"Oh Julia, it has been too long."

She gave a gentle laugh that became a sigh. Still, a smile lingered. "What nonsense is that when I have been here a week?" she whispered, a lightness to her words among the night's muffled winds and crackling fire.

"Do not play coy now. These days, have we spent a moment alone? If I did not know better, I would think you only visited with the intention to spoil my children," her host said, words belied by the light-hearted tone.

She hummed a note. "These matters, I am someone capable of many intentions."

Her host broke into laughter at that, a rich chuckle, dyed with the scent of wine. "Indeed, you are capable of vast kindnesses. Whether children or the elderly, you spoil them all," she said, her pacing a little off as she lingered on certain syllables.

Of course, she would not think of her host as drunk, nor those unusual patterns of speech as slurring. "Surely you are not so desperate to be spoiled as to call yourself elderly?"

"Ah, my guest has called me old, woe is me."

She tittered, smile wide and eyes narrowed in humour. Her own glass, for how many sips she had taken, still had a weight to it as she gently swirled it before then taking another sip.

"To be old is a good thing, that we are such fragile creatures," she whispered, a loud whisper that did not hide, merely something which could not be spoken aloud.

As careless as her host had seemed before, a sobriety settled, smile measured and gaze still. "Indeed, I hope we may both grow much older."

"This kind of thing, I would not wish to invite misfortune, yet let us not say the opposite is also true. As I grow older, it becomes painfully clear how early those before us left this world."

It needed not be said which two people in particular such a comment referred to.

She covered her mouth a moment, then held her glass with both hands once more. "Forgive me for letting in such a chill."

Her host shook her head, loose hair settling on her face in a messy look. "What is a friend if not someone to share both burdens and joys?" she said, neither lightly nor heavily, but the kind of even tone of someone stating a simple fact.

She gave an empty laugh before settling into a small smile. "For many years, this time of joy has burdened me with emptiness. Fritz brought me a needed warmth and yet, in all my scheming, I send him away, over and over again."

Her words came out flat, gaze empty as she stared into the fire's roiling flames.

Then she found herself embraced, a motherly embrace, firm and warm. She let out a shaky breath, then put down her glass. With her hand now free, she gently pushed her host's arm until the embrace broke.

"Please, I am married," she said, a levity in her voice and smile that did not meet her eyes.

However, her host understood and returned the distance between them. "Indeed, Julia is a woman, not a child to be coddled."

She held her host's gaze a moment longer, then fell back to staring into the fire. As she did, her hand went not to the glass, but to below her stomach. After a deep breath both in and out, her hand clenched.

"I had long hoped for a little company through his absences. However… I wonder if our efforts are now sinful, painfully clear I… cannot bear fruit. Yet he would still hold me so very tenderly, no matter how rotten I am inside."

"Julia…."

She let out another shaky breath, then shook her head. "I apologise. This kind of burden is not lighter for being shared," she whispered.

For a long moment, silence fell, not heavy nor thin but comfortable. A silence which appreciated this company on this cold night. While she seemed to finally succumb to her sips, a drowsiness to her expression as she sank deeper into her seat, her host grew sober with a gentle smile.

"Julia, you have worked so very hard. I have seen it personally. Such accomplishments that many would be fondly remembered for even if it took an entire lifetime to achieve. Perhaps it would be wise to rest, to cherish these youthful years before they too pass."

She listened with a gentle smile of her own, yet, by the end, it had become pained, her voice when she spoke now strained. "Rest, will others rest?" she whispered.

"Even if they do not, you have those ready and willing to support you."

Such kind words that only made her expression darker. Seconds trickled by, fire crackled, wind howled, until at last she wiped away the pain and left behind a blank face but for a polite smile, and a voice without emotion.

"My father, and my mother, they wished for me to live a peaceful life. He knew full well my situation. He arranged such a marriage that I should have known peace. However, he did not wish lightly and so…."

She trailed off their, her voice fading, only to then turn to her host, turn with clear eyes and no expression but for a polite smile.

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"To live a peaceful life requires the strength to stand up to a chaotic world. Do you think the Prince does not hear of my accomplishments? He wishes me dead, I know it. Perhaps it is fortunate I am barren as, for all my accomplishments, this failing is reason enough to justify his divorce. Fortunate, as any child of mine would surely suffer this same fate."

As heart-breaking as her words were, her host found them all the more cruel for being spoken with a blank face and an even voice. That her guest had truly taken this as fact.

Still, she was not done, her gaze returning to the fire. "I am not a good person. That is not how my father raised me. I am not deserving of your pity, nor your kindness. What I am willing to do for my peace, well, let us say that it shan't be a short conversation when it comes time to answer for what I have done."

The gale blew, manor groaning, only to retreat the next moment, a sudden calm.

Her host shifted in her seat, drew in a breath. "My husband is a good man. He would not permit the Prince such tyranny," she whispered, such words ones that could only ever be whispered, regardless of how much wine had been drunk.

At that, she smiled, yet it brought no relief to her host and neither did her words which followed. "It is precisely because he is a good man that he finds me so repulsive. If he must choose, I worry the Prince would be the lesser of two evils."

