happyfalcon | [For Thomas] The Sweat

[For Thomas] The Sweat

There was no way of knowing.

Anne had been sitting quietly in her chamber, her maid brushing her hair while another re-dressed her bed. Of course Anne was lost to her own thoughts and daydreams, replaying over in her mind the last encounter she'd had with Thomas. It was only when there was a slight thud from behind her and a sharp gasp that Anne turned her attention to the maid behind her. She looked pale, and the poor girl was trembling. Slowly Anne turned in her chair to properly look upon the maid.

"Child, what is it?" She asked.

"I know not, mistress...I feel so dizzy," she whimpered.

Anne smiled and held her arms open, bidding the maid to come to her so that she might hold and comfort her. Such behavior would have been frowned upon by her father and mother, but Anne didn't care. She wanted to be known as a kind and gentle mistress. But still, the maid refused, looking upon Anne with terror in her eyes.

"That's it...I've caught the Sweat!" she exclaimed, curling into herself a bit before sliding to the ground. Anne rose from her chair and tried to console her servant, who was soon wailing and whimpering in her arms between her fear and her pain.

It was only a fair amount of hours later that her maid died.

Fearing the outbreak of the Sweating Sickness, Thomas Boleyn had his children sent back to Hever, and escorted Anne personally. The carriage ride back to Hever was filled with bombarding questions about the King, for which Anne had no patience. Her head was pounding and her chest felt tight. Clearly her father noticed the difference as he kept asking her what bothered her. Anne tried to convince him that she was fine, but eventually the coach had to stop, for Anne's chest was so tight that she couldn't breathe.

Anne had contracted the Sweat.

Once back in Hever, Thomas Boleyn had Anne shut away in her bedroom. He didn't want the whole household contaminated.

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All through summer Wyatt had willingly acted as a courier for King's papers. It was a way to prove he was a loyal subject but also to keep away from court from time to time. He could not stand to see Henry wooing Anne. He could not watch Queen Catherine's pain and confusion.

Sometimes he got a moment alone with Anne. It always happened by accident because knowing how she feared of them being discovered, he had no heart to ask for arranged meetings. They had not agreed to continue their relationship, nor had they agreed to end it. It was a strange existence.

In August Wyatt had been sent to Berkshire county, west of London, and on his way back a week later, he stopped at the Windsor Castle. It was there that the news of Sweating Sickness reached him. It was common for a pestilence to wreak havoc during hot summer months but this particular one was much feared for. It killed so very quickly.

He knew it would not be safe to return to London. A worry grew in his chest over the next few days. He could only hope his family had had time to escape the heat and filth of London. And Anne... that she was somewhere safe as well.

Then the King, accompanied by only a handful of courtiers, passed Windsor. They were headed further into the countryside. Wyatt had never seen Henry quite so agitated before. Sir Henry Norris was among the King's men and from him Wyatt learned that the Boleyns had fled to Hever.

"All of them?" he had asked.

"All of them. I believe their servants have been dropping like flies," came the exaggerated answer.

"What?"

"Look, friend, that is all I know. God keep you safe," Norris said and rode away with the King.

It took Wyatt one restless night to make up his mind. Come what may, he needed to make sure Anne was alright. A day and a half later he was at Hever. Not freezing cold like the last time but the exact opposite. The servants refused to let him in.

"They are very poorly, sir, especially lady Anne. You must leave."

"I can help. I won't go unless George tells me so. Go and ask him. Now."

((OOC: We probably can't have Anne's father there when Wyatt shows up. Maybe he took his wife to safety elsewhere? What about Mary? I didn't want to assume.))

Shortly after arriving at Hever, George soon contracted symptoms of the Sweat along with his steadily worsening sister. Anne only new this from the servants telling her. After a few days her door opened and Anne glanced up weakly, expecting a servant bringing her some horrid blend of tea said to ward off illness.

But no...it was George.

As he had in their youth on occasion, George crawled weakly into Anne's bed - atop the covers to avoid scandal and rumors should a servant walk in. He coughed as he settled into bed with her and rested his head in her lap. Anne, unable to keep her grudge against him, let him rest and she ran her fingers over his hair to soothe him.

"...Anne..." he whispered, as it was the only volume he could manage in his sickened state. "...are we dying?"

