late.

In one swift motion, Isaac pulled the knife across Shay’s throat and sliced it open, finishing him off as the man collapsed to the ground and choked on his own blood, clutching his neck in panic before falling limp.

It was done. 

Baumann, Blackmore, Whitley, Mackintosh... they were all dead. Just like that.

After almost two decades, Isaac’s hunt for revenge was finally over, and his mother’s killers lay rotting in the ground where they belonged.

Inevitably, though -- as the natural course of the world took its place -- a new war had been ignited... and this one would follow Isaac for much longer than he anticipated.

Alerted by the sound of Dutch and his men coming closer to the scene, Arthur quickly tore his mind away from what just happened and grabbed Isaac’s arm, looking the boy directly in the eye.

“Isaac, you need to run. Now!”

The boy held onto Arthur’s arm, urging him to follow. “Come with me, Dad.”

The older man hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Just go!”

Isaac took a few steps back, not quite taking his leave yet. “But you will follow me, right?”

“I don’t know, I--”

Breaking the silence, a gunshot suddenly thundered throughout the area as a bullet cut straight through the edge of Isaac’s right ear, causing him to reel back in shock.

“Isaac!” Arthur exclaimed, standing protectively in front of the boy.

“I’m... I’m fine...!” Isaac assured, though the blood running down his neck said otherwise.

“Arthur!” A third voice called out abruptly, getting the older man’s attention.

Turning around to see who it was, Arthur spotted none other than Dutch riding up to them in the distance as the rest of the gang followed from behind, leading him into a dilemma.

The last thing Arthur wanted to do was betray the man who raised him, but considering Dutch’s recent behavior, he wasn’t sure if the gang was even worth fighting for anymore.

Their lives consisted of nothing but paranoia these days, and seeing as how Dutch almost killed one of their own men purely based on speculation, Arthur didn’t want to see his reaction once he figured out Isaac was his son.

The man already feared that their gang had a traitor hiding amongst it. If he learned that the person responsible for both Cleet and Shay’s deaths was Arthur’s own kin, that may’ve solidified his doubt in the man.

As far as Arthur was concerned, his life with the Van der Lindes ended the moment he discovered Isaac was still alive. Dutch may’ve been his family at one point in time, but now, Arthur needed to focus on staying loyal to what mattered.

And to him, that meant protecting Isaac. Regardless of the cost.

“Go!” He urged his son, shielding him from the gang’s attacks. “Let me deal with ‘em. I’ll catch up to you later if I can!”

“Be careful, Dad.” Isaac pleaded. “I don’t wanna lose you too.”

Arthur gave him a reassuring nod. “You won’t.”

Sending the boy off to safety, Arthur watched him vanish into the woods as Dutch hurriedly approached the two of them, ready to start a war. 

He had no idea how this next conversation with Dutch was going to play out, and the optimistic side of him hoped that the man might see reason, but deep down -- he knew this would be the last time he and Dutch ever greeted each other as friends.

Dutch saw the world in black and white, after all. Everyone was either with him, or against him. There was hardly ever any grey area, despite how much he may have preached about it.

It was only a matter of time before Arthur fell into the realm of what Dutch considered to be the enemy, and with so much at stake, he knew that the old man would never allow peace to be an option. He was far too proud.

Arthur just wished it didn’t have to end this way.

“Arthur!” Dutch barked, scanning the trees. “Where’d that little shit get to? Is he still nearby?”

The other man faced Dutch, his expression plastered with dread. “Dutch, I--”

“--Why’d you let him go? What’d he say to you? Did he bribe you? Why are you protectin’ him? Where is he--?”

“--Dutch, he’s my son.” Arthur blurted out, causing Bill and Joe to fall into silence. Micah, on the other hand, merely burst into laughter at the revelation.

As for Dutch, the man glared at Arthur in disbelief, taken aback by the whole situation.

“...Since when do you have a son?” He asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Since I met Eliza,” Arthur explained. “You remember her, don’t you, Dutch? All them years ago? That woman from the saloon. I’d visit her cabin every few months or so and check up on them. See how things was going.”

Dutch’s eyes widened in realization. “Eliza...? Yeah, I remember her. You mean to tell me that that man... is Isaac? I thought they both died.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Evidently, I was wrong. Turns out only Eliza got killed that day, but Isaac survived.”

“And how does Mackintosh fit into all this?” He questioned, gesturing to Shay’s lifeless body. “Why kill him and Cleet? Why attack our gang like this?”

