(Previously)
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His lips were still burning
against my face, yet so tender, so grateful. I realized that this was the
difference. His gratitude for my willingness to give up everything for him had
unlocked some new part of him as well. It was as if I had given him something
more than just mind, body, and soul, that yes, I had been added to his
organization, but also somehow to a greater scheme I had not fully grasped. But
what had I given him that he could not, had not, already claimed? Yes, a future
with him, a glorious present, and even a past. I hesitated… he had asked for my
past as well. Why my past?
As if I’d voiced the question, he
murmured into my neck “Ah, what we can achieve together, my Vixen. We will
create a dynasty like none before.”
Dynasty. Longevity. Children. Oh,
children! My children?
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(Continuing the story…)
(Continuing the story…)
I reluctantly separated us, loosening his grasp, busying myself with straightening my clothes. “My past - what do you mean when you say you seek my past, darling?”
He frowned. I cannot recall seeing him frown before. The mask was
gone. “I have in mind that Sherlock would be my successor – you must know this,
Madame. Your approval would guide him…”
I reeled a little, grateful for the solid wall behind me. Sherlock - always
it came back to Sherlock. Did I know this was his plan? Should I have known? He
only ever asked after Sherlock, not my other children… he had taken this
University post recently, yes when Sherlock decided to come here… Reluctantly,
an alternative theory was forming in my mind. The pieces were falling in place.
So, what was I? Just a means to this end? How did he think I would ever let
Sherlock be anything but a Holmes?
“But… my husband? How…?” He waved his hand dismissively, like swatting
a fly, indicating that this was a minor problem. As if to reinforce this, his
focus was entirely on straightening his own clothes.
“I have already indicated to him that the children may not be his. You
need only confirm it.”
My eyes widened as I realized the depth of his scheming. My
increasingly brooding husband, despising me not just for the infidelity – he
was guilty enough himself there – but having found the Professor’s letters to
me, was suspicious of the depth of the liaison. I remembered him seeking out
proof and finding us together in these rooms. Oh that was a truly horrible day
that capitulated in fire of a different sort; a fire that consumed all those
beautiful letters. The Professor consoled me that day with a promise there
would be more letters, and that he would reach some agreement with my husband.
But there would only be one more letter, and the meeting, it seemed, had taken
a different turn from what I had expected.
I had been played: he would truly claim my past, my children’s
birthright. Make my marriage a lie, publicly humiliate myself and my husband –
oh for myself I would bear it happily, foolishly, even knowing the game, yes, I
would still give all in return for these new unmasked affections. Such was my
addiction, so well crafted in its feeding – but to sacrifice my husband? I
could not do that to Siger. No. Nor to my sons.
I felt like I had finally reached the depths of my heart only to find
there his hidden sandworms, burrowing their way out, compromising its
integrity; creating the fault lines where my heart would break as I came to
realize the true meaning of his words to have “all of me”. It was an all or
nothing proposal. All of me, including my sons, and the denial of their true
father – or nothing.
Indeed, he thought he had it already. The glimpse of what it could be
like between us; the openness, gratefulness, intensity and pleasure as his
passion burned honestly for me now, so much more than anything I had
experienced with him before. Everything I had wanted from him. All for a dynasty.
All he ever wanted from me.
I didn’t want to face the fact, but to keep my family safe I had no
choice but to deny him - to deny
myself. I steepled my fingers before my nose, lost in tragic thought. Then
almost subliminally, sweeping my hands across my cheeks, in expectation of
tears still to come, I reached the earrings and with it the answers to his
questions that I now had to give. My decision was not really newly made, it had
been decided by my children’s very birth decades before. Reluctantly I slipped
the earrings out of my ears and quietly reached across and dropped them into
the case. With pursed lips I undid the clasp of the necklace and likewise laid
it in the case.
“Vixen?” His interruption finally forced me to look at him. Reading my
face, his own clouded over. Despite the relentless cheer of sunshine, my world was
now overcast. Quietly, sensing that I had before me the unpredictability of
lightning, I tempted the storm and warily gave him my final answer.
