![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
17 January 2007 04:19 pmIt's been rather a terrible day, actually. Oh, the plot with the King had gone... the way it had gone, no doubt about that. But mostly it's been a day of waiting and a day of loss.
Of all the things not to have foreseen, two of them happened in Kingsbury: Sophie got lost, and then there's that whole nasty business with the Witch of the Waste. Terrible, terrible, the thing she did.
Losing Sophie was the finishing touch and there's nothing but relief when he hears the door open and Michael questioning Sophie on her whereabouts. He's relieved on the one hand, yet a terrible feeling somewhat akin to guilt mixes with grief on the other hand.
"Howl's terribly upset," Michael says, unaware of the fact he's standing just at the top of the stair.
"I'm sure he is," Sophie counters in her usual if-words-could-kill sort of way: she really doesn't care so very much about him after all, apparently.
"Because Mrs Pentstemmon's dead," Michael informs her gravely.
Mrs Pentstemmon's dead, and over an old grudge between him and the Witch and that... hardly seems fair, but then again, when are things fair? Everyone makes their own bed and lies in it alone, whether or not spiders gild the corners with cobwebs. It's been a day, a mixed day, a seductively terrible day, a very long day. Enough of this pretending not to be there: he makes his way quickly but gracefully to the front door, a scroll in his hand. Yes, it has the royal seals in red and blue dangling off it; he hands the Sergeant a gold piece for safely delivering Sophie back home.
He waits, though, until the King's men have gone clattering back to the castle before saying a word. "I make that four horses and ten men just to get rid of one old woman. What did you do to the King?"
If she looks for hidden meaning between the words, she'll see his true feelings shining there: welcome home, Sophie. We were worried sick about you.
Of all the things not to have foreseen, two of them happened in Kingsbury: Sophie got lost, and then there's that whole nasty business with the Witch of the Waste. Terrible, terrible, the thing she did.
Losing Sophie was the finishing touch and there's nothing but relief when he hears the door open and Michael questioning Sophie on her whereabouts. He's relieved on the one hand, yet a terrible feeling somewhat akin to guilt mixes with grief on the other hand.
"Howl's terribly upset," Michael says, unaware of the fact he's standing just at the top of the stair.
"I'm sure he is," Sophie counters in her usual if-words-could-kill sort of way: she really doesn't care so very much about him after all, apparently.
"Because Mrs Pentstemmon's dead," Michael informs her gravely.
Mrs Pentstemmon's dead, and over an old grudge between him and the Witch and that... hardly seems fair, but then again, when are things fair? Everyone makes their own bed and lies in it alone, whether or not spiders gild the corners with cobwebs. It's been a day, a mixed day, a seductively terrible day, a very long day. Enough of this pretending not to be there: he makes his way quickly but gracefully to the front door, a scroll in his hand. Yes, it has the royal seals in red and blue dangling off it; he hands the Sergeant a gold piece for safely delivering Sophie back home.
He waits, though, until the King's men have gone clattering back to the castle before saying a word. "I make that four horses and ten men just to get rid of one old woman. What did you do to the King?"
If she looks for hidden meaning between the words, she'll see his true feelings shining there: welcome home, Sophie. We were worried sick about you.