Arthur sighed in guilt, still wishing he could’ve stopped Isaac earlier. “Revenge. Shay was the one who murdered Eliza, so Isaac tracked him down for over a decade, and it led him to us. Cleet just got caught in the crossfire. It had nothin’ to do with him, or you, or me.”

Dutch gazed at all the damage Isaac left in his wake, hardening his tone. “It does now.”

“Dutch,” the other man pleaded, knowing exactly where this was going. “Please. Don’t go after him.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?”

Arthur thought the answer was obvious. “Because he’s my son.”

“Yeah, and you’re my son.” Dutch countered, losing his patience. “Remember what I told you, Arthur. Family don’t turn their back on you. So don’t you go turnin’ your back on me now. We need to stick together. After everything Isaac’s done to our gang, we need to kill him.”

“No, we don’t! Nobody else needs to die. Hasn’t there been enough of that? Isaac got what he came for. He won’t bother us again. You really wanna risk everyone’s lives goin’ after someone who’s no longer a threat? Fightin’ him would be pointless. Either you leave him alone, or...”

Dutch caught onto Arthur’s tone immediately, wary about what his next words would be.

“...Or what?”

The younger man lowered his head, heartbroken that this was where they had ended up.

“Or I’m done with this gang.” He finally admitted.

Immediately after saying that, Arthur could’ve sworn he felt something snap inside of Dutch, and the whole world seemed to come to a halt. It was the same feeling he received when Hosea passed away, except this time, it felt far worse. 

There was no emotion in Dutch’s eyes. No sorrow. No regret. Nothing. They were just... empty.

He had the look of a man who knew he had just lost his closest friend, and without even saying a single word, Arthur could already predict how this day was going to end.

He rested a hand on his pistol, readying himself for the chaos to come.

“So,” Dutch said, sounding devastated, “this is the way it goes, old friend. You were just like everyone else, after all.”

Arthur bit his lip, nodding softly. “...We both were.”

“Well, then...” the older man subtly reached for his revolver, clearly still reluctant to shoot his friend, “you’re aware of how this ends. I can’t just let you walk out of here, Arthur. You know that, don’t you.”

Arthur braced himself, already thinking of how he would escape from these woods. 

“...I know.”

Not willing to take any chances, Arthur quickly whipped out his gun and fired a bullet right next to Dutch’s head, wanting to distract the man without actually killing him. They may have been enemies from here on out, but that didn’t mean there was no love lost between them.

Darting straight for the thick trees, Arthur seized the opening and followed Isaac’s methods as he ducked for cover behind the many obstacles in the forest, making it difficult for the Van der Lindes to get a clear shot on him.

Running away from a gang he used to call family made Arthur feel like he was abandoning a home he never truly had, and with every step he took deeper into the woods, the more he felt a sense of crippling loneliness sinking into him.

Was this the right thing to do? Was it worth sacrificing everything he had built for a son he never got to raise?

Maybe not, in some peoples’ eyes. Hell, some might have even called him crazy. But to Arthur, that boy was everything. 

He had spent so long feeling like his life had no purpose -- that he was destined to live the rest of his days as an outlaw, but now, after ages of hitting a dead-end, he finally had a chance to redeem himself.

He was no longer going to be a killer, or a thief, or a liar. He wasn’t going to harm those who didn’t deserve it, and he was finally going to step up as the father he should’ve been all those years ago.

Love was always a gamble in this world for men like him, but it was the only thing that kept Arthur human.

And so, without another thought, the man sprinted further into the forest like there was no tomorrow, leaving everything in his past behind him.

His life with Dutch may have been over, but his life as Isaac’s father had just begun.

[ladyeleanorfortescue]

Flashback

Evening, September 2nd 1809

Mary was now Baroness Killenaigh. She was shipped off to Gloucestershire, not even a true honeymoon to look forward to, for the husband would not risk it amidst the war and with his age. Eleanor thought of Miss Fenella Stuart back in Tyrehampton, who had married an older man, too, but had been gifted a voyage around the most mystical places... But Mary was not Fenella. Mary found little joy in life. Mary did what was asked of her. Mary settled for the future their parents had planned. Eleanor... She did too, she supposed... And that notion had her stomach on the tightest knot it had ever been in. What was silent rebellion worth? Not a penny... But did she have the guts to voice it? And lose it all? 

"Eleanor, do you truly despise Baron Killenaigh so much?" Anne asked as they went into the room she had shared with Mary, pulling her sister out of her thoughts, "You do not even know him."