"No, stupid..." Anne rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers over his head, which made him whimper a bit so she stopped. "We're not dying..."

"Can you...can you forgive me sister?" George glanced up to her. "I would take back my words in London...I was wrong to speak of you so...and it sickens me that I struck you."

"You were drunk," Anne shrugged in exhaustion.

"Doesn't excuse me," George grumbled. "I was...just concerned, Anne. The king can give you fortune and security that this other man never could, I'm sure."

Anne shook her head. "I don't want to talk about this now, George..."

George grumbled a little, soothed as she stroked his hair again. After a while a servant came in, stating there was a visitor at the door who refused to leave.

Thomas Wyatt.

Anne's heart stopped in her chest as George rose. He waved off the servant and kissed Anne's cheek. "Wouldn't really be proper to receive guests this way, now would it?" He chuckled weakly. "Get some rest, sister."

With that, George sent word to allow Wyatt into the house and he returned to his own room. Anne so badly wanted to see Thomas, she wanted to get up and hold him tight - but she couldn't risk infecting him. George was sick, but not as badly as she was. Besides, it wasn't as if she could leave her bedroom anyway.

"What a fool you are, Thomas," George coughed through the door to his chamber. He wasn't going to see his friend face-to-face. It was too risky. He leaned to a cabinet by the wall, his weak legs shaking. "What are you doing here? Go away."

"I was riding home," Wyatt lied. "I wanted to pay a visit. I didn't know you've caught the Sweate."

"Now you know. Go away. We could all die." It took all of George's effort to form such simple sentences.

"No. No." That wasn't an option Wyatt was willing to accept. "I can help, and it's too late for me go now. I could be infected already."

He waited George to say something but there was no sound from him. Then he heard a thump.

"George!"

A servant nearby heard his yell and came running just as Wyatt was about to open the door. "Master Wyatt, no!" He pushed Wyatt away and slipped into George's room, locking the door behind him. Wyatt managed to steal a glimpse of his friend who had collapsed on the floor.

He gripped his hair and wavered by George's room for a moment, unsure of what to do but then he turned around and sought Anne. There was a maid sitting on a chair by her door. Wyatt asked her to leave, then knocked on the door though having no intention to enter.

"Anne, it's me. Thomas. Can you hear me? Don't talk if you can't but... I'm here. I'll look after you."

Anne couldn't hear the ruckus from George's room. She heard faint shouting, but paid it no mind. Anne had nearly drifted into a feverish sleep when she heard the knock at the door. It took her a moment, just drinking in the sweet sound of his voice; the voice of her love. But eventually she did respond:

"You shouldn't be here, Thomas..." Anne's voice was weak but she tried to keep her volume up so that he could hear her. The door was not far from her bed, which was fortunate because she was too cold and too weak to rise. "It's dangerous here."

Not that it wasn't dangerous everywhere else. According to Henry's letters the servants were dying like flies, hence his relocation.

She wanted to say more, but her voice wouldn't manage. Anne wanted to say sweet things to him, but she knew not what servants were outside with him to overhear.

"I have missed you though..." she whimpered slightly as pain ached through her core.

"I don't care. I had to see you. Or to be near you, at least. I have missed you, too. I rode as fast as I could when I heard you are ill."

There was a scraping sound of the chair being dragged to even closer to her door. Wyatt sat down and buried his face in his hands, elbows propped on his thighs. He, too, was tired and hot, and needed to rest. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried not to think of the possibility that he'd caught the disease.

"I'm going to sit here and keep you company until a maid comes to check up on you again. Do not worry."

After a moment of quietness he had gathered a bit of his strength back and announced that he would recite an impromptu poem for her.

"Driven by desire I did this deed,
To danger myself without cause why,
To trust the untrue not like to speed,
To speak and promise faithfully.
But now the proof doth verify,
That who so trusteth ere he know,
Doth hurt himself and please his foe."

((OOC: Poem chosen mostly for the first two lines :) ))

Anne sighed but smiled to herself. Somehow, she knew that such would be his answer. He and her brother got along swimmingly in regards to their stubbornness. Anne shifted a bit in her bed, scooting a bit towards the edge just to be closer to the door.

"So stubborn, Master Wyatt," the smile was evident even in her tone as she spoke aloud, praising him and teasing him simultaneously.