Her host huffed. "I would like to see him make such a choice while I draw breath," she said, voice cold yet with a forced levity.

For a moment, her smile wavered, only to settle into something warm. "Little Charlotte is about the age to consider her education, is she not?"

It was hardly subtle and yet her host went with it without hesitation. "Indeed she is," she said, not a whisper, but gentle. "When we last visited the capital with her, we took the opportunity to tour Countess Nicole's Academy. It is rather unique."

"Well, this matter is not so simple. Even among our peers, what tutoring a daughter receives varies greatly, and she may lose such an opportunity after marrying. However, I would not want to turn away any who earnestly wish to further their learning."

Her host gave a chuckle. "Mm, I even found myself tempted. Perhaps once all three little ones are in schooling, I shall apply," she said, a sincerity to her light-hearted tone.

"Apply? Walk in there whenever you so wish and let us see which of them dares turn you away," she said, just as light.

After a breathless laugh, her host said, "Rules and such are important. One should always do these things properly to set the right example."

"Mm, rules are important," she said softly.

Her host let out a long sigh, neither tired nor frustrated but content. "Otto, too, cannot wait for his education. One tutor he is particularly fond of has already told us he will be teaching there. I cannot think of a better recommendation than that," she said, ending with a chuckle.

"These things, while I am glad to hear, of course I have little say in who is hired. Still, it is precisely so that all of our children may enjoy the best teachers that I thought this so necessary. I truly wish for them to have the learning to accomplish that which they desire."

She spoke with a gentleness, not just in her voice, but in her expression, in her posture.

It was at that moment that her host seemed to have grasped something missed before. For a heartbeat, there was heartache on her face, only to be gone thereafter, replaced with a mirrored gentleness. "What a splendid wish it is."

As if shy, she looked away. "Who would not wish for it?"

"Indeed, so it speaks all the louder that, of everyone, it is you who did it. Good or not, your good works stand as an example to us all."

If unclear before, how she now seemed to hide in herself, face to her shoulder and arms crossed, appeared awfully shy. "What good are good works. These things are between God and myself," she mumbled—still clearly enough for her host to hear.

And her host laughed, gentle and rich chuckles which accompanied the crackling fire, the return of a whispering wind. "If I am not convincing enough, know that your example has inspired Charlotte. She had long hated the very mention of marriage. Now, she cannot wait to leave her mark upon this world."

Silence followed, tense, not because either held any anger nor resentment, but because her breaths came out thin, on the verge of wavering. Eventually, she took in a deep breath and turned around to face her host once more.

"It is not an easy thing to mark this world. She will… need much kindness."

Such a statement left an ambiguity over whether that kindness would be from within or out. Or rather, her host understood it as meaning both. With a small smile, she said, "Mm, she shall."

A break in the conversation followed, an unspoken agreement, that both collected their thoughts and admired the fire's warmth and beauty on this cold night, a drumming rain now playing upon the windows with the wind's howls.

Eventually, her host spoke. "We did not have the time on our last travels to visit the other academy. However, I am curious of the library's progress."

She took the implied question with a smile that her host did not see. "The progress is as expected," she said.

"Of course. Back then, did I not say that you would easily find the funding?" her host said, voice a touch light in her chiding.

She shook her head, the gesture noticeable enough even out the corner of her host's eye. "I shan't lie to you. Although I certainly raised more than I expected, it was insufficient for my fullest ambition. Much was needed for initial materials and I am thankful we managed to achieve that. For the ongoing labour, rather than a mountain of silver, a stream is needed. I shall spare you the boorish details of how I did so. Needless to say, I am little better than a merchant and much worse for being this indebted to moneylenders."

Her host let out a sigh, softly smiling. "It has not been easy for my Julia."

"What pity is needed for someone who lowers herself?" she said, her attempt at lightness belied by her quietness. "I told you that I am not a good person. If your husband heard his money went towards my own usury, he would be most justified in forbidding my presence."

The silence which followed spoke in agreement, but did not last. "Pity, no, I do not pity you. I merely feel a sadness that talents such as yours are wasted on something as crude as accruing money."

"Pray do not feel sad on my behalf. For all I have whined, at least these burdens are ones which I do share. Even my debt is mostly held by those of good breeding." She paused there to laugh, an empty chuckle which ended in a sigh. "My thanks for listening to my woes. Without Fritz, I struggle to sleep, what begins with a feeling of something missing becoming an accounting of everything wrong. With such focus, it has been easy for me to overlook all that which is going right."

It was at that conclusion that she found her hand held, held tight.

"I know such pain well. When little Julia joined us in this world, where was her father?" her host said, quiet, gentle, and oh so soft. "At that time, at my most vulnerable, where were you? Whether or not you are a good person, it matters little to me. All I have ever needed to know is that you are good to my children. So please, there is no need for pretence between us."

She listened in silence, so still that it seemed as if even her heart did not beat, until finally she lowered her head with an ironic smile. "Forgive me, that I fear I must hold on to at least a sliver of my dignity."

"Of course I shall forgive you. What could you ever possibly do that I could not forgive?" her host asked lightly.

"What indeed."

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