Eleanor sighed, letting herself fall on Anne's bed. Her sister did not understand, it was not the groom that made her unhappy.

"No, Annie," her sad eyes gazing intently at the ceiling. "I despise a marriage without affection. Without love. A marriage of convenience... Mary might not mind, but I do. And you must too, do you not? Alas! We, too, shall be forced into them!" 

"Ellie, Mary has not been forced. And you know very well affection can come after taking the vows..." the fragile Fortescue tried to reason with Eleanor as she sat on a corner of the bed.

"And what if it does not?" the wretched lady did not move but her eyes found her sister's.

Silence. Anne was searching for the words to reply when her sister broke it. 

"What if one's affection is already elsewhere?"

"Perhaps one could marry that elsewhere," the elder joked lightly. 

"Oh, Anne, if only it were all that simple!" Eleanor's despairing hands came to her face, "What if elsewhere had no fortune? And no title? What if elsewhere was everything our parents, society, would disapprove of?" she propped herself up on her elbows, her expression contorted with sadness and worry. She had thought herself so bold while away… Now, her braveness was outnumbered, harassed. 

Anne began to understand. Her sister had been behaving strangely ever since she had arrived in London and it was clear now the only cause had not been the wedding. Had Eleanor given her heart away? What exactly had happened? She feared the worst and had to muster the courage to dare ask… 

"Is elsewhere somewhere?" her tone was soft, shy. She had always thought Eleanor too quick to trust, too quick to love... She did not think it the fatal flaw the rest of the family did, but it was certainly a dangerous thing. And how afflicted she was! Something serious certainly had come to pass... 

"Yes," was all the reply Anne received before Eleanor plunged back into the mattress. The younger girl would have started crying if had she not shed all the tears in her system already, bitter resignation clouding her judgement.

Silence. Again. Anne did not know what to say. She had little experience with the world, with people, with men... She was curious about love, but sensible enough to know it forbidden. And where could she come across it anyway? An invalid, locked up in a room most of the time... 

"Can I know his name?" Anne asked. It was by far the less intruding of the questions cluttering her throat. 

Ellie hesitated. Speaking it out loud… 

"Jack..." she revealed after a moment's thought, her hand moving up to the fine silver chain hanging down her neck.

A Christian name. No last name or preceding title... Eleanor had already revealed he was no man of fortune, it was not that the reason why Anne's face contorted in worry, but the realization of the importance of it all. Had Eleanor already taken such liberties? Established such a confidential and perilous attachment? 

"Ellie..." Anne began, but whatever she intended to say was lost forever when she was abruptly cut off.

"I know what you will say. Exactly what Verity said the first time I told her of it... What I thought." 

Anne looked at her sister, surprised. She felt hurt and displaced at finding out Miss Hawkins had known before her... But she also understood Verity had been there, at hand's reach, and she had not. 

Eleanor did not seem to notice anything, absorbed as she was by her own feelings. The usual. 

"But I do not want to hear it, Anne. It is over. Do you hear me? We... We know it is impossible... We know it is more trouble than it is worth..." Except it was not. Eleanor was each day more certain that she would throw it all away for a mere second at his side. And since that last meeting she had been harbouring the intention of doing so if he allowed… She was essentially lying to Anne, pretending there was nothing to be concerned of… She pressed her lips together, tears dwindling from her lashes. "We said our goodbyes. You do not have to worry... I am not ruined, you see? No need to tell mother." She tried to joke, but it did not come out right. And tears slipped down her cheeks. "It is over, but that does not mean I cannot dream... "

Anne did not know what to believe. And her heart felt a pang at the miserable sight of her sister's suffering.

"Was it this?" Anne said, composed but tremendously concerned. "Why you cried before? When you left London?" 

"No," Eleanor sobbed and sat up, "No, back then I could not even imagine- I- He-

Annie studied her intently as she seemed to tidy her thoughts. 

"My friend, Sir Percy Blackmore," Eleanor continued, "My tears were for him. He… passed away, as you know... And it broke my heart. He was... So very kind. And so very young!" 

Anne wondered what hid behind Eleanor's words, how could she had possibly been so afflicted by the death of someone she had known but a month or so? Her pain back then had not resembled the pain she was usually assaulted with when hearing of the misfortunes of a brief acquaintance. Anne had then suspected it to be an affair of the heart... And she had not been completely wrong, for so it had been. But in Eleanor's eyes, mistakenly so. And it pained her. For she had not known herself or her feelings. And because there was a witness to her foolishness... One that, now, had been the beholder of her feverish passions twice. One she feared thought her inconstant and deluded... Of course the witness in question was Miss Verity Hawkins. 