Besides, it was admirable - that he had come all this way, knowing she was ill, putting himself at risk to see her. Anne listened silently to his poetry, closing her eyes and allowing images to flood her mind as his words poured into her ears.

"Another masterful work, Thomas," Anne smiled, though her voice cracked a little before she began coughing fitfully. It took a moment for her to stop, a slight spattering of blood on her kerchief.

"A man has to be stubborn to be with you, Anne. You don't make it easy on us."

He mostly meant himself and maybe George. Not Henry or any other man. Definitely not Henry. Wyatt didn't believe the king loved Anne at all. He was just obsessed with pursuing the unattainable. Nor was he here now. He had fled north for fear of the sickness.

"Which is why I love you," he added after making sure nobody heard him.

Her coughing sent chills through his spine and made him jump up. "Anne!" he quietly wailed, wanting to barge into her room. He was stopped, just like he had been stopped from entering George's room.

"Master Wyatt, please," the maid said. She was an older woman who wasn't shy in giving orders to her betters. "We have our hands full already. We do not have time to take care of another patient. Why won't you go to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat?"

He knew she was right. "Anne? I will be back shortly. Try to sleep if you can."

When her maid hurried in, Anne heard his words a little better. They encouraged her, made her feel better even as she continued to cough. Her maid gave her an infusion of herbs to settle Anne's throat - but they tasted and smelled downright awful.

Over the next couple days the servants were instructed by Anne and George both to take care of Thomas. He was to be an honored guest despite their illness. George's health recovered steadily, and soon the doctor permitted him to walk about the house as his strength returned - short walks up and down the hall to start, then walks outside.

Anne, on the other hand, was fading.

It became difficult for her to breath and each day her maid told her she looked paler than the last. The doctor tried all manner of infusions, some even sent by the King, but nothing worked. Anne's condition continued to deteriorate.

A few days after Wyatt arrived, Anne's maid went into her room around mid-afternoon to check on her as she always did, and moments later came rushing out, hollering for the pageboy while she searched the house for the doctor.

"Doctor!! Doctor come quickly! It's Lady Anne!!" She wouldn't say any more than that - she would not say out in the open what specifically was going wrong with Anne. The old woman was trying to hide the panic in her voice, but was failing miserably.

Once the pageboy arrived she commanded him to ride at once to fetch Thomas Boleyn and bring him back to Hever.

Their honored guest was in a state of agony for not being able to do anything worthwhile. Wyatt really just wanted to hold Anne in his arms and make her feel better but that would have been foolish. He chastised himself for the lack of courage which in turn he explained away by reminding himself he had a son. Young Thomas needed his father to stay alive. Thinking of him brought other scruples into Wyatt's mind. It had been too long since he had visited his son. He didn't even know if he was well at the moment.

Like a hot-headed rascal he had ridden to be with his secret love instead of his child. There was no excuse for such behavior. Wyatt prayed for forgiveness and he prayed for the full recovery of his beloved friends. He dedicated his waking hours equally between George and Anne. The servants were not to know he had come mostly for her sake. He sat and slept outside their rooms despite of given a room of his own. He talked, played her lute and recited old poems, all for keeping the patients' spirits up.

But while George got better, Anne didn't. A priest was sent for, then Thomas Boleyn. With his arrival came news of Mary's husband William having caught the disease. Elizabeth Boleyn was doing well, thankfully, apart from being distressed for her children. Sir Thomas was very surprised to find Wyatt at his house but accepted the roundabout explanation that was offered. He even thanked Wyatt for being there to comfort his daughter who, according to the doctor, would not last long. They all had to prepare for the worst.

By the time his father arrived at Hever, George was almost completely recovered. He was well enough to get dressed and walk about the manor at least. But for the most part he stayed in the kitchen with his father and just kept his head bent to the floor. Why is it that he had recovered so quickly while Anne suffered? He felt so guilty, especially with how their last encounter had gone.

God knew he would never strike her again, no matter how drunk he became.

Thomas Boleyn paced between the kitchen and dining hall. George was upstairs when the priest appeared again from Anne's room. It was not good news. Anne still would not move or speak, and her breathing and heart rates were weak. The Lord would be calling her soon, he suspected. George bid the priest to tell his father, and as the man left George pressed his back against the wall and he sank to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, paying no mind to the maid as she passed by to tend Anne.

