Sep. 12th, 2017

andhiswife: (melancholy)
And now the Poldarks are gone.

She doesn't even know how to process the losses anymore. She doesn't know why she's still here. How much more is she supposed to bear, exactly? There has to be a precise point where this all stops being worth the trouble. Hasn't she passed it, yet? Or is she still meant to believe this epilogue is some sort of generous gift, far better than an abrupt and undignified ending at the bottom of a cliff? Because she honestly doesn't know, anymore. She doesn't know if she wants a second chance if this is all that will come of it.

She especially doesn't know why they've left her the bloody house. She sits on the stoop, staring down at the keys in numb disbelief, and it's only because her friend wanted this that she can convince herself that this, too, isn't some kind of cruel joke.

Demelza would never be cruel. Not to her, not now.

Well. Not on purpose. Part of her can't help but wonder if this was something decided before Sam's disappearance, and they just hadn't got round to updating the paperwork. That would make sense. More sense than the thought of her knocking about what is unmistakably a family home with just a dog for company. It's absurd. What is she supposed to do with it all?

Go in would be the logical first step, but she hasn't yet worked up the nerve. After helping them move in, and visiting on several occasions, she has too clear an idea of how it ought to be. Not empty. Not silent. And certainly not hers.
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