"And I do not- I was not in love with him," Eleanor assured Anne, wiping tears away from her eyes, her cheeks growing scarlett. "Although I then believed so. I... I suppose I could have come to love him... But I do not think he could have come to love me. And... Oh, it is no use wondering what might have been... He is... dead..." Although she had not really been enamoured with him, she still esteemed him greatly and it was hard to speak of his disappearance from the earthly plane. "And my heart is elsewhere now..."

Surely if Eleanor had had a change of heart before, she could have one again, Anne thought, mistaking her for the feeble, forgetful creature Eleanor herself feared to appear as. But it was not so. Eleanor's affections were not fleeting... She was quick to trust, but never quick to forget... Every person she encountered left an imprint on her soul. But her soul had never been touched in such a manner before and of that she was certain as she was certain the sun rose in the East... 

"But it shall return to you," Lady Anne determined, earning a stern look from her younger sister. "If it is over, surely he cannot keep it forever..." 

"And what do you know, Anne?!" outraged, the younger girl rose to her feet. "He can keep it for as long as I wish him to! But I suppose you would not understand, you are just like the rest of them!" She spat. "Mother! Hester! Hugh! And now Mary! Joined in holy matrimony for the sake of duty! Of advancement! Of nothing better to do! Unfeeling, insensitive beings! They would dismiss love if it came knocking on their door as they would do a poor peddler! But I thought you to be different! I thought you were like George and I! I thought you would understand."

"How can I understand you, Eleanor, if you do not talk to me?" Anne's eyes were stinging, her pale countenance barely coloured by ache. 

"And how can I talk to you when you think so badly of me?!" 

Her sharp tone, her words made her head hurt, made her fingers tingle… Anne closed her eyes for a moment, pride keeping her from showing weakness. 

"I? Think badly of you?" she muttered, trying to focus on the face of the upset young woman. "I have lent you my ears for you to flood them with your troubles for years!" 

"Well, then you must not be a very good listener! For you do not know me at all! Your ears may be up for lease, but my heart is not!" Eleanor cried, turning her back to Anne, to her subtle, unspoken accusations. And to the very possibility of them level pegging with the truth. 

"I never said…" Anne winced, bringing a hand to her forehead. 

And, for the third time: Silence. A silence that unnerved distraught Eleanor, who still had many frustrations to take out on her poor innocent sister. 

"What? You never said what?" she turned back to face Anne, but found her in such a deplorable state that guilt immediately settled on her being. "Anne? " she asked in a distressed tone, the fire well put out, as she neared her, regret already eating her out… "Anne," she insisted when she received no reply but a barely audible grunt, "Anne, is it happening again?" Eleanor took her hand, "Annie, Annie, lay down, lay down," said she as she helped her do so. When nervous or afflicted, she had the annoying habit of repeating everything twice. "I shall go get Verity! She will make you some tea-"

"No," Anne muttered, grabbing feebly onto her sister's arm. "I am all right," the poor, frail girl, unable to hold a grudge for long mumbled, her eyelids fluttering open to prove it. And it was no lie… That was a trifle compared to the actual episodes. "I am simply tired… Do not bring Miss Hawkins,"

"Are you sure? Oh, Anne, if you feel so terribly unwell-

"I do not." 

"But I gave you cause for distress, I am so sorry!" Ellie leaned onto her sister's arm, "I take it back, I take it back! I am so sorry, so sorry, forgive me!" 

"I shall if you stop screaming…" Annie tried to joke, but her eyes flickered shut as sharp pain shot through her head. 

"Annie, please! Verity could he-

"Eleanor, do not disturb Miss Hawkins on my account. I am perfectly fine. If you do wish to disturb someone, let it be Hannah," the elder girl said as she felt for her pulse in her wrist, quite convinced she would not pass out. 

"Hannah? What does Hannah know of your treatment?" 

"I do not wish to be treated, Ellie, I wish to go to bed," and she was quite resolved to do it. "It has been a long day, I have exhausted myself beyond my possibilities… Call Hannah to help me prepare for bed."

"Oh… Very well. But I shall come and check on you every hour!" Eleanor, the picture of culpability, swore. 

"As long as you do not wake me," Annie said, knowing full well the promise would not be brought to fruition. 

"I shan't," the words were solemnly delivered and, with a gentle squeeze of her sister's hand, Eleanor went out the room.