"Wyatt...do you suppose God is punishing me?" George mumbled against his palms. "I struck my sister in anger, and now she's on her deathbed. She told me she forgave me but...oh God, Wyatt, what if..."

What if she died? What if her eyes never opened to narrow at some remark he made or her mouth never opened to scold him again? What if they lost her?

For a few times Wyatt stood by Anne's door just to get a peek of her whenever someone walked in or out of her room. She looked so pale, so utterly unlike the woman he knew. Her dark hair was spread all around the pillow in sweaty knots. One of the servants suggested cutting away the hair to make her less hot but Thomas Boleyn gave no permission to do so. Wyatt wasn't sure of that decision. Surely it would have been better to lose that beautiful hair but not the woman altogether.

He stayed by George's side now for the most part but he had trouble finding the right words to console the brother.

"I don't know, George," he admitted and went to get his friend back on his feet. The sickness had barely left the man's body, crouching on the floor was not what he should have been doing. Wyatt walked George to a chair, but was too distressed himself to stay put.

"If she forgave you, take it as it is. She's too stubborn to lie about something like that."

"You talk as if you know her so well."

"I know both of you well enough." Wyatt wondered if he should take this moment to reach deeper into George's mind, to see if he was as changed as Anne had said he was, or was there still kindness left.

"Tell me this, if God is punishing you, is he also punishing Anne? And if so, for what? For falling to the seduction of some undeserving man who wrote her a note?"

He looked straight at George. "Have you forgiven her?"

George looked up at Wyatt as he asked that last question. Surely God was not punishing Anne; he would not be so cruel as to punish a woman for being at the mercy of her heart. Hell, that's how he made them, had he not? After a moment he sighed and simply nodded, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Anne's made scurried out of her room calling for him.

"M'lord! M'lord quick, it's a miracle!!" she exclaimed.

George was up out of the chair in a fraction of a second, barely missing knocking the poor maid over in his haste to reach his sister. "Papa!! Papa, come quickly!!" George roared - he had recovered his strength enough that his old voice was back, and rang throughout the house. It was as if Wyatt had never been there - at least with how George had reacted and how fast he'd ran off.

But he was just so relieved to hear news about Anne.

George couldn't hide the grin on his face when he saw Anne sitting up - even if her eyes were still sleepy and half-closed. He plopped brazenly on her bed, propping his head up on one arm.

"Well, nice of you to join us!" George laughed.

Anne just gave a weak roll of her eyes. But she smiled all the same and reached out to pat his head as one pats a pet hound.

Wyatt had a completely different reaction to the news of Anne's sudden recovery. He collapsed on the chair George had just abandoned and started shaking. All the distress of the last week finally surfaced; up until now he had busied himself with activities and not letting his mind accept the possibility that she might die.

Only now he fully realized how close that had come and George's words rang in his ears. Do you suppose God is punishing me?

With a sigh Wyatt got up and walked up to the window. "What do You want me to do?" he asked, eyes directed to the heavens. "Do not ask me to give her up. I will not," he continued defiantly before making his way to Anne's chamber. Her father and the doctor had all joined George and didn't at first notice Wyatt who hovered by the door.

"Thomas!" his namesake then called, smiling. "My daughter-," Boleyn's voice nearly cracked, "she would not yield to this wretched illness."

"Anne..." Wyatt's voice was soft. "So good to see you so well."

Before Thomas had entered the room, Anne's father had been overjoyed to see her recovered, telling her she had come back from the dead and could see the king again. Thus, when her true beloved entered, Anne still looked pale and had to force a smile.

Barely recovered and already her father was right back to business.

But The appearance of Thomas brought Anne some much-needed happiness. She wished that she didn't look quite so haggard.

"Forgive me for receiving you this way, Master Wyatt. I must look a fright..." Anne weakly pushed her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to tame the fever knots. it would take a great deal of brushing to get her once lovely hair back to normal.

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up to a happy little smile. She looked just fine to him. Perfect, in fact. Wyatt was rendered speechless for a moment. The relief of seeing her getting better almost overwhelmed him.

"Call me Thomas," he begged her.

George glanced over his shoulder and laughed. "Is that all you're going to say?"