“My love, I cannot accept your terms… I would give you—I have given
you my mind, body, and soul.” I was not even aware that I was playing with the
ring still on my finger. “I would give up everything, darling, to spend my
future with you. Willingly. My heart is yours, but now I fear it can only break
for you… for I cannot, I will not give you my boys.”
His face wore again its imperturbable mask, so it was hard to see the
anger until its sudden strike. With a thunderous roar of “No” his hand gripped
tightly my now bare throat. He spun me around so that my feet barely kept
contact with the floor, and roughly pushed me back over the table; plates,
cutlery, and jewellery box clattering to the floor. I felt the shocking jolt of
my ribs on the hard table. His other hand pinned my wrists in his strong grip
against tender womb that only moments before yielded a dynasty of promises to
him. My lips parted gasping for some air as he tightened his hand harder still
around my throat. He leaned over me, the weight of his body on me again, but
this time the only burning glow was in his eyes, as his face hovered only
inches from my own.
I had never seen him as anything other than the perfect gentleman,
always calm, always in control, even when it was letting me take that control
in the bedroom. In this rage, I could not help but wonder at the power I had
not realised I had over him. I had stoked a fire bright with hope and desire
only to burn him with it. For the first time, safe word or not, I was truly
frightened he would kill me. I was even more frightened as I realised I would
continue loving him with every fibre of my being while he did so. I could
barely breathe, but all I could think was how much I wanted my last breath to
be spent kissing him.
My eyes caught his and matched his burning anger with a cool defiance
filled with love. Love for my children, but love for him too. I would let him
win this battle, because it would save my boys from the war. He knew it, knew
that killing the mother would never get him the son. As logic overtook rage,
his grip relented a fraction, and as suddenly as the anger was released, it was
contained. The mask slipped as his face gave way to such tenderness, longing,
and regret. For a moment I thought he really would kiss me one last time… but
instead he murmured with such depth of sadness in his voice:
"We could have spread fire across all of the world, you and
I."
He released me abruptly, with contempt even, and turned his back, his
eyes closed, the glowing sun on his face - the only remainder of any heat; a
face that was now weary, disappointed, somehow older in the space of minutes.
My throat wore a ring of red from the pressure of his hand on my neck. My ears
were a matching red, embarrassed at having been such a fool to think I meant
anything to him other than an enjoyable diversion to play his evil game and get
to Sherlock. As I gratefully wheezed in rasping air through a bruised windpipe,
ribs aching as air made its way into my lungs, I felt the inevitable sting of
tears. Partly shock, partly physical pain, partly humiliation at being taken
for a fool all these months, and partly shame at what I’d nearly put my family
through, but mostly the tears well up for a heart given to and broken by such a
scheming, malevolent man.
The truth now hurt so much more than knowing I’d believed all of his previous
lies. Curiously, they still felt real. I couldn’t bear to let him see the depth
of damage he had inflicted with his game. Still wheezing, I stumbled through
his rooms, grabbing my coat off the chair where I had left it last night. As I
grabbed my bag from the front table a flash of brilliance made me realize the
ring was still on my finger, a mocking shining reminder of my own heart and my
foolishness in not keeping it cold and diamond-hard. Caring is not an
advantage, not when the one you care for takes advantage of you. I pulled at
the ring, but in my agitated haste, my finger became red and swollen, and the
ring stubbornly remained. With a barely suppressed sob, I realised I had no
choice but to leave it on my finger for now, the final mockery of my shattered
dreams. I reached the door, and couldn’t help myself - I glanced back at him.
He hadn’t moved, still with eyes closed, masked face uplifted to the sun. On
the surface, he looked calm and in control again, except when I noticed his
hands. They were clenched so tightly I could see the whites of his knuckles.
As my sobs finally escaped like bubbles from a hotspring, rising from
the ever-widening fissure in my heart, I turned and fled, the door slamming
firmly behind me.
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