Wyatt frowned, not being able to speak out his true feelings or to run to Anne like her brother had done. "I knew you wouldn't leave us."

"I could question your sanity, but not your bravery," Thomas Boleyn said and came to shake Wyatt's hand. That didn't seem right to him; he had done nothing but be an extra mouth to feed and to take care of.

"With everything back in order, I reckon I'll be on my way tomorrow," Wyatt said.

"No, stay for a few more days if you can spare," George suggested. "Father?"

Anne's expression could easily be mistaken as a wince of subsiding pain from her illness. But in truth her distress came from seeing Thomas - of not being able to be close to him or speak as openly, as lovingly as they might have without her father or brother being present.

"How was I to leave so much goodness behind?" Anne countered with a slight smirk. "So much love."

The comment could have easily referred to the love of her brother and father. But Anne knew Thomas would know better.

Boleyn nodded when George spoke up. "If you can indeed spare another few days Master Wyatt, I would greatly enjoy having you as a guest - you came to the aid of my son and daughter when they were deathly ill at great personal risk, you kept my house in order and kept the servants in line, even if it was just by being here."

Not that the Hever servants were necessarily suspicious. But Wyatt's presence had indeed kept them on point when caring for Anne and George, as well as the household in general.

"You should stay Thomas, if you can," Anne gave a weak cough, and thanked God when she didn't taste blood for the first time in days. "At least until I am able to get out of bed and see you off properly."

He did know better. She put up with him being married, yet still loved him. He knew.

Wyatt thanked for Boleyn's offer; he could stay. It was relatively safe now at Hever and nobody expected him anywhere else while the disease was spreading uncontrollably from place to place.

"I will count on you to do that, Anne. And before I leave... I have some new poems. When you're strong enough to come downstairs, I will read them to you."

That comment made George to squint his eyes and pay close attention to Anne's expression upon hearing it. He had not second-guessed Wyatt's actions before but this incident had given him some food for thought. Their father, on the other hand, didn't read anything into the statement. His mind was otherwise occupied.

"I must write to the king immediately. Such good news to tell! I shall ask him to pay us a visit as soon as possible," Thomas Boleyn rejoiced.

Thomas Boleyn rejoiced, Anne Boleyn grimaced inwardly. The last thing she wanted to think of right now was the King. To his credit though, Henry had sent her infusions that were supposed to help ward off the sickness...though those had proven rather useless and had only served to make Anne physically ill. But, it was the thought that counted, right?

But the thought of hearing Thomas's latest poems made Anne smile and miraculously a bit of color returned to her complexion.

"I'd like that Thomas, I can hardly think of anything that might cheer me up better," this was her own way of putting a little dig into her father's plan. He was planning to write the King? Very well. The King's letters could not compare with the poems of Thomas Wyatt.

But after a moment Anne sighed and lay back against the pillows. "Forgive me though, I do feel fatigued, and a bit more rest could only help me I think."

"Because you haven't rested enough already, sister?" George teased her.

Anne and their father narrowed their eyes at George - it was easy to see from which parent Anne got that particular look. "Rest all you like dearest," Thomas Boleyn kissed Anne's hand before standing up and making for the door, waiting for the other two men before he exited.

A letter to and from the king was to be expected, Wyatt knew that too. It just wasn't something he wanted to hear. He planned to be gone before Henry arrived in Hever. Thankfully that would take several days depending on where the king had located recently.

The men left Anne's chamber and a maid was called in to sit by her bed. It wasn't until the next day that Wyatt got to briefly see her again after breakfast. Now that she was on the road to recovery, and both the Boleyn men were present, he couldn't show the same kind of concern as he had before.

After midday meal, George pulled him aside and voiced his newly-found suspicions.

"Tell me, friend, that my eyes and ears are deceiving me."

"What do you mean?" Wyatt had not been prepared to be questioned so his face showed genuine surprise.

"You. Anne. If you're holding out some kind of futile hope, don't. And don't let her know you do."

Wyatt stared at George and realized he didn't have time to make up a lie but if only he was being suspected...

"George, I-. No, she doesn't know. She never will, I promise."

It had been a godsend to have the strength to attend a meal. Even if she ate little, Anne was glad to be out of bed and dressed. It had taken her maids some time but the tangles in her hair had been tamed and her hair had its lustrous sheen again. When she saw Thomas that day she'd smiled and greeted him courteously.

The maids fussed over Anne, who was still weak from her recovery. They tried to persuade her to go back to her room but she ignored them, waved them off. She took a book from the library and went outside - thinking fresh air and sunshine would do her good after being cooped up inside for so long.

Anne had no knowledge of George's words with Thomas. But ever since she'd recovered from her illness Anne had been thinking quite a bit. Life was far too short to be a slave to her father's will.

She could have died. Died without ever fully expressing the depth of her love for Thomas. Died without seeing any of her own dreams realized.

She could not continue the charade of seeing the King any longer. Not when she loved another.

George placed his hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "Look, I am sorry about Elizabeth... and that you're out of decent options. Just don't dream of Anne, you know. For her sake as well as yours. Father is aiming high for her."

Disgusted of the reminder, Wyatt shrugged off George's hand. "It's not that. Not all of it, anyway. I'm fine. You don't need to concern yourself with my worries." He turned to leave, not wanting to discuss the matter.

"Thomas...," George tried to plead but Wyatt didn't look back. He simply raised his hand in the air to indicate the subject was closed.

He walked out to the gardens where the hot of the summer had wilted some of the plants. And there, by the River Eden, he ran into his Eve.

"Anne! What in the world are you doing out and about? Determined to catch your death?" But how happy he was to see her.

Anne looked up from her book and smiled when Thomas called out to her. She closed her book and adjusted her seated position so that he could sit beside her closer if he so desired.

"Testing my invincibility, let's say," Anne laughed softly. "No, no - I was cooped up in the house far too long. I was feeling a little confined, and you know how I feel about that."

He knew she didn't like being caged. That this falcon liked to spread her wings and fly free.

"You were so brave to come while we were sick, Thomas," Anne patted the ground beside her, wanting him to sit near her. "...knowing you were here, right outside my door, it helped me pull through, Thomas. I would have died without you, my love."

She didn't care who heard. She didn't even try to hide it.

"Yes, you've always flaunted with that," Wyatt replied smiling, referring to her invincibility. But then he sighed, still somewhat disturbed by his talk with George. Moments like these made it so clear he had no self-will. Like a wind he turned from one direction to another, promising this to God, that to George, something else to himself, and to her.

He sighed again and sat down next to her but leaving a space between them.

"I wasn't brave, I just wasn't thinking," he said, looking down. "But I'm glad if it gave you strength. You almost did die."

He reached for her hand and closed it between his, on his lap.

Edited 2015-02-17 17:20 (UTC)

Anne squeezed his hand as he took hers. He left space between them, but she eliminated it, shifting near him and leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. She didn't care who saw. Anne stayed silent a moment before she spoke.

"You spoke before of new poetry Thomas," She whispered. "Would you share it with me?"

Her voice was soft as she closed her eyes. She was just enjoying the warmth of the sun and his presence beside her. It felt good to just be able to relax.

((OOC: Poem from here: http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/wyatt.php?section=18
Chosen because it's written from a woman's perspective and fits Anne's current situation. Explanation says: The mysterious 'it' which prevents the lady from experiencing happiness to the full is possibly her undesired marriage or betrothal to another man.))

It was wonderful to have her lean against him and to chase away the doubts regarding their secret love.

"That's what I promised, didn't I?" Wyatt let go of Anne's hand to reach inside his sleeve where he had hidden a neatly folded paper. The poem was fairly long and he had not had the mental capacity to memorize it while being worried of her health. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began,

"Grudge on who list, this is my lot,
No thing to want if it were not.

My years be young even as ye see,
All things thereto doth well agree,
In faith, in face, in each degree
Nothing doth want as seemeth me,
If it were not.

Some men doth say that friends be scarce,
But I have found as in this case
A friend which giveth to no man place,
But makes me happiest that ever was,
If it were not."

HE paused briefly before reciting the lines that confirmed that the poem conveyed the feelings of a woman, not that of a man, like so often was the case with his work.

"A heart I have besides all this,
That hath my heart and I have his;
If he doth well it is my bliss,
And when we meet no lack there is
If it were not."

Wyatt continued the poem to the end, repeating the first two lines, and then kissed the top of her head.

"I hope it wasn't presumptious of me?" To claim to know how she felt, that